This Isn’t Luxury. It’s Support.

At the end of a recent session, my client lay there quietly for a few extra minutes. When they finally sat up, they looked a little dazed. They stretched, reached for their water, and said, “I almost didn’t come today. I told myself it was too much money for something that wasn’t essential.”

They paused for a minute, then added, “But being here… I don’t think I’ve felt this connected to my body in months. I didn’t realize how much I needed to feel something again.”

We sat together for a bit as they continued to process. They said the energy work felt especially deep. There was emotion, but not in a dramatic way. Just a quiet stirring.

They told me they appreciated the time to integrate. Not rush back into the noise, but actually absorb what just happened.

That conversation has really stayed with me—because it captures what so many people experience, but don’t always expect, in this work. Most people don’t come to see me when everything is going well. They come when they’re tired. Overwhelmed. Disconnected from themselves. They’re not looking for a treat. They’re looking for relief.

This is why I’ve stopped framing my work as a luxury. It’s not. It’s care. It’s a reset. It’s support for people who are holding more than they should have to.

We’re living in a time when a lot of nervous systems are running on fumes—financial stress, emotional fatigue, overstimulation, isolation. It’s no surprise that so many of us are walking around braced, tense, or numb. When I offer bodywork or coaching, I’m not just helping someone relax. I’m supporting their return to presence. I’m helping their system downshift from survival mode. I’m holding space for their body to remember what safety feels like. That’s not indulgence. That’s medicine.

Touch is a basic human need—not just for pleasure, but for regulation, healing, and connection. The nervous system responds to warm, intentional contact in ways that no amount of thinking or talking can replicate. Breathing deepens. Muscles let go. A sense of ease returns. Pleasure isn’t something extra—it’s what happens when the body starts to feel safe again. It’s how we rebuild resilience. It’s how we remember we’re still here. Still human. Still allowed to feel good, even when life is heavy.

And lately, I’ve been thinking about how to offer more ongoing support beyond one-off sessions—especially for folks who are navigating bigger transitions or doing deeper emotional and somatic work. Whether that means creating session packages, gentle follow-up practices, or regular check-ins, I want to offer more ways to stay connected to this kind of care over time.

Because this work isn’t just for the good days. It’s here for the hard seasons, too.

You don’t have to wait until you’re doing better.
You don’t have to earn rest.
You don’t have to be thriving to be held.

If you’ve been craving softness, grounding, or a safe space to feel again, you’re not alone. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here when you’re ready.