Somewhere between holding it together and letting go

A December gathering of grief, connection, and forward momentum

This month has brought richer joys and deeper sorrows than I could have imagined. Through it all, I’ve been grateful for my capacity to feel, witness, and be with the waves and whims.

Life in New Zealand has been sweet. Practicing massage, finding rhythms, deepening existing relationships, opening new ones. Creative pursuits and stepping into a stronger sense of purpose. There’s a quality of ease in my days, a sweetness of depth in connection and work projects.

It’s also come with challenges. The passing of my family dog back in the UK, processing grief from so far away. Physical injuries and restrictions challenging my identity and sensibilities, which is also serving as rich learning grounds (I’m brewing on a piece called “the risks of release without rehab”). A grappling with default behavioural patterns and narrowing possibility spaces.

As the last days of 2025 draw closer, I’m finding myself drawn into formlessness. Into consciously witnessing the experience of life; reflecting, gathering, confronting, setting down, picking up, looking forward.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be conducting my year-in-review. Gathering reflections and learnings from this year, and making some bets on what the new year wants to bring. I imagine I’ll have something to share in one of these updates soon.

For now, here’s a little roundup of what’s been alive this December.

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What’s alive in my world

Ten days of wiggling: From Dec 26th to Jan 4th, I’m hosting ten days of wiggling: a daily 30-minute wiggling practice over zoom. My intention for this space is to see what happens when we meet ourselves every day in a mindful movement practice. To round it off, I’m hosting “Wiggling into What’s Next”, a new-year intentions practice rooted in movement. I’d love you to join me (for either or both!).

Meeting grief: We learned that our family dog had a grapefruit-sized tumour on her liver. A week later, she was gone from the world. The anticipation of grief was immense. Waves of sadness racked my being; the most painful part was that I couldn’t physically say goodbye. The weeks since have brought relief and reminiscence, with unfolding flavours of grief (holding my mum in hers from a distance). Bye bye Blu.

Surprise celebrations: The day of Blu’s passing also marked Cassius’s birthday. To celebrate, I’d organised a surprise call with his non-NZ-based friends, had a Steve-shaped cake custom-made, attended a chocolate-making workshop, and held a pot-luck with our NZ friends. It felt wholesome and reminded me that life is oh so sweet and always ours to make.

Momentum from moving: In January, I’ll complete another massage training, this time in deep tissue. I’ve been practicing massage on willing volunteers, self-studying Anatomy Trains, and exploring my default movement patterns. All of which is blowing my mind in subtle ways. I’m humbled by the momentum that’s been generated from spending just 5 days training in something.

100 days of expansion: Inspired by Carly Valancy’s post on 100 days of reaching out, I’m running an experiment called 100 Days of Expansion. For this, I’ll identify existing and possible connections, and reach out to at least 2 people every day. My intention is to realise the richness of my network and follow the aliveness that comes from making intentional connection.

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And with that said, I’d love to hear from you. What’s alive in your world? 🌍

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Below are some words that poured from me in the hour after my mum’s text that our family dog, Blu, was now at peace.

The deepest sorrow
in this grief
is that it has no place
no channel
no outlet
through which to reach home

Cracking in my bones
yearning aching reaching
for a warm body
to call home.
Nowhere
and everywhere

The void of touch
the grasping
the sinking
coalescing into a dense nothing;
only air
space void of form

Sinking deeper into
the loud silence;
straddling
the depths of the endless void
and the breadth
of the sky

The blue above
Cradling
Spiting
Reminding me to look up
Look out
Toward boundless possibility.

— on the formlessness of grief