In 2019, after years of ignoring what my body had been screaming at me, it finally forced me to stop.

Not slow down. Stop.

I’d spent most of my life up until that point being the one who held it all together. I was the reliable & strong one who had what looked like success on the outside but behind all the planning, strategizing and busyness was a body & mind that was quietly breaking.

For twenty years I had made a living helping people slow down; first as an esthetician, then as the founder of a seven-figure spa business I'd built from nothing. I was good at creating safety for others. I had never once turned that care toward myself.

When the cancer diagnosis came I was struck by the terrible relief that at least now I had permission to rest.

But in that rest came a question I wasn't ready for: if I wasn't achieving, fixing, preparing, doing then who was I? If these things contributed to my body & mind finally breaking down then how could I even trust my own way of being in the world?

In this slow, dark time, as I was forced to be quiet and go inward, I began walking.

And noticing.

The trees in winter with broken branches reminded me of my own broken parts.

The new buds came in spring and I saw new potential and growth.

The aliveness & buzzing of the hot summer reminded me of my old busy ways of being.

In autumn, everything falling away again.

The cycles and rhythms in nature taught me patience, connection, and a new, softer kind of resilience.

In those years where the doing stopped and the being started, I found mentors, coaches & guides who helped me see the thread connecting ancient, seasonal wisdom to modern understanding.

And then I began dreaming of horses.

I had never been around horses, in fact I was afraid of them.

But in my dreams I felt no fear. I felt free, seen, safe, wild and alive.

Going against everything that made sense to my mind but felt right in my body, I signed up for a women’s equine retreat.

I stepped into the arena, shaking nervously and was met by Tango & the herd.

There the horses asked nothing of me. No striving, no performing, no fixing. They only asked me to be and feel; two things I’d been avoiding for years.

In this space, I felt parts of me open up that I’d either forgotten about or never knew existed. I felt wonder, peace & a grounded sense of self acceptance.

This is the work of Slow Season.

Not fixing what is broken.

Remembering what was always there.