Category: Blog-Tending Yourself

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Returning to Yourself

The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.

They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.

A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.

Crowded with responsibilities, information, expectations, decisions, and the steady rhythm of accomplishing what needs to be done. Yet many quietly sense there may be another way to move through life. One that feels more spacious, more relational, and more deeply their own.

We often assume what we need is another answer. Another practice. Another book. Another workshop. Yet what I’ve witnessed over the years is something much simpler.

Most women don’t need more information. They need a different relationship with the life they are already living.

That’s where Via Sophia begins.

Not as a philosophy to adopt or a spiritual identity to become. Via Sophia is simply the Way of Living Wisdom. A way of meeting yourself, other people, nature, beauty, challenge, joy, and the ordinary moments of everyday life with greater presence, intimacy, and participation.

This is why I’m gathering women in the lush jungle of Costa Rica. Not because wisdom only exists in beautiful places. It doesn’t.

But because becoming spacious within beauty creates clarity.

When life slows enough, something remarkable begins to happen. Your body softens. The constant internal conversation quiets. Your attention widens.

You begin hearing yourself again.

Not the version shaped by urgency or expectation, but the quieter wisdom that has been patiently waiting beneath the noise.

Your voice. Unwoven from the cacophony of societal noise.

Your rhythm. Loosened from the momentum of a cluttered schedule.

There is value of retreating within your own being. More easily done when you are temporarily away from habitual living. Embraced and nourished within the natural world, you relax and reorganize.

So you may return to the relationship with yourself. So you may inhabit the life you are living.

Via Sophia is not something you learn and then apply later. It is a way of becoming more intimate with the life you are already living.

Over time, you begin recognizing wisdom as it appears in ordinary moments. How compassion naturally softens a difficult conversation. Where discernment brings clarity to a decision. When beauty becomes nourishment rather than decoration. How courage quietly asks you to take one honest step forward.

Within Via Sophia, you are invited into relationship with thirteen Mystical Mothers.

Each offering companionships as they model qualities and ways of being that help you recognize what is already living within you. Whether used as nourishing resources, teachers, or mirrors, the intelligence of each Mystical Mother invites recognition of your participation in life. And how you may more consciously engage in the living conversation that is alive in every moment.

Within Via Sophia, every phase of life is welcomed.

Joy and sorrow. Clarity and confusion. Rest and emergence. Belonging and solitude. Loving and letting go. Nothing is excluded. Nothing needs to be hidden. Everything becomes part of the conversation because Life itself holds everything.

Everything is welcome in this natural way of being. Because Life holds everything.

In Costa Rica, this way of living becomes easier to notice.

The rainforest teaches alongside us. The ocean soothes you. Meals offer slow, meaningful conversations. Silence becomes nourishing. Laughter becomes part of the practice. Before long, you begin to notice that every moment is part of the living conversation.

You don’t come to Costa Rica to escape your life. You come to remember how you want to live it.

Sometimes the path isn’t asking you to find yet another way of being. Sometimes it is asking you to inhabit the one that is already quietly unfolding beneath your feet.

This October I’ll be welcoming a small circle of women to Selva Armonia in Costa Rica. 

Together we’ll spend a week exploring Via Sophia – the Way of Living Wisdom – not as something to master, but as a way of inhabiting our lives more fully. If something within you longs for beauty, spaciousness, meaningful conversation, and a more intimate relationship with Life, perhaps this is your invitation.

If you feel called to immerse in beauty with me, I’d love to see what we discover together. Let’s have a conversation.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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The Descent

The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears.

Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.

I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.

Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her.

Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.

The father leaned in for a moment. Then he settled back into his seat, AirPods in, phone in hand. Whether he was giving space or simply unsure what to do, I couldn’t know.

So the mother carried the weight alone.

The toddler writhed, buckled, flailing against the seatbelt she could not tolerate. From where I sat, it seemed her little nervous system was overwhelmed by the simple truth of ear pain and sudden awakening.



The mother redirected and redirected again.

“Stop it. Sit still. Look out the window, try your words, watch the video.” She made a gallant effort without realizing her daughter was too young to orient and too overwhelmed to anchor on anything.

The flight attendant called out to make sure the toddler remained on the mother’s lap. 

The mom’s voice got louder. Her distress seeping through her words as they became harsher, more desperate to quiet her child.

I felt how desperately she wanted to help her daughter. Trying so hard to be a good mother, yet overwhelmed by a thrashing screaming little body and a plane filled with silence. 



