Tag: November

🕊️ The Return: A November Reflection

There’s a moment in every healing journey when the path stops moving forward. Not because you’ve failed. Not because you’re stuck. But because something inside you is asking to be remembered.

This is the season for returning.

Not to old habits or outdated roles— but to the parts of you that got left behind. The quiet truths. The soft instincts. The version of you that didn’t need to perform to belong.

In my coaching practice, I see this moment often. Women arrive feeling behind. Disconnected. Ashamed of their slowness. They’ve been taught that growth means momentum. That healing should be linear. That softness is something to earn.

But healing doesn’t always blaze ahead. Sometimes it spirals. Sometimes it pauses. Sometimes it turns back for the part of you that was never given space to speak.

This week, I’m honoring the spiral. I’m choosing to return. To the body. To the breath. To the truths I’ve overridden in the name of productivity.

And I want to offer you this:

🕊️ You are allowed to return to yourself. Not once. Not perfectly. But again and again.

You are allowed to move slowly. To feel deeply. To grow inward.

If you’re craving a space where softness is honored, where your truth is welcomed without urgency— know that you’re not alone. This space is here for you. This season can hold you.

With tenderness,

Erika

The Gentle Descent into November: A Time for Rest

November always feels like a soft landing.

The air shifts. The trees let go. And something in me exhales—quietly, without ceremony. It’s not the end of the year, not yet. But it’s the beginning of the descent. A gentle turning inward.

Each November, I seem to arrive at the same threshold. Not because something new has happened— but because something old is ready to be seen differently.

I used to resist this part. I thought slowing down meant losing momentum. That rest was something you earned after the work was done. But now I know: rest is part of the rhythm. Integration is part of the work.

My growth didn’t happen in a single season. It unfolded over years—through overwhelm, through stillness, through the quiet work of returning to myself.

There were moments I didn’t know what I was carrying. Stories I inherited without realizing. Beliefs that shaped me before I ever had the chance to choose.

And slowly, gently, I began to choose again.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just quietly. In the way I speak to myself. In the way I hold space for others. In the way I let softness lead.

I lit a candle before writing this. Not for ambiance, but for anchoring. I needed something small and steady to remind me that light doesn’t have to be loud. That warmth can be quiet. That I am allowed to grow slowly.

My body doesn’t want to sprint toward December. It wants to nest, to listen, to soften. The breath slows. The shoulders drop. The ache behind the eyes says, “You’ve done enough.”

November reminds me of that.

It reminds me that healing isn’t a finish line. It’s a spiral. A return. A remembering.

It reminds me that tenderness is not weakness. That truth often arrives in whispers.

It reminds me that I can choose again.

And still—there’s pressure. To wrap up the year. To prove something. To finish strong.

But what if finishing strong looked like finishing soft? What if the most radical thing we could do this month was to listen inward and trust what we hear?

This is the kind of space I hold for the women I work with. Not fixing. Not rushing. Just witnessing. Just returning.

If you’re feeling tender this month—if you’re tired, reflective, or unsure—you’re not doing it wrong. You’re in the rhythm. You’re in the remembering.

Let it be quiet. Let it be true.

You are allowed to return to yourself again and again.

December will bring its own kind of clarity. But November is for listening.