Armadillo Medicine

Recently, armadillo medicine was introduced to me when I pulled the card from an oracle deck that I use for guidance.

An armadillo wears its armor on its back. Its protection is not something it carries; it is part of its body. Its boundaries of safety are woven into its very being. This animal teaches us the importance of conscious boundaries and reminds us that when we establish them with awareness, they create a profound sense of personal freedom. Armadillos adapt beautifully to changing circumstances. Their outer appearance may remain the same, but their inner process is constantly responding to what is happening in the moment. They also remind us that the deepest wisdom lives within our bodies.

As I was reading about armadillo medicine, I couldn’t help but smile.

Long before I knew anything about animal medicine, archetypes, or oracle cards, an armadillo had already become one of my greatest teachers.

I was eight years old.

And I was completely enchanted.

A Family Adventure Called Florida

When I was a little girl, my parents went on what was technically their second honeymoon. In truth, it was probably their first.

My father had been in the Army when they married and was deployed to Japan shortly afterward. Then came the work of building a life together and raising nine children. Somewhere along the way, romance had taken a back seat to responsibility.

I still remember how young and excited they looked as they waved goodbye.

When they returned, that excitement was still radiating from them. A few days later they gathered all nine of us together and announced that we were moving to Florida.

Not visiting.

Moving.

As you might imagine, not everyone was thrilled by the news. I, however, was about to turn eight years old, and at that age, almost everything felt like an adventure.

The following summer, we sold our home on Long Island, packed up our lives, bought tents and camping gear, and set off for Florida. Despite numerous mishaps and unexpected detours, we eventually arrived three weeks later.

Once there, my parents wanted to show us the beauty that had inspired such a dramatic decision. Their plan was to settle on the west coast in a town called New Port Richey. Fate, however, had other ideas.

My mother became quite ill, and the dream they had built during their vacation began to unravel. Instead of ending up where they intended, we eventually landed in a small town on Florida’s southeast coast called Fort Pierce.

Before finding a permanent home, we spent weeks moving from place to place. First there was a motel on the beach. Then a campground surrounded by swampy water filled with alligators and water moccasins. Finally, when the summer heat became too much for my mother, we found ourselves at a small family-owned motel called The Smallwood.

I had no idea at the time that one of my first great teachers was waiting for me there.

Meeting Beth

The Smallwood was owned by a local family who welcomed our large and somewhat chaotic clan with open arms.

That was where I met Beth Veller.

Beth was the youngest daughter of the motel owners, and within hours we had become inseparable.

Every day brought a new adventure. From dawn until dusk, we explored the motel grounds as though we were charting undiscovered territory. Every path held possibility. Every tree concealed a mystery. Every corner promised a new discovery.

One afternoon, while sitting beneath a giant orange tree, I caught a flash of movement from the corner of my eye.

I turned and froze.

Staring back at me was the strangest creature I had ever seen.

As I sat spellbound, the animal calmly picked up a fallen orange and began to eat.

I looked at Beth with wide-eyed amazement.

“Oh,” she said casually, “that’s just an armadillo. We get one back here every once in a while.”

Just an armadillo.

I was not convinced.

To me, he looked like a tiny knight from some long-forgotten kingdom.

Covered in what appeared to be armor, he moved with surprising grace. His face seemed both ancient and childlike. As he slowly ate his orange, he watched us with quiet curiosity.

I was captivated.

Something about him felt magical.

Something about him felt free.

When I moved toward him, he sensed my intention and waddled away into the trees.

At that moment, I knew two things.

I loved him.

And we absolutely had to catch him.

Beth readily agreed.

And so began Operation Armadillo.

Operation Armadillo

The next morning, we began making plans.

The first task was finding the perfect box. This couldn’t be just any box. It had to be worthy of a great armored soldier. Eventually, we found an old orange crate. A sturdy stick and a roll of string completed our ingenious trap. Our bait, of course, would be a perfectly ripe orange.

Then we cleaned the area beneath the tree. For two days, we removed fallen fruit, raked leaves, and prepared what we considered the ideal setting for our future companion. As we worked, we talked endlessly about the life we would share with our new friend once he was safely captured.

By the time we finished, our hearts were bursting with anticipation.

That evening, we began our vigil.

The crate was propped up with a stick, the string threaded carefully through the setup, and the orange placed beneath it like a treasure. We hid across the courtyard and waited.

The first few nights yielded nothing.

Still, those evenings became some of the most meaningful moments of my childhood. We whispered about everything and nothing. We shared secrets. We laughed. We dreamed.

Looking back now, I realize the magic was never really about the armadillo.

It was about friendship.

It was about wonder.

It was about being fully immersed in the present moment.

Whenever older siblings or cousins asked what we were doing, we would simply smile and reply, “We’re hunting armadillo.”

They usually laughed.

We didn’t mind.

We knew we were engaged in something important.

Or at least it felt important.

And at eight years old, that was enough.

The Night of Success

After many nights of waiting, our armored friend finally returned.

He approached cautiously, stopping every few steps to survey his surroundings. Beth and I sat frozen in anticipation.

Just as he reached the orange, a summer storm exploded overhead.

