Over the past six months, something has been shifting in me.
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I didn't have words for it at first.

It was said that 2025 was the year of the snake. And what we know about snakes is that they shed their skin to make way for the new.

Looking back at this past year, that metaphor certainly feels fitting.

For me, the end of 2024 and 2025 were a time of expansion. I explored new ideas, different offerings, and directions that seemed promising. I was curious, open, and experimenting — all good things that helped me get clearer on where I needed to go.

But eventually something in me started whispering that something wasn’t quite right.

And I realized something important.

I had started chasing shiny objects instead of listening deeply to who I actually am and what this work is truly asking of me.

So I slowed down.

I made space for quiet and for listening. I spent time in prayer, in ritual, in reflection, and in community with others who are also walking a path of deep inner work.

This helped me sit in the unknown.

No doing.

Just being.

Almost like the moment before a snake sheds its skin — when the old layer no longer fits, but the new one hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

It is a vulnerable place to stand between what was and what is becoming.

It’s also something our culture doesn’t encourage. We are conditioned to seek certainty, control, and the illusion of safety that comes from always moving, always producing, always knowing what comes next.

But through the work I’ve done over many years, I’ve learned that there is often gold waiting for us in the silence, in the nothingness — if we are willing to sit with ourselves long enough to find it.

It is uncomfortable to be there.

And it is also where something new begins to take shape.

All of this has been unfolding, while I’ve also been feeling deeply affected by what is happening in our world right now.

I find myself moving through waves of grief, anger, rage, and sometimes despair.

It can feel as though humanity keeps repeating the same brutal lessons of history. War. Dehumanization. Violence. And over and over again, it is women, children, and those who are marginalized who become the casualties.

Those with power exploiting those without it.

Entire peoples being “othered” and stripped of their humanity.

These realities are felt in our bodies whether we acknowledge them or not.

And when we don’t move these energies, they drain us of the very life force we need to create the world we long to see.

And I began to understand why this work matters so deeply.

We desperately need spaces where we can show up with the full truth of what we are carrying.

Spaces where anger can be felt and transformed into something constructive.

Spaces where grief can move instead of hardening into numbness.

Spaces where despair can be held in community rather than suffered alone — so that hope can slowly be restored.

Spaces where we can reconnect to joy and desire.

Spaces where we can listen again to the deeper intelligence of our bodies and our souls.

These are the kinds of spaces I care deeply about creating and holding.

Because the way we have been taught to carry our emotions — alone, quietly, and productively — is not actually working.

Because our feelings are not frivolous.

They are signals of life.

And when we suppress them long enough, we begin to contract.

We become numb.
Over-functioning.
Stuck in mental loops.

Disconnected from our bodies, from spirit, from the land, from one another, and from the vitality that gives life meaning.

Something new is growing in this space — in the work I feel called to hold and to create.

And as it becomes clearer, I will share more about what this next chapter of my work will look like.

For now, I simply wanted to share this part of the journey with you.

Because sometimes the very thing that allows us to grow is the willingness to shed the old skin that no longer fits.

And while that process can feel vulnerable, it is also how something more alive begins to emerge — just as the snake must shed its skin in order to grow.

With love,
Teresa