January 7, 2026
It’s been two weeks since I began easing into my wellness protocol.
Today was another infrared sauna and red light therapy session. And for the first time, I noticed something shift — not in my body, but in my mind.
It’s starting to feel like a routine.
At first, fear surfaced quickly: If it becomes routine, will it lose its sacredness?
But when I sat with that question, I realized that wasn’t the real fear at all.
The fear underneath was quieter and more vulnerable: What if this isn’t working? What if it doesn’t work?
So I stayed with it.
And then I laughed.
I’m someone who follows her gut. I listen to how things feel in my body, not just how they look on paper. And the truth is — the infrared and red light have felt incredible.
The sweat tells me everything I need to know.
The way it releases from deep within my body — under my arms, down my back — feels like a letting go that usually only happens when I push myself past my limits physically. With each drop, I imagine what no longer serves me leaving.
Sometimes, memories surface. Old emotions. Childhood moments asking to be witnessed before they dissolve. I don’t force them away. I let them move through.
And every time, without exception, I leave feeling lighter. Like life has been breathed back into me. There’s hope there. A sense of beginning again.
Afterward, I crave nourishment — my green juice, rich with vitamins and minerals, replenishing what was released. It feels complete. A closed loop. A conversation between effort and care.
Writing about this has become part of the medicine. It’s a way of witnessing my own story — of honoring the process rather than rushing to an outcome.
Later in the day, I drove into Boston for my son Asher’s final follow-up appointment for his burned hand. On that drive, gratitude washed over me. Deep gratitude for my husband and the sacrifices he’s been making to rework his schedule so I can prioritize my health.
And then, fear again.
When I get better, will I still be a priority?
Do I only receive this level of support because there’s a diagnosis attached to me?
Before I could spiral, something softer came through.
Brigid’s voice doesn’t shout. She whispers.
She reminded me that this initiation isn’t just about healing my body — it’s about learning how to prioritize myself without needing a reason, a label, or a crisis. She’s teaching me how to make my health non-negotiable, because that’s how I will lead others back to their own temples.
And this part matters.
To the women and mothers reading this: the time is now.
Not later. Not after burnout. Not after diagnosis.
I’ve always said we should put ourselves first — and yet I didn’t fully do it until my body demanded it. Learn from me. It should not take cancer or collapse for us to care for ourselves.
And we must release the guilt around asking for help.
We were never meant to do this alone. It takes a village to raise children, and it takes a village to sustain women. The time has come to stop talking about community and start building it.
I exhale as I write this, because I know that message is for me too.
The time is now.
Call in your village.
Build what you can already see.
In Peace, Love and Service,
Rebecca
