Three days before our grand opening, our unit passed every inspection, every detail inside Thrivewell Hub ready. But the building itself did not pass, and two days before opening, I made the decision to postpone. To be so close, close enough to exhale, and then pause is a particular kind of ache, especially when this vision has lived inside me for over a year.

It was not easy to pick myself back up emotionally, but everything about this journey has felt aligned, and because of that, I am choosing to trust this pause. We will open when it is fully cleared, not rushed, not forced, not compromised. Sometimes the final tightening before expansion is the one that tests you most.

For a long time, I thought I was building a wellness space, a studio, a shop, a place for workshops and gathering. But recently, I began to understand something deeper. After years of living in quiet survival mode, always striving and proving and pushing forward, I learned how deeply our culture keeps us in fight or flight. And I realized that healing doesn’t happen when we try harder, it happens when the body finally feels safe enough to soften. That realization changed the way I saw everything, including Thrivewell.

Without consciously planning it, this space became something more than a business. It became a place to exhale. A place designed with warm light, slow rituals, and room to simply be, where shoulders drop and voices soften and nothing is being asked of you. In many ways, Thrivewell is a parasympathetic sanctuary in tangible form, a place where the nervous system can rest and the soul can finally be heard. This letter shares the story of how that understanding unfolded and how Thrivewell came to life.

It took me two weeks to publish this letter.
Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I am in it now.

The walls feel close. The work is real. The vision that once lived quietly inside of me is taking form, brick by brick, light by light. This season is asking for everything I have, not certainty, not perfection, but presence.

I am still moving forward. With fear, with resolve, with devotion. And if you are standing at the edge of something that matters too, know this, you are not behind. You are right where growth begins.

This chapter of my research explores leadership through history, lineage, and lived experience, tracing how power has been claimed, questioned, and carried across time. From the foundations of monarchy to the deliberate design of democracy, and into the personal responsibility of modern leadership, these reflections consider what it means to hold a seat with humility, accountability, and care. Thrivewell exists as a response to these questions, offering space to step out of rigid systems and into a more conscious, self-led way of living and leading.

Lately, my research has pulled me into a deeper appreciation for how leadership, belief, and responsibility have shaped history over time. From the early foundations of monarchy, to the intentional design of a democracy built with balance and accountability, to timeless stories of people called to work larger than themselves, a familiar theme keeps appearing: lasting impact is rarely driven by certainty alone. It grows from humility, reflection, and a steady moral compass, especially when the work feels meaningful, challenging, and bigger than any one person.

Written two days after the Wolf Full Moon, this letter marks a return from a quiet inward season. It reflects on solitude, intuition, and the wisdom of willingly moving through temporary discomfort to reach grounded clarity. Inspired by a powerful gathering and the calm alignment felt within it, this reflection explores how intuition awakens not through force, but through presence, shared experience, and trust in the unfolding path.

Sometimes clarity doesn’t arrive as confidence, it arrives as discomfort. This letter reflects on a season of pause, misalignment, and return, and what it truly means to listen to intuition when the path forward asks you to slow down rather than push ahead.

This week has been a tender limbo, navigating tough lease negotiations, waiting on unanswered communication, and moving just enough to stay ready without wasting steps. In the middle of that standstill, a spark arrived: children drawn to my vendor booth, two children’s authors crossing my path, and the realization that Thrivewell needed tools for young hearts too. That moment became the birth of Thrivewell Kids.

December has always been an interfaith season long before it had a name. Across cultures and centuries, people honored the darkest days of the year with rituals of light, hope, reflection, and renewal. From the winter solstice to Yule, Saturnalia, Hanukkah, Advent, and Christmas, every tradition shares the same ancient truth: even in the deepest dark, light always finds its way back.

After speaking with a friend experiencing deep grief, I found myself reflecting on a pattern that has shaped my own healing journey. Grief is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It is part of the natural balance we experience as human beings. Every time life has stretched me to my breaking point, something meaningful has eventually risen to meet that darkness. As we step into 2026, a Universal Year 1 and a time of renewal, I hope this reflection reminds anyone in a season of loss that the stretch often comes before the breakthrough.

