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something I’ve been sitting with lately: if my wo something I’ve been sitting with lately:

if my work was forged in the things I had to survive, what happens to my work when I’m no longer surviving them?

if I’m not actively untangling myself from something, do I still know how to sit beside someone who is?

mmm the more I sit with it, the answer feels simple:

the remembering isn’t remembering how to be the old facilitator.

it’s remembering that my potency never came from my pain.

my experiences informed me. they gave me language and empathy and texture. but the thing that makes me good at holding you in yours isn’t that I’m currently suffering alongside you.

it’s my capacity. 
to see.
to listen.
to stay.
to ask.
to notice.
to reflect.

to create enough safety for you to hear yourself.

and mayyybe there’s something even more powerful about facilitating from the other side of some of it—not because I have everything figured out, but because I’m no longer unconsciously asking my work to process my own life at the same time.

maybe moving beyond a season doesn’t mean losing what it gave you.

maybe you get to keep the wisdom without continuing to live inside the circumstances that taught it to you.

which feels like an especially appropriate thing to remember on august 31st, while everyone is prematurely announcing the death of summer…

a season changing doesn’t mean it disappeared.

also, summer doesn’t end until september 22nd. respectfully, put the pumpkins down. 😆
before you move every piece on the board, notice t before you move every piece on the board, notice the one constant in every version of your life—you.

what might change if you stopped rearranging long enough to notice what keeps coming with you?
⚠️ BE ADVISED BEFORE MEETING ASHLEY JEANNE: 1.) s ⚠️ BE ADVISED BEFORE MEETING ASHLEY JEANNE:

1.) she is going to notice you.

not in the normal “nice to meet you, what do you do?” way. In the deeply inconvenient way where you make one throwaway comment and 45 minutes later she’s asking you a question that makes you realize you’ve been organizing your entire personality around something that happened when you were twelve.

2.) she is warm. funny. deeply unserious about herself and extremely serious about being alive.

3.) she will make a joke in the middle of a profound conversation. she will probably swear. maybe cry. she will absolutely laugh while crying. there is a non-zero chance you’ll somehow end up discussing your nervous system, your childhood, your relationship with desire, and Real Housewives within the same conversation.

4.) DO NOT mistake her softness for passivity.

she has opinions. 😆
she has boundaries.
she has questions.
she can smell bullshit approximately three business days before it arrives.

5.) she spent enough of her life performing “good” that she has very little interest in helping you perform it too.

she wants the real thing.

the messy answer.
the thing you almost didn’t say.
the desire underneath the responsible choice.
the version of you that exists when nobody needs anything from you.

and unfortunately, she’s very good at making that person feel welcome.

6.) ALSO: she’s going to encourage you to do something mildly unhinged if your body lights up when you talk about it. she’ll call it intuition. you’ll call it irresponsible. six months later? you’ll begrudgingly admit she had a point.

7.) she will romanticize coffee on an ordinary Tuesday. make movement mean something.
turn a run-on sentence into a yoga class.
and somehow make “doing less” feel like an act of rebellion.

so, yes. MEET HER.

just understand that there is a reasonable possibility you’ll leave laughing harder than expected, feeling slightly more exposed than anticipated, and wondering:

“WAIT.

do I even like the life I’ve been working this hard to maintain?”

and Ashley will be somewhere sipping her coffee like:

😏 I love that for you.
annoying, honestly. because my brain had prepared annoying, honestly. because my brain had prepared a VERY compelling counterargument.

it had evidence.
context.
pros and cons.
other people’s opinions.
a beautifully constructed explanation for why I should just keep going.

meanwhile, my body was over there like:

“GIRL.” 🤨 

the tightness was information.
the exhaustion was information.
the relief was information.
the expansion was information.
the thing in me that softened when I imagined one choice and braced when I imagined another?

information.

and no, I don’t believe every uncomfortable sensation is a divine telegram telling you to blow up your life.

but I do think we’ve gotten exceptionally good at asking everyone and everything outside of ourselves to confirm what something quieter inside of us has been saying for a while.

that’s part of why I’m so interested in the felt experience of movement lately.

because your mat becomes a pretty fascinating place to notice:

do I listen when my body speaks?

or do I immediately start negotiating with her?

do I notice the no before I override it?

can I feel the yes without needing to justify it?

can I stay with sensation long enough to hear what it’s actually saying instead of deciding what I think it should mean?

because self-trust isn’t built by always knowing the right answer.

it’s built in the tiny moments when you stop abandoning yourself long enough to hear one.

and, respectfully…

your body has probably been leaving you voicemails 📞 for years.
take it from a girly who’s spent years thinking gr take it from a girly who’s spent years thinking growth had to feel big, bold and dramatic:

your life is built in Tuesdays, not breakthroughs and the little things you do eventually become your personality.

best choose them wisely. 🙃
the more I think about it, the more I’m starting b the more I think about it, the more I’m starting believe we’re not actually chasing confidence, we’re chasing relief.

relief that maybe if we accomplish one more thing…
lose ten more pounds…
become a little more productive…
get one more person to choose us…
then maybe just *maybe* we’ll finally feel like we can exhale.

except in all that “more” the finish line keeps moving.

so here’s a thought: what if enoughness isn’t something you prove?

what if it’s something you remember the moment you put down the burden of constantly presenting your case.

mmm now that, bestie, is a very different problem to solve.

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