In our Sunday Women’s Circle, we spoke to the elephant in the room.
One by one, each woman faced the feelings churning deep within. Courage became our staff to lean on. It wasn’t only the fear of a world that feels unstable. It was the bitter taste of betrayal. Still, one at a time, we spoke. One at a time, we allowed the physical sensations to rest.
No one tried to deny. No one tried to justify. No one tried to fix.
The air was thick. But no match for our voices.
And then — that sweet, innocent elephant dropped to her knees and placed her head in our collective lap.
We hummed. We cried.
Eventually, we spoke of the light — you know the one — the brightness that appears when clouds thin just enough to let it through.
We spoke of gratitude:
for the birds who found the feeders in the snow,
for the pups who romped freely on the beach,
for the stranger who lifted the heavy load into her car.
The thickness gave way to light. The heaviness lingered, but it no longer led the room.
Together, we breathed — not a sigh of relief, but a sigh of awareness.Yes. This too will pass.
And we will still be standing.
Walking arm in arm.
This reflection lives alongside the larger body of work I’m shaping: Coming Home to Myself, a book in progress exploring embodiment, frequency, grief, sovereignty, and the quiet courage of belonging to oneself.