I’ve been a little quiet here, and it felt important to share why.

When I finished writing Unraveled over a year ago, something subtle began happening alongside it. Small passages started coming through. Notes scribbled in margins. Lines written early in the morning or tucked into the end of a long day. I didn’t set out to write another book. I was simply paying attention.

Over the past five years of sobriety, writing has been a steady companion. Not just the memoir, but reflections jotted in journals that didn’t belong on those pages. Notes typed into my phone while sitting in a parking lot or waiting for a child to finish practice. Passages written as a way to sit with something tender or confusing without needing to explain it yet. Even words I began weaving into my savasana readings at the end of class, offered quietly as a way to help us all land.

None of it was fast. None of it was linear. It was lived writing, gathered slowly over time.

Those small reflections kept accumulating. Day by day, moment by moment. Eventually, I realized they had become something whole. A year’s worth of writing, shaped by lived experience and deeply influenced by the writers whose words I return to again and again. Mark Nepo and Melody Beattie have been part of my regular teaching rhythm for years, their passages often read aloud in class, offered during savasana as a way to ground, soften, and make space.

Life itself has also been full. Deeply full. We are in the middle of an intense home renovation, the kind that turns daily routines upside down and asks for more patience than you think you have. Walls open, dust everywhere, decisions stacking up, living in temporary spaces while imagining what might eventually feel like home again. It’s disruptive and grounding all at once, a constant lesson in how to live inside transition.

At the same time, Unraveled has been finding its way into the world in ways that continue to surprise me. What has meant the most are the connections. The handwritten notes. The emails. The texts that say, “This felt like my story too,” or “This helped me feel less alone.” Those messages have been a steady reminder of why I wrote it.

Knowing the book is reaching people quietly and meaningfully has allowed me to step back from pushing or promoting and instead stay present with what is unfolding, both on the page and in my own life.

And what is unfolding is Held.

Held is a daily reflections book. Gentle, spacious, and meant to be lived with slowly. It’s about learning how to stay with yourself through change. About grief, faith, healing, and choosing a softer way of moving through the world without checking out of it. Each reflection is an invitation to pause, notice, and remember that you don’t have to carry everything alone.

If Unraveled was about telling the story, Held is about what comes after. The day to day living. The integration. The quiet practices that steady us while life is still noisy, unfinished, and imperfect.

I’m so grateful for the way both of these books have come into being, and for the people who have met them with such openness.

To my New England friends - stay safe and warm in this weekend storm.

More soon. 💛