Welcome
Welcome to Letters from the Body, a new space for monthly reflections on love, intimacy, and humanness.
Here, I’ll share the real-time edges of my own becoming: the tenderness, the beauty, the chaos, and the practices that bring me back home.
Each season, I’ll explore what it means to stay open; in our bodies, our relationships, and our truth, even when life feels impossibly full.
Thank you for being here at the beginning.
Fall is the season of letting go, a time for shedding and completion as we inch closer to winter, when the world turns inward and quiet.
It’s nature’s reminder that endings can be beautiful, and that decay makes room for deeper rooting.
I’ve been feeling this call toward completion and reflection lately, an invitation to slow down, to release what’s no longer needed, and to tend to what’s still alive inside.
This year has been one of immense change: six solo weeks in India, a second house flood, moving in with my partner and his two kids, and big shifts in my work landscape.
Each day I’m learning how to stay in my body, protect my temple, and keep my heart open, even as it breaks again and again.
Because when life feels overwhelming, our instinct is to close off, to numb, to turn away.
And yet, when we stay open, even tremblingly so, we make space for the full bandwidth of the human experience: heartbreak and joy, loss and love.
Only the willingness we have to dig deep into the ground will be matched equally by the height of the beautiful rose that grows above.
The Practice of Returning to Ourselves
Lately, I’ve been remembering the importance of coming back to ourselves through self-pleasure, not as a luxury, but as ritual self care.
To fill my own cup first.
To meet my partner from a place of wholeness, not hunger.
When we rely on others to fill our emptiness, connection becomes a transaction.
But when we are already full, connection becomes a bonus.
Self-pleasure, writing, stillness, movement, solitude, artist dates, friend time; these are the ways I remember myself.
These are the ways I return when the storm hits.
On Step-Parenthood and Devotion
Stepping into the beginnings of a step-parent role has been one of the deepest initiations of my life.
It’s learning to parent without the years that came before you.
It’s loving children who aren’t yours, even when that love isn’t always reflected back in words or actions.
It’s showing up, again and again, without expectation of recognition.
I think part of why this work runs so deep for me is because of my own experience as a child of divorce.
Over the years, I had a wide array of step-parents, each bringing their own textures of love, distance, and learning.
That history made me extra sensitive to how I show up with my partner’s boys.
I know firsthand how confusing it can be when adults orbit your family with a variety of intentions and uncertain roots.
So I tread with care, wanting to offer love without replacing, to be steady without overstepping.
And this process, of stepping into a step-parent role now, as an adult is having me re-explore parts of my own experience of my parents’ divorce.
It’s confronting as fuck.
Old feelings rise up. Tender ones. Protective ones. It’s like tending two timelines at once: the eleven-year-old in me and the woman I am now, both trying to figure out how to love in a house that wasn’t originally ours.
Recently while I was in a medicine ceremony with my dad (I know… big!), I realized that Mother Earth, in her endless generosity and constant presence, is the gold standard of motherhood. She gives without asking, loves without needing, and keeps showing up. That’s my north star now.
When I’m with the kids, my daily practice is regulation, noticing the first flickers of dysregulation before they spiral into overwhelm.
Using my tools before it’s triage.
Staying open and loving without collapsing into old triggers.
It’s not easy. It takes work, presence, and patience. But it happens.
Resourcing Through Entropy
There are moments that test everything I know
when it takes me 6 months to replace my driver’s license because of a system error,
when the toilet overflows and my bedroom is condemned (a literal shitstorm),
when I’m still battling with our home owner’s insurance company 5 months after,
when a family member gets sick,
when my partner’s son refuses to eat breakfast because his dad’s away.
when I wake up with a migraine that puts me out for 24 hours,
Each time, I return to what roots me.
What are your core truths that bring you back to center when you are surrounded by entropy?
From My Bookshelf
I’ve been reading Utopia for Realists by Rutger Bregman. It’s a hopeful and practical reimagining of how we can build a world rooted in trust, generosity, and collective care.
It’s a reminder that imagining better systems in our relationships, our communities, and our own inner worlds isn’t naïve, it’s necessary.
We need books like these right now. Desperately.
Upcoming Workshops
If you’re navigating your own season of transition: heartbreak, change, or expansion —these circles are spaces to come home to yourself.
🌿 The Wheel of Consent Workshop – November 25, Denver, CO
An evening of embodied exploration in boundaries, receiving, and honest communication.
🔥 Desire Mapping Workshop – December 3, Denver, CO
A guided journey into your authentic desires — what lights you up and brings you home.
Closing
As the leaves fall and the air cools, I’m reminded that endings can be soft, that letting go is its own kind of grace.
May this season bring you the courage to release what’s ready to die, and the tenderness to nurture what wants to live.
May you return, again and again, to your body’s quiet wisdom.
With love & truth,
Jade
I love to see you here, Jade!!