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Small thing that's been helping: a rose quartz in my coat pocket. Whenever my hand finds it, I check whether my jaw is clenched. It usually is. Then it isn't.

With the moon swelling toward full, I've been making moon milk after evening sessions: warm oat milk, a little cinnamon, one crushed cardamom pod, a pinch of turmeric for the color, and honey stirred in once it's off the heat. Whisk until frothy. I drink it on the back step with the porch light off so I can actually see the moon. Ten minutes, no phone, letting the day catch up with me. It doesn't do anything magical. It just reminds me I'm allowed to stop.

Wrote myself an actual permission slip, "Solenne is allowed to rest without earning it," signed it like a substitute teacher, and put it under my pillow. Strangest little spell I've done. Slept nine hours.

The facilitator who couldn't lie still

Confession: I hold sound baths for other people two nights a week, and until recently I could not get through one myself. Lie down, close my eyes, and immediately start answering emails in my head. What finally helped wasn't a fancier bowl. It was permission. A friend led me through one and said at the start, 'You don't have to relax. You just have to stay.' So I stayed. Fidgeted, planned, stayed. Somewhere in the long hum of the last bowl my jaw unclenched for what felt like the first time in weeks. Resting without guilt is still a practice for me, not an achievement. But I'm staying.