Newsletters

October 2025

Hi friends,

It’s been awhile…

How are you holding up? How are you moving and breathing in these times we are living in? What holds you together? What keeps you going? Are you crying, laughing, raging, celebrating, creating? 

From where I’m currently experiencing the world, the abundant leaves of Appalachia are rapidly beginning to fall as another season moves through its cycle. Beautiful colors are doing their thing, chipmunks are filling their cheeks, deer are feasting on acorns, and here, in the northern hemisphere, the light of day is slowly turning darker, bringing longer nights and shorter days. It does seem as if time moves faster this time of year.

I recently decided to teach four Sunday practices this October/November at Neighborhood Yoga. It’s been three years since I’ve taught in a yoga studio, publicly. I can’t believe it. And almost three years since the passing of my son, Austin. It’s as if three years might have been yesterday. Time is strange like that.

Losing Austin has forced me into new ways of understanding grief and love. Sudden death is a disruptor and rearranger. Everything changes in an instant. I thought I knew what it was to grieve, turns out, I didn’t know anything at all. Surely you have had your own experiences of particular events beyond your control that rearranged your world in uninvited ways, perhaps some cataclysmic event that suddenly changed who you were before the event and who you would become after, shaped by it forever. I’ve learned that deep grief leaves no part of you untouched.Sometimes I wonder how different I’ve become because it’s not something that can be measured. 

I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating words and phrases like acceptance, letting go, surrender, all will be well, and the ridiculous notion that you will “get over” the loss you live with. And let’s not forget this common phrase which is meant to console, “everything happens for a reason” but instead completely bypasses the agony one feels. I've come to deeply appreciate the sentiment of “I’m sorry for your loss” because we really don’t have adequate words capable of holding what a departed loved one means to us. Also, I’m not so sure time heals all wounds, we just adapt to living with our wounds. 

Traveling has been a support for me these past few years, meeting up with old friends and new, becoming a part of new communities, tending to my grief, supporting others in their grief. Making new pathways into life, welcoming connections and feeling a new kind of joy, that now marks the distinction between before and after Austin died.

Travel became a very reliable way for me to connect to Austin’s spirit, as my heart so desperately sought his company, his smile, his laughter, his presence. I was falling apart but I could still walk with my son. I could walk for miles and miles, and probably walk hundreds of miles more because I’ll always be walking with my son.

My practice supported me too, though I was frequently frustrated that my usual ways didn’t “help” or “work” or make me feel better, which I desperately wanted. I did them anyway because it was, at least, something I could do and really, I would’ve tried anything to either escape the pain or at the very least, tolerate it. What practice gave me was a space in which I could pour my pain into, and so, my pain became my offering. Practice changed as I was changing, the old ways no longer reflected this new me that I couldn’t recognize. It allowed me to be able to sit and move and breathe as tears and howls moved from within the deepest parts of my being. Practice was something I could do over and over and over with no judgement, no rights, no wrongs, no platitudes, no promises that everything would get better. Practice would meet me in whatever way I showed up, it didn’t care how I showed up. It simply kept me going.

Though I haven’t taught publicly for a long time, I have been grateful to be able to stay in teaching mode by teaching privates and offering retreats with my dear friend, mischief maker, and woman-who-can-do-anything, Dr. Carrie Streeter. (check out BBTravelCrafters here)

As I write this, teaching at Neighborhood Yoga feels like a homecoming, which is why I wanted to share with you where I’ve been all this time. In my heart this feels like a reunion to look forward to.

So, let’s get cozy with our practice and welcome the light within our hearts as offering to each other. Let’s tend to the home fire, heart fire,and collective fire to generate a warmer, softer light that steadily remains illumined in the darkness.

Much love,

Serena