“I’ve got you,” he said, lifting my injured shoulder onto the massage table, warm pressure settling me.
“I’ve got you.”
Three words, and my body remembers safety, fear dissolves, and I find permission to lean into the unknown.
“I’ve got you.”

I have two adult children, two young women, they are not mine, they belong to themselves, I helped raise them alongside their dad and an army of friends and family who all played a role, big or small, in shaping who they’re becoming.
My ego wants to say they are mine, they belong to me, because that gives me a whole lot of fucking purpose, becoming a mum at twenty four answered my soul’s cry, why are you here.

There’s a piece of writing I’ve always loved: people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.
A reason. It’s to meet a need. To hold out a hand when you’re stumbling, to share a resource, to offer the right word at the right time. Those moments change you, even if they’re brief.

I’m a creature of rhythm at home—early mornings, clean living, tea ceremony, same coffee shop, same mat. When I travel, I do the same, landing somewhere and building a little life, then mixing it with art, friends, nature, and night life. I travel slow, living as I do at home, just in a new place.