On November 21st, something unexpected cracked open a part of me I thought time had sealed. A simple phone call with my mother turned into the moment a twenty-year-old story resurfaced, the story of Jet, the young black-and-white horse who once mirrored the truest version of myself. I didn’t know it then, but losing her was the first time I stepped off my own path. For years, Jet lived quietly in the background of my memory, a thread running through my life in ways I never fully understood. She appeared in symbols, in colors, in choices, in moments of intuition I didn’t yet know how to trust. And on this day, under a retrograde meant for revisiting old wounds, everything aligned. The past walked back in, not as nostalgia, but as a call to heal something I had carried across two decades of becoming.

This is a story about destiny, timing, and the full-circle moments that reveal who we were always meant to be. A story of a horse, a girl, and the winding path that brings us back to ourselves.

This week brought a powerful alignment on both the cosmic and personal level, a solar storm, the 11/11 portal, Northern Lights across the country, and a breakthrough that changed everything for Thrivewell. In just two days, the first full draft of The Thrivewell Core Philosophy poured onto the page, and by November 15th the manuscript was officially completed and submitted for pre-publishing review. After months of building, breaking open, and realigning, the philosophy that anchors Thrivewell is finally ready to meet the world. The book will open for pre-orders in December and officially launch on January 1, 2026, marking both New Year’s Day and the 30-day countdown to the Thrivewell Hub Grand Opening. The very first physical copies will be available at our Grand Opening Weekend.

Under the light of the Beaver Full Moon, I traced my lineage back to my 10th great-grandfather and felt the weight of generations guiding me. Days later, as Thrivewell took its first public form at the Expo, I realized the connection, my ancestors built settlements; I am building sanctuaries. What once lived only in my heart is now alive in the world, and this is only the beginning.

As October folds into November, something ancient begins to stir. The air shifts, the light softens, and storms seem to find their way back into my story, as if reminding me that chaos and calm are part of the same rhythm. From being born during Hurricane Gloria to feeling the winds of Hurricane Melissa on Samhain, I’m beginning to see the quiet poetry beneath it all, the way nature, remembrance, and spirit all move in spirals, returning us again and again to the center: to stillness, to gratitude, to peace.

While reading about Cerridwen’s cauldron, I realized how my Greek and Celtic roots, Thrivewell’s twelve pathways, and the universe’s timing all flow together in one sacred design. And then, as if to affirm it, my one small treat from this week’s order arrived, a tiny cauldron, right on cue.

While listening to a single lyric about dancing through lightning strikes, I remembered that I was born in a hurricane and realized that the storm wasn’t something I survived. It was something that shaped me. This week, as I build Thrivewell’s foundation, I’m learning to honor both the structure and the storm.

This is the week everything begins to take form, the lease, the investor, the vision. What once lived only in faith is becoming tangible, and every step forward feels guided by something greater. The foundation is real now, and so is the trust that built it.

After months of reaching, waiting, and wondering, I’ve learned that stillness isn’t the absence of movement, it’s the sacred inhale before creation. This letter is about trusting divine timing, honoring the spiral, and realizing that the light doesn’t always return with noise, it returns when we’re finally ready to carry it.

For three months I lived in the sacred in-between, suspended between fear and faith, between holding on and letting go. Then, on 10/10, something shifted. Every piece I’d been waiting for finally fell into place. The investor. The lease. The yes. After years of rebuilding and believing, I realized the miracle wasn’t that it happened, it’s that I never stopped trusting it would.

This week stretched me thinner than I’ve ever been, mind, body, and faith. I’ve battled the dark thoughts that rise like waves, shown up empty, and still kept walking the path. Under the full moon, I reread two pages that have carried me through my recovery, Page 417 on acceptance and Page 63’s Third Step Prayer. One asks me to stop fighting what is, the other to hand over what will be. Together they form the spiral between fear and trust — the space where I keep turning toward the light.