Lightning lit up the sky.

Rain poured through the canopy.

Beth dropped the string.

The armadillo grabbed his dinner and disappeared into the darkness.

Our mission would have to wait.

The following night was different.

The motel was full. The pool area buzzed with conversation and laughter. I could hear my mother’s rich laugh drifting across the courtyard as Beth and I took our usual positions beneath the tree.

And then he appeared.

As he moved toward the orange, everything else seemed to fade away.

My heart pounded.

My hands trembled.

This was our moment.

The instant he stepped fully beneath the crate, I pulled the string.

The crate dropped.

Success.

Beth and I screamed with delight and rushed to hold the crate firmly in place while our captive pushed desperately against its wooden walls.

We had done it.

Or so we thought.

When Beth returned with an old rabbit cage, we carefully lifted the crate according to our brilliant plan.

The armadillo ran exactly where we expected.

Straight into the cage.

As we reached to slam the door shut, he suddenly turned, launched himself against the opening, and burst through before we could close it.

Orange still in hand.

Freedom reclaimed.

The Chase

What followed was one of the most unforgettable moments of my childhood.

The armadillo raced across the motel grounds with Beth and me close behind.

Guests by the pool fell silent as they watched the spectacle unfold.

Children joined the chase.

Family members joined the chase.

Suddenly, half the motel seemed to be running after one very determined armadillo.

I could see the woods ahead.

So could he.

We both knew that once he reached them, he would be gone.

Then, in a burst of determination, I lunged.

My arms wrapped around his small armored body.

Success at last.

Or so I thought.

As everyone piled around us, the armadillo let out a high-pitched scream.

The sound startled me.

Looking down, I realized his small body was trembling.

He was terrified.

And I was the cause.

Suddenly, my triumph vanished.

I became aware of my own constricted breathing, the weight of the people around me, and the fear pulsing through the tiny body in my arms.

Then something changed.

I loosened my grip.

Almost immediately, he stopped struggling.

His body softened.

I could feel his heart racing against my hands.

I could feel his breath.

For a brief moment, we simply rested there together.

The rushing sound in my ears disappeared.

The tightness in my chest released.

And then I opened my arms.

At first he didn’t move.

Then he slowly waddled away.

As he reached the edge of the clearing, he turned and looked back at Beth and me.

To this day, I swear there was wisdom in that gaze.

Perhaps even gratitude.

The orange was still clutched in his tiny hand.

Then he disappeared into the woods.

A lone knight returning to his kingdom.

And we never saw him again.

The Gift of Freedom

Looking back now, I realize the Smallwood Armadillo was my first true teacher in Florida.

At the time, my family was living in uncertainty. My parents had uprooted nine children based on a dream. My mother’s illness had changed everything. Plans were shifting. Money was tight. The future was unclear.

Even at eight years old, I could feel it.

I simply didn’t have the language to name it.

What I now recognize is that I was searching for freedom.

The armadillo seemed to embody it.

Here was a creature covered in armor who somehow appeared completely free.

That fascinated me.

As a child, I believed freedom was something you caught.

Something you possessed.

Something you held onto.

The armadillo taught me otherwise.

The lesson was never about capturing him.

The lesson was waiting.

The friendship.

The wonder.

The adventure.

And ultimately, the realization that what I loved most needed to remain free.

Armadillo’s Second Teaching

Many years later, when armadillo medicine appeared in my life again, I understood something I couldn’t have understood as a child.

Freedom without boundaries isn’t freedom at all.

The armadillo wasn’t free despite its armor.

He was free because of it.

His boundaries allowed him to move through the world with confidence and adaptability.

That lesson has echoed throughout my life.

I’ve spent decades exploring healing, relationships, intimacy, trauma, belonging, and what it means to live authentically. Again and again, I have discovered that true freedom is not the absence of boundaries. It is the presence of healthy ones.

Boundaries don’t restrict us.

They create the conditions that allow us to move freely.

The armadillo knew that.

I just needed a few more decades to understand what he was trying to teach me.

The Teacher Beneath the Orange Tree

There is one final lesson I see now that I couldn’t see then.

The little girl who chased the armadillo across the motel grounds would spend much of her adult life exploring the very questions that the armadillo embodied.

What is freedom?

What keeps us trapped?

What allows us to move through the world with courage and authenticity?

Much of my work today centers around helping people release the stories, identities, wounds, and inherited patterns that keep them confined. The Elimination Code grew from that same inquiry. What do we need to release in order to reclaim our own life force? What happens when we stop trying to control life and instead learn to move with it?

Perhaps that small armored teacher was planting seeds long before I knew what they would become.

Today, when I think about that summer, I don’t remember whether we ever saw him again.

What I remember is the feeling.

The smell of oranges.

The warm Florida nights.

Beth’s laughter.

The excitement of a shared secret.

And the sensation of a small armored body resting quietly in my hands.

For one brief moment, neither of us was struggling.

Then I opened my arms.

And he left.

Orange still in hand.

A tiny knight returning to his kingdom.

A teacher disguised as an armadillo.

Perhaps my first lesson in freedom.

And certainly one of the most magical encounters of my life.