The woman beside me began offering commentary, her tone gentle but misplaced, unaware that her attention tightened the field even more.

Another voice, another witness, another layer of pressure.



“Look outside… see the lights… almost there…” she called softly, trying to help the situation. The entire row vibrated with tension.

The Mother began to say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” To her child, to the flight attendant, to the plane.

Sometimes the kindest thing we can offer is one less person trying to change the moment.

So I closed my eyes and let myself drop into my own body. Into the steadiness beneath the moment.

Into that inner quiet that knows how to hold a field without trying to change anything. My breath widened. My body calmed. The space around us softened.

I became the still point in the middle of someone else’s storm.

And then a single tear slid from the corner of my right eye, unnoticed by anyone but me. Not for the noise or the inconvenience. An acknowledgment of the pain of that family, yet it was larger than that.

It was for my awareness of how often we miss each other. For all the ways human beings miss one another despite loving each other deeply. For all the moments in my own life when I, too, had empathic misses with the people I love.

Every human has been misunderstood in their moment of pain. Every human has misunderstood someone else.

The toddler kept screaming. The mother kept trying. The descent kept descending.

My awareness continued to widen beyond the row, beyond the plane, beyond the small family struggling to land inside their bodies. I saw the universal ache of humans trying to read each other with partial maps. And the pain of not being met, even when it is unintended.

We touched down with a jolt. The mother apologized to the air, to the rows, to the invisible judgment she felt all around her. The child sagged into exhaustion. The field exhaled. It was done.

And all I could think was: I am not here to fix the world. I am here to see it clearly, love it fiercely, and let whatever ripples out, ripple.

As we stood and gathered our bags, I found myself silently wishing that family well. I hoped the little girl’s ears would soon stop hurting. I hoped her mother would be gentle with herself. I hoped they would all sleep well that night.

It reminded me how often we meet one another with our best intentions and our limited understanding. Perhaps that’s simply part of being human.

Maybe it’s enough to notice. To soften. To honor the best efforts of a mother, a father, a frightened child, a kind stranger, and all of us who are learning, one ordinary moment at a time, how to meet life and one another more gently.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Distracted? Airport Personnel Weigh In

I enjoy airports. Most likely because they signal that a travel adventure is about to begin.

My family followed the “arrive two hours early” rule for every flight, and I’m still a fan. It allows me to relax and enjoy the airport phase of the travel experience. I’m not worried about security lines, overpriced water, or what boarding group I’m in. Although, truth be told, those days of being upgraded to first class have left a subtle longing for wider seats and fewer people.

I recently breezed through security and settled at my gate in a small Florida airport.

I had ninety minutes before boarding, so I pulled out my laptop, AirPods, and playlist. My belongings comfortably beside me, I settled into my project with Ludovico Einaudi playing at just the right volume. Loud enough to drown out most conversations around me, while still allowing the flight announcements to filter through.

I began noticing the voice patterns of the many announcements being made. Cheerful gate agents, no-nonsense gate agents, and a variety of pleasant voices making neutral announcements about people leaving their stuff behind.

And by stuff, I mean important stuff.

You might be surprised by the things people leave behind at the airport.

a hard shell brown carry-on suitcase
a phone left at security
a phone left on the plane
a stuffed animal (ouch!)
a carry-on left on the plane
a string of red licorice
(just checking your attention here)
yet another phone
Mr. “Smith,” please come to the information desk to pick up the “personal item” you left behind
another personal ID
one small blue sneaker (another ouch)
a backpack left at security
a white and yellow sweater waiting at the information desk

You get the idea, and that was just a short snippet of time while I was only partially paying attention to the frequent airport announcements.

Still, it made me wonder.

What narrows attention so much that really important personal items get left behind?

Travel offers the perfect storm for distraction.

There is rushing, overstimulation, unfamiliar environments, constant announcements, and the subtle background stress of schedules, security lines, and gate changes. The mind narrows its focus to the next task, and everything else drops outside the frame.

Of course, this isn’t limited to airports.

You may have left your credit card at a store, your sweater at the salon, or your sunglasses on a restaurant table. I once left my purse hanging on the back of my chair in the pizzeria at the mall. It goes without saying that my friends laughed among themselves as they tracked my head bobbing through the crowd while I raced back to retrieve it. I can still recall the startled expression on a woman’s face as I appeared, slightly breathless, pointing to my purse.

So no judgment here.

