What Comes After: Embodiment and Aging

There’s something I’ve been noticing since I began sharing again. Not so much the act of returning, but what comes just after that.

It’s quieter than I expected. Almost like I’m here, speaking, and at the same time listening—feeling into whether it’s true to be here this way now.

I don’t move the way I used to.

I’m slower.

More careful with what I choose to give my energy to. I’m beginning to understand what embodiment and aging really mean in my life now.

And there’s something in that I never thought I would feel.

For most of my life, I was afraid of this. Afraid of being in a body I couldn’t control—how it looks, how it performs, how it changes. Afraid of what it would mean to be seen like that. So much of my life was shaped around trying to stay ahead of it, to hold things together, to keep myself in a certain form.

But this past year wasn’t just about my body changing.

There was a lot of loss.

The flooding.

Letting go of ceremony.

Chloe’s passing.

And with all of that, the quiet unraveling of the dreams and visions I had held for myself and for my work.

So much of what I thought I was building shifted, or fell away.

Illness was part of it, but it wasn’t all of it. It was more like everything I had been holding onto was being asked to loosen at the same time.

And something in me gave way.

Not all at once.

Not easily.

But enough.

I’m not fighting my body in the same way anymore. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish it felt stronger, or looked different, or could do more than it can right now. But I’m not in opposition to it. I’m here with it.

And there’s a kind of peace in that I didn’t know was possible.

I don’t feel the same need to push, or to perform, or to become something more than I am in this moment. There’s less striving, and more of a settling into what is actually here—this body, this age, this life as it is right now.

And from here, I’m finding something I didn’t expect.

I’m loving more fully. Not because everything is better, but because I’m not trying to be somewhere else.

I’m here.

And there’s a quiet in that that feels like something opening.

Remembering Myself — A Journey Through the Threads of Time holds the life that came before this—everything that led me to that moment of stepping out from under the tree and into who I knew myself to be.

What I’m living now—what this past year has asked of me—is something different.

It’s the path of learning how to actually live as that woman.

It’s not what I thought it would be.

But it’s more true than anything I’ve known.

And The Fire and The Thread is where that is continuing to be written.

I’m beginning to open the studio in a quiet way for a few small gatherings.

If you’re local and feel drawn to experience the work in person, you’re welcome to reach out.