Hello sweet humans,
It’s been a minute.
I was looking back and realized I haven’t sent an email to our community since the end of 2024. It wasn’t my intent to go silent—and, I have.
I’ve been mostly wordless this first half of the year.
Not because there’s been nothing to say, but because I’ve been turning inward. Reorienting. Reorganizing.
The weight of the world landed deeply in my bones, and it’s taken me time to find my way back to writing you.
I invite you to pause and check in.
Have there been times when your world has felt heavy, and your words have been hard to access?
I suspect I’m not alone in this word-finding exploration.
Words are not our first language.
When I listen deeply to what’s emerging in me—through sensation, intuition, and digestion—word-finding becomes a practice of discovery.
The words help me orient toward what’s happening by naming it, and eventually, by sharing it.
And in that sharing, we can find out how those words land with others—whether they move us closer to or further from connection.
In this wordless space, I’ve come to trust my mess—by being with it.
By sitting in discomfort.
By listening for what wants to emerge, instead of pushing through.
By honoring the slower pace of deep reorganization.
And in that process, I’ve been remembering some core truths that feel especially important right now.
If you are feeling the chaos—you aren’t alone.
It’s not a you issue.
It’s the design of systems that maintain control by overwhelming our capacity to stay present.
Systems of power that depend on fear and division work by pulling us out of connection—with ourselves, and with each other.
They seek to hold power by overwhelming and disorienting our nervous systems, making it hard to discern fact from misinformation, danger from disconnection, and what’s ours from what’s systemic.
Power built on subjugation doesn’t just hide in shadows—it often shows up as pressure to push through, shut down, or turn away from what hurts.
But I’m clear: liberation is rooted in our solidarity.
In our nervous systems learning that discomfort isn’t danger.
In our capacity to turn toward what’s hard—together.
In refusing to abandon ourselves or each other, even when it feels like the world demands it.
My hope is rooted in the belief that we can build the capacity to face the world—its beauty and its brutality—with resilience, clarity, and a deep sense of worth and response-ability.
It’s a practice of staying present and bearing witness.
Of remembering that we—together—are not the chaos.
We are the ones capable of meeting it. Together.
Directionality is emerging.
It may not be loud or linear, but it’s real.
As I find my way back to a rhythm of holding space and facilitating connection, I’m grateful to find my words and return to your inbox.
In a workshop I attended yesterday, Linda Thai reminded us:
“Witnessing grief is the ultimate offering of dignity.”
Those words took root in me—and they’re now weaving their way into both what’s emerging and what continues.
I’m gathering these threads into a new offering:
Relationally Rooted—a three-part, in-person workshop series I hope to hold in a space tender enough to meet the depth of this work.
I’m still looking for the right place, one that feels sacred and grounded. If something comes to mind, I’d truly love to hear.
The series includes:
• Turning Toward
• Boundaries That Root Us
• Rupture and Repair
Each one carries the thread of undoing aloneness—by being with grief.
In community. In presence. In slow, steady practice.
We’ll explore small, sustaining movements that help us stay with what hurts, without losing ourselves or each other.
I’ll also be reopening space for what’s most often requested:
– Therapist consult groups (new cohorts begin this fall)
– A limited number of 1:1 or relationship intensives, for those ready to go deep
We each have different ways we’re called to show up in this moment.
My hope is to keep creating spaces where we can return to ourselves—and to each other—without needing to go it alone.
To help us stay rooted in ourselves, so we don’t forget those roots inside the chaos.
The invitation is simple:
What if we practiced turning toward what hurts, together?
What if we remembered that our capacity to witness each other’s grief—and our own—is how we offer dignity in a world that often demands we look away?
You are not alone.
With love and solidarity,
Rebecca