But if you are distracted or overwhelmed enough to leave your purse, your ID, your phone, or your child’s shoe behind (okay, that one probably slipped off a foot in a stroller), it might be time to slow down.

This applies whether you are commuting in the air, by car, on foot, or simply traveling between floors in your own home.

Before you rush off to the next place, or the next task, pause for a moment.
Take a breath.
Look around.
Check in with where you are.
Notice what you’re doing next.

Sometimes the smallest pause is all it takes to gather yourself, your attention, and hopefully all of your belongings before moving on.

Distracted? Of course you are in this day and age.

Yet you are also quite capable of using simple moments of awareness to protect your precious documents, your peace of mind, and perhaps even that favorite yellow and white sweater.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Care within the Cold Dark Winter

Driving into Soul Sanctuary last weekend, I noticed the trees were engaged in a wild dance.

I should have paid closer attention as I got out of the car, because the wind nearly took me with it. Walking to the door, I had to lean in and brace myself for a moment just to stay upright. The cold whipped through my clothes and found every uncovered space, sharing its bone-numbing chill.

I’m a bit over the cold, dark days of winter. And it’s only the beginning of February.

I wondered how a child who grew up playing and skiing in the snow could become an adult who avoids the cold like a hot potato.

I’m not alone in feeling that this winter has been long and unrelenting. The cold settled in, the snow kept arriving, and the darkness has lingered a bit too long. I’ve noticed that people who usually move, walk, and gather are sharing a quiet resistance toward going outside.

It’s not dramatic. More like a deep reluctance to push against what is already heavy.

It shows up when you don’t want to go out. You don’t want to muster and you want to stay within the comfort of home. Yet, alongside that is a missing of being outside, walking and breathing, and moving through the world more freely.

I’ve been thinking about how comfort soothes dark and cold times, both with weather and with the circumstances of life.

In Norway, there are months when sunlight disappears almost entirely. People don’t fight the inevitable. They prepare, adapt, and even celebrate the dark cold. They cultivate warmth in their homes with candles, roaring fires, and hearty soups. They strap headlamps on and walk to meet friends at a café or pull bundled-up children on sleds to family gatherings.

Some brave souls even gather at the sea, entering frigid water with hardiness and laughter as a communal ritual. While the thought makes me shudder, I appreciate the reminder that aliveness, in any weather, can be celebrated.

In my neck of the woods, people have grown used to mild winters and a few days of melting snow.

Persistent cold invites retreat inward. In some ways, this mirrors the season of Winter itself. A time to slow down, enjoy the quiet, and allow the body to restore. This is where seeds of inspiration are nourished, waiting for warmer days and heightened energy.

When moods, energy, physical activity, and social engagement dip, there is often a quiet, or not so quiet, voice that says something is wrong.

That you should be handling things better, staying upbeat, being more productive, or pushing through some imagined standard.

What if that story isn’t true? What if this long, dark, cold stretch is asking for a different kind of care, one that doesn’t require justification?

Caring well for yourself in winter invites honoring how your internal rhythms are moving and what you genuinely require at this time.

It’s a season when your system may be conserving energy or seeking comfort because conditions are demanding. Responding accurately means noticing this rather than overriding it. Winter invites choosing warmth, beauty, and pleasure without apologizing for them or framing them as indulgence.

Comfy clothes. Time under blankets. Home-cooked meals. Less socializing and more contemplation.

For most, this isn’t the season for optimization. Winter is the season for tending.

 

You might find yourself drawn to slower mornings, softer lighting, heavier blankets, and food that takes time.

You might want fewer conversations but deeper ones. You might want to read instead of scroll, sit by a window instead of pushing yourself out into the cold, or let your evenings close down naturally rather than staying artificially bright and busy.

It’s also important to discern whether you’re enjoying winter and thriving in the cold, or pushing yourself to maintain a rhythm that’s easier with light and warmth. People vary. It helps to know where you land.

Layered beneath this cold, snowy weather is another kind of winter.

Looking out into the world right now, the climate feels harsh in more ways than one. Division, outrage, harm to people and the environment, and unsettling news create a sense that something essential is being strained or torn.

Witnessing the state of the world can feel like a long season with no clear thaw in sight.

That makes personalized care even more important, not less.

Choosing comfort, warmth, and nourishment, if that’s what’s called for, makes good sense.

It’s wise to harmonize your nervous system, calm your mind, and soothe your emotions. This is how you remain capable of kindness, discernment, and presence when the world feels loud and fractured.

