At this time of year it often starts with what we call “getting sick.” A heaviness in the body. A low, quiet ache. A subtle tickle at the back of the throat. Tiredness arrives first. Then the thought follows: Oh no… I’m getting sick.

When I slowed down enough to listen this morning, it wasn’t my thoughts that spoke first — it was my body. A familiar tightness deep in my hips, especially on the left. I could trace the tension up along my lower spine. The psoas. A place I’ve learned to associate with vigilance and holding.

In late autumn, bears begin slipping into hibernation—not on a precise date, but when the world around them shifts. As daylight fades, temperatures drop, and food becomes more challenging to find, these furry beings naturally read these cues and choose to go inward.

Each year, I notice how my body does something similar.

For me, gratitude isn’t a list or a command. It’s not something I can force myself to feel or prove by writing it down. Gratitude, to me, is more like a quiet relationship between body, breath, and being — a conversation that unfolds when I slow down enough to listen.

I wish someone had told me that trauma and anxiety are deeply interwoven — creating strong, misunderstood emotions that are not signs of weakness, but signals of something deeper. Together, they are informational.

We go through life changes because if we didn’t, well we wouldn’t be living.

Within freeze mode, the hyper-arousal from the fight/flight response remains hidden in the body. To return to homeostasis, one must first navigate back through the fight/flight state.

And when we slow down enough to listen, the body begins to reveal itself.

The verb “balance” means to keep or position something steadily so it doesn’t fall.

With all the tools we’re given to “manage anxiety,” it’s easy to feel like we’re failing when they don’t work right away.

When Deep Fatigue Is a Sign of Healing

The quiet impact of growing up without a mom.