Last weekend, millions of us across Europe emerged from a heatwave that had become an collective sweat lodge. Hundreds chose to step into it consciously as though it were a shared ceremony rather than simply something to survive. The four hottest days became the four gates of the sweat lodge. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Air. Water. Fire. Earth. Each gate asked something different of us. The final gate, Earth, ended with Grandmother Earth's voice: Our first function

I tried to compress myself into a carousel this week. Since Aries season, I’ve been trying to post on Instagram. I sat in front of the screen. Typed a few words. Deleted them. Typed again. Changed the font. Deleted everything. I gave up. Again. I want to start there, with that cringe, because I think it's not a productivity problem. I think it's my nervous system knowing when the container is too small for what it carries. Later that same day, I went looking for a practitione

I. The Exhausted Healer I was scrolling through my feed last week when I saw it. A somatic therapist, my age, working in the same territory of the body and trauma that I have devoted my life to, had taken her own life. I sat with that for a long time. I didn't know her, but I recognized the landscape she was working in. The particular exhaustion of holding other people's pain as a profession, and the invisible weight it accumulates over years. In my last article, I wrote abou