Care doesn’t have to be dramatic. It can be quietly pleasing.

A candle lit for no reason. A meal that actually satisfies. An early night without explanation. A conversation that feels human instead of performative.

You don’t need to earn these things by being productive first. You don’t need to frame them as self-improvement. You are simply responding to Winter as Winter, living in a way that matches your preference and bandwidth.

Movement will return, of course. Light is already on its way. Cold and snow will soften, and days outside will become more inviting.

But those days have not arrived yet. Don’t jump ahead or live as if they have. There’s something deeply supportive about being in sync with your inner rhythm in every season. When you’re not, strain builds inside and everything outside feels harder.

This cold, dark, often windy season asks you to stay close to yourself.

To tend the small hearths of your life in ways that feel pleasing and comforting.

And if you worry that you’re withdrawing too much from the world, be at peace.

This is a time to inhabit the way you’re called to live right now. Close, warm, and true to yourself.

There will be a time to turn outward again. Listen for the inner urge, but there’s no need to move before you’re ready.

Enjoy this time if you can. Seasons change. Light returns. And warmth is always generated from within.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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4 Tips for Reducing Holiday Tension

The Thanksgiving Holiday is upon us in the United States.

Bringing families and friends together to share a meal with gratitude for the abundance of love, food, community, and pleasure. Unless tensions arise for any number of reasons. Perhaps you stress when hosting, families don’t get along, you are dealing with grief or loneliness, someone drinks too much, politics get dicey, or any number of ways your leftover childhood issues come uninvited to dinner.

Here’s four suggestions to lower your tension this turkey day.

1. Be Yourself

That might sound obvious, but it’s hard for people to be comfortable in their own skin when there is any kind of tension present. Family gatherings may be the one place you actually drop into yourself and feel at home. I’m happy for you. I’m also aware that a large number of people feel anxious in anticipation of all those inlaws and outlaws gathering in one place.

What if you decided ahead of time to show up as who you feel yourself to be?

If you’re used to wearing a mask or using strategies to protect yourself, why not let at least one of them drop off? If that sounds terrifying, try it out for a few minutes with the most benign person at dinner. Most people don’t notice you’re all masked up like its Halloween, so they won’t notice if you let just one layer loose.

As long as you feel safe enough, it’s an interesting game to play. After all, it’s up to you to step into your own skin, comfy or not, so perhaps you give yourself permission this year to begin.

2. Acknowledge your personal, family and or friend situation.

You all may be at peace, enthusiastic about your lives, and happy to stuff your face together. Or you may be in a terrible fight, hate being in a crowd, are deep in grief, or worried about that relative who has gone off the rails. Whether it is temporary or long standing, let it be that.

Wishing life was different or getting angry at others for being who they are, where they are, and how they’re behaving is gonna give you indigestion.

Deciding ahead of time to make peace with your situation or come to a temporary truce within yourself may allow you to take the edge off. With that mindset shift, you might actually find some beauty hidden in the day.

3. Remember to wear pants.

This is for anyone feeling the stress of hosting and trying to make a meal tasty and special for everyone. Worrying about how clean the house is, whether the turkey will be moist, or if you have enough matching place settings is beside the point. You’re hosting. Everyone else is grateful they are not.

It doesn’t need to be perfect and you don’t have to worry about everyone’s wellbeing. Don’t fry your brain over entertaining. Even if your guests are grumpy and silently judging your spread, they’re still eating your meal.

So, forget worrying about what other people think.

Keep it simple and do your best. Above all, remember to wear pants. 


Or a skirt. Seriously, as long as you remember the basics like getting dressed and putting some food on the table, the day will be a success. Spray some lemon spray by the front door so guests think your house is clean and enjoy your day.

4. Focus on the worthy.

It’s Thanksgiving and the hint is in the name. Spend some time contemplating what’s really important in life. What are you grateful for? Even if life isn’t quite working out as you’d like, spend the day saying thank you – aloud and silently – for all you have been given, created, and are in the process of dreaming.

Be generous with your gratitude.

Play a game where you let everyone know your appreciation. One at a time. Thank them for who they are, what they’ve given you, or, if all else fails, for passing the gravy. Be generous – give that thanks away freely.

And don’t forget to pass some loving gratitude to yourself.

For showing up however you have on this day of Giving Thanks. And for all the ways you make the world sparkle a bit brighter because you exist.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions.