Sacred spaces

Over the years, sacred spaces for me have been fields with windmills, trees bending over riverbanks, and sheep sprinkled mountains—and more than having to do with the wilderness around me, it’s equally had to do with the wilderness within.

In those sacred spaces I’ve slowed down—or more accurately, I’ve been slowed down—lulled into a different kind of rhythm, grounded in the grit of the earth, grounded in the grit of being human.

And in many ways, that’s what healing work has been in my life both personally and professionally: a process of slowing down in a sacred way.

Slowing down to notice and honor pain.

Slowing down to anchor in the whole of my body.

Slowing down to see and be with grief.

Slowing down to tap into longing and cultivate belief.

Slowing down to challenge unconscious assumptions and create peace.

Slowing down to be known by—and know—another.

Slowing down to simply be.

And as I ever so boldly listened to a friend’s advice who said, “You need to write a book,” I put into words the things I most wanted to share in those chapters, a nonlinear path of slowing down, tuning in with our bodies, and tending to the depths of our souls — the depths of our innermost beings. This is a path that I only know because of what I have walked. And so as I (finally and ever so excitedly!) share the cover and title of this book with you, it’s so important to me that you know where this writing came from.

This book was not first and foremost written by my prefrontal cortex.

This book was not first and foremost written by my professional counselor brain.

And this book was certainly not written by a ghostwriter or AI (have never used chat GPT and hope I never do. And yes, people have actually asked me if a ghostwriter was doing the actual writing or if I was using chat GPT to write the book…!).

The words bound in these pages were excavated from the depths of my soul—from my gut, my very own groundedness and grief—words that I genuinely wept while writing, and that I pretty much can’t go back and read now without still crying.

These are words that were born out of years of sacred spaces of slowing down, tuning in with the body, and tending to the soul. These words were shaped by countless others—therapists, spiritual directors, professors, supervisors, trainers, authors, friends, family, cats, and some I’m sure I can’t remember—people who saw my joy and my sorrow, my hope and my loss, my passion and my defeat, people who were part of a road I’m still walking, making me more complete.

I had no idea when I submitted a proposal to a publisher that this project would become so profoundly personal and vulnerable, but as I wrote, I continued to see a fork in the road ahead of me. I could write from my brain, or I could write from my gut, and while I have a part of me that has a complex about people having told me that I’m stupid who likes to prove them wrong, I knew in my gut—the very place I knew I needed to write from—that this project wasn’t about that axe to grind. This project was about sharing something that’s been sitting in my bones. This project was about sharing the sacred spaces that have shaped me.

Deep breath.

Now, I’m sure you’re not all that surprised we’ve taken our way meandering to get to where we’re going… since this is an especially fun one, I’ll try to gently focus my stream of consciousness writing to get to the point — please say hello to what has been a gift to me and what I hope will also be a gift to you, The Sacred Art of Slowing Down:

Titling this book was not easy. Finding words that felt true to who I am, true to the book, and also passed my publisher’s test of is this marketable? had me stumped for a while. I was trying to get too many things—all things!—in the title (I mean, is it any surprise that many things will be woven together in this book and it’s hard to summarize simply? If you know me, no.). Focusing on slowing down felt like a beautiful way to wrap up this work, reminding myself of what I felt it was most to be about. And then, came the cover.

Let me just gush about this painting for a minute (that I was apparently right next to in August but didn’t know it! Must go back to the Rijksmuseum soon…). The sway of the grass, the glow of the golden wheat (ironic with celiac and all but I can feast my eyes on all the gluten I want), the deep blue mountains… cue a deep breath. And that right there is what I wanted more than anything in a cover. Something beautiful that would connect at a visceral level—a gut level, the very place the words inside were written from.

And perhaps the most fun fact about the cover is that I spontaneously and unexpectedly got to design it. Canva for the win, and shout out to the professional designer who cleaned it up to be, well, more professional :)

Alright. While my stream of consciousness here could go on for a while, I’ll settle down by the side of the stream and take a rest for now, with one last important thing to say.

Since I don’t want to overload my substack with information about the book, I have created a *separate* page, still on All Parts Sacred, that you can find here.

Thank you for journeying with my words.

Thank you for supporting what I have to say.

I hope you’ll enjoy the words in these pages just as well.

<3