This newsletter was written from the in-between—the space where endings touch beginnings. I put my psychedelic behaviorist's hat on for ya'll during holiday time, a time leading up to my mother's death day.

It’s an exploration of momentum, anchoring, and how we stay connected to ourselves while life keeps going fast. I’ll share why January’s theme is Anchor Into the Update, and how our upcoming community call offers a place to land together, and celebrate the birthday of The Infinity Container!

If you’re feeling the pull to move forward and the need to feel grounded, keep reading. This is for you.

Dear Reader,

With some rose love tincture on my tongue (shout out to my very first tincture, and to my grief process with Santi), I write to you from that liminal place— the week before the new year, an interface between

endings and beginnings.

That powerful opportunity that is the convergence of life and death. Thankful for my 37 years of grieving my mother that allows me to teach from the integration of this convergence.

Here we are.
December 31st, 2025.

Is this the day our lives will surely change?

​

Maybe. Any day can be, right?

And yet there’s something particular about this moment—our shared, collective awareness of year’s end. The way we pause together to reflect, to name intentions, to mark time. It reminds me of being a kid at my grandparents’ house, sitting in front of their giant, carved wooden TV, listening to the tick tick tick of 60 Minutes. A random example, yes—but an organizing memory of when we were gathered together, in the same place, at the same time, on purpose.

Holidays still offer us this agreed-upon shared space-time.
And it begs all the questions.

Where were we? Where are we, now?
Where are we going? How we gonna get there?

Lately, I’m deeply drawn to the teaching of:
​we don’t fucking know—and that’s okay.​
​Keep going anyway.

The exploration, it seems, is learning how to love playing in the unknown—and how to integrate with it mindfully.

Social media has been lighting up with talk of the year of the Fire Horse. We’ve shed (way to go, Infinity Container members, for shedding in November—and then finding stillness with your shed bodies in December!). And now, we’re entering a year of fast-forward momentum.

When we’re moving quickly—when we’re trusting the horse flying us through the universe at full speed—we’re going to need courage.

Okay, let me correct that.

I’m going to need courage!
​I don’t know what you’re going to need. That’s not for me to say.

But when I step back and ask:
​What does the container need?​
​What can I offer us in this first month of 2026?

My heart returns me to a core principle of integration:

Anchor Into the Update

In many ways, the purpose of The Infinity Container is to help us learn how to be with the unknown—aka, Life. The modules across our libraries offer practices and teachings to help us digest, evolve, and integrate with change.

Integration means the body is learning that it's safe to hold something new and unknown. Integration is how we metabolize experience so it can actually change us.

If you’re willing to jump on the Fire Horse, you have to make peace with the unknown. Because when you’re riding something faster than you can move on your own, you’re invited into a different relationship with control—
one that moves with energy instead of trying to dictate or overpower it.
(If you want support here, the Moving with Energy module in The Art of the Practice is a beautiful one to revisit.)

So the questions become:

What tools do we need to move forward with speed and integrity?
What do we need to remember straight out of the gate?

Anchors.

The stimuli we can return to again and again—rituals, relationships, objects, practices, vows—that give us stability and support. The things that remind us of our deeper why.
The things that give us an immediate sense of home.

Because momentum needs a place to return.
Because what we return to shapes where we’re going.

Momentum & Return

Without return, movement becomes dissociation instead of transformation.

Momentum—like emotion—is energy in motion. When energy moves without a point of return, it doesn’t integrate. It scatters. The nervous system doesn’t register growth unless there is continuity—something familiar, something orienting.

A place to return is what:

• tells the body it’s safe to keep going
• allows experience to land
• gives speed direction
• keeps power from becoming burnout

Without anchoring, momentum becomes:

• escalation without meaning
• acceleration without choice
• change without memory

Anchoring into a return point creates a loop or stitch if you will—something we weave into the update, rather than a run-on, unreinforced line. The stitch is where learning happens. We go out and explore and then stabilize and support. Go out and explore and then stabilize and support... all while moving forward.

In integration terms, anchoring is how:

• insight becomes embodied
• risk becomes growth
• novelty becomes wisdom

This is why fire needs a hearth.
Why a horse needs reins—not to stop, but to stay true.
Why forward motion requires orientation.

Anchoring, to me, offers something even more stabilizing than orientation alone. Orientation can be fleeting in our fast-paced, attention-grabbing world. Anchoring says: pause—really take this in.

We pause.
We find the anchor.
We orient to it.
We deepen.
We digest.

BTW—The Practice and Practitioner memberships really offer rhythm to anchor into. Differently than therapy does.

Feeling All the Things All at Once

As part of our practitioner membership we offer a program called Storytime with Nana Joysee. My mentor and fairy godmama JoySee, a clinical and developmental psychologist reads from her book titled Our Relationships with Our Children and the Child in All of Us. We just released Chapter 5—Glowie Feels Confused and Indignant and Sad and Angry All at the Same Time—the goldfish pond becomes a metaphor for what it’s like to hold many emotions at once.

Glowie notices that the “goldfish pond” hardly has any goldfish left. Other creatures have moved in. But no one ever updated the name.

What happens when we don’t update things?
When we don’t name that something has changed—or is changing?

We get confused.

Anchoring gives us time to update.
To stay true to where we are now.

Community Call

Our first community call of 2026 is also the anniversary of The Infinity Container’s birth—we officially launched on 1/3/25. Happy birthday to us.

It also coincides with my mother’s death day (1/3/89)…
​and a full moon.

Hooooowwwwwoooooool!

If you’ve never joined a community call before, I've been told it feels as good as getting a massage ;-) Just rip the bandaid off and give yourself this experience.

This isn’t another draining Zoom to zone out on—we move through a process that really shifts energy. It’s free, and a great way to feel into the container if you're thinking of joining a membership.

Let’s get cozy.
Let’s feel safe and supported.
Let’s give ourselves the grounding that allows momentum to sustain—not burn out.

I have a feeling this year will be intense and creative and productive!
The anchoring-into-peace we’ll practice together won’t pull us off course—it will give us the juice to keep going.

With deep love & appreciation,

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