Today is Monday 29 June, 2026.

If you’re new here, I first introduced Dana’s Diary on 30 March as a space for my behind-the-scenes reflections.

An unintentional rhythm has formed this year without much intention behind it. Four “bonus” Mondays (or rather, the months with five Mondays, so to speak) have become moments where I pause and take stock.

The last three months have passed SO quickly, but things have been shifting with my nervous system and somatic offerings:

• Some of you might remember that Dreamweaver was part of Dana’s Diary until December 2025. I haven’t shared new pieces since then. If there’s any interest, I might publish a series of standalone posts (without email delivery), for those drawn to that subconscious layer of the work. Let me know if these interest you.

• This Substack is now known as Dana Somatics (relating to my business name). What began as The Grounding Guide has become a wider ecosystem that includes The Somatic Lab and Dana’s Diary. Bringing everything under one name created a sense of coherence that I didn’t realise I was missing, and the content now sits in clearly defined sections within the platform, that you can choose to opt out or in from.

• Weekly Grounding Letters (as they were) have become monthly Grounding Guides. Each one is now centred around a theme, weaving simple nervous system education (embodied anatomy without the jargon) with two-minute somatic snacks (body-based micro skills). Our first learning arc will close at the end of August, and I’m planning something exciting to celebrate (before moving onto the next learning arc), so… keep your eyes peeled!

• The Somatic Lab is currently in transition. I’d been shaping it into a membership space for those who want more depth than micro-skills, but not the intensity of my six-month immersive. For now though, I’ve paused development while I reassess timing and capacity (especially with the summer holidays coming up). I’m a great believer in synchronicity though, so I’m allowing that reality to inform what unfolds next.

• I’ve also been working with , an SEO strategist (AKA micracle worker!), who has helped me to start build a website and write copy through her programme, Sold Out SEO. It's been a real learning curve, but one that's brought so much clarity to both my tone and direction. I highly recommend working with her.

• Most of my energy over the past few months has gone into developing the curriculum for my six-month group immersive. It’s been one of the most meaningful and demanding parts of my work. There are always more ideas than there is space for them, so the process has become one of discernment — what takes shape, what’s held for later, and what remains unformed.

That tension between creativity and capacity has been a consistent thread, and it’s also been a teacher.

• A note on 1:1 work. I’ve had a few recent enquiries, but I’ve decided to pause this for now. When I work with someone, I tend to go all in, and I want to protect the depth of attention that requires. In the future, I may offer 1:1 sessions as a more contained deep-dive for people who’ve already worked with me in a group or workshop, rather than as ongoing support.

Over time, I’ve learned that support only remains sustainable when capacity is part of the structure, not something added afterwards.

This year, I chose the word “promise” as my anchor… as something that I return to repeatedly in small, quiet ways throughout daily life.

With that said, let’s move into my April, May, and June!

What follows is three individual wellbeing warrior entries from each month; so take your time, make yourself comfortable, and we’ll begin ⤵️

𝔸ℙℝ𝕀𝕃, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟞

🪷 Wellbeing Warrior:

Here are a few practices that I’ve been returning to throughout April, when keeping things simple mattered more than anything else (including videos from Mindful Magazine, and ):

This month it’s fair to say that I’ve been feeling wired but tired. Rather than pushing through or asking more of myself, I’ve been leaning into smaller, gentler practices.

Alongside my own daily applied somatic practice, I’ve also added shorter, but more regular sessions — small pockets of practice that meet me where I am, rather than asking me to step away from life in order to do them.

As I often remind others, returning to yourself doesn’t require the perfect window of time, only a willingness to pause for however long is possible.

There can be a sense that practice only counts when it’s an hour long, complete, or uninterrupted. But the nervous system responds to repetition, familiarity, and brief moments of safety that accumulate over time.

And people sometimes assume that because I’m an embodied facilitator, my own practice is always structured and consistent. In reality, it isn’t. Many body-based practitioners don’t talk about this openly, for fear it undermines their credibility.

I don’t really hold that belief. I don’t think in terms of experts, because I’ve never really found the word particularly helpful, and I think that goes back to my nursing days. I remember a senior nurse once saying to me (when I’d entered a new setting and had to be buddied again) that none of us were experts because nobody can know everything, but you can find the thing that is your thing and specialise in it, because everyone has a thing. I remember telling her that I didn’t know what my thing was. She said that in time it would unfold and become clear, and I thought that my thing was maybe wound care (at that time).

Now I can see that I specialise in neuro-myo-fascia repatterning, I teach what I know, and I work as a guide and educator rather than anything more fixed than that.

And if I’m being completely honest, I often follow other practitioners’ sessions in my own personal practice, because there’s something so grounding about being guided, when I don’t have the capacity to hold everything myself 🙏

𝕄𝔸𝕐, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟞

🪷 Wellbeing Warrior:

This month, I stopped writing in my A6 Moleskine. There wasn’t a conscious decision or a dramatic reason as to why. I just simply… stopped. A couple of missed days became a week, and before I knew it, an entire month had passed without opening it.

What surprised me most was that I didn’t really miss it.

Journalling has been part of my life for years, so instead of forcing myself back into the habit, I became curious. Why do we drift away from something that once supported us?

Research offers plenty of explanations: lack of time, perfectionism, losing momentum after missing a few days, emotional resistance, or feeling as though there’s nothing worth writing about. But none of those felt quite right for me.

Then I came across another possibility: sometimes we outgrow the purpose a practice once served, and that really resonated with me.

Over the past few years, my journal has helped me make sense of my perimenopausal and chronic illness symptoms. It’s held my overwhelm, frustration, tears, questions, and the days when I simply needed somewhere safe to place everything that I was carrying. Looking back, I’m incredibly grateful for those pages, because they held what I couldn’t.

But lately, I’ve realised that I no longer want to keep revisiting this chapter. And, more than that, I don’t feel the need to write negatively anymore because (although perimenopausal and chronic illness symptoms don’t just disappear overnight), I’m starting to get used to it, and, in a way, I’m starting to heal.

I’d like to mention that it’s not because my life has suddenly become easy, but it’s more that something within me has shifted. Instead of filling blank pages with everything that’s weighing on me, I’m finding myself drawn to journal prompts that invite reflection, curiosity, and possibility. They help me notice where I am now, rather than continually revisiting where I’ve been, which has become hard to read back, and most recently, harder to write in the actual moment.

When I trained in expressive arts within the caring context at university, we explored how writing, art, music, and play can all therapeutically support emotional wellbeing. One lesson that stayed with me ever since is that our creative practices are meant to evolve alongside us.

We don’t have to keep doing something in exactly the same way simply because it once helped. Sometimes the practice stays the same, but the way we engage with it changes.

Perhaps that’s true for journalling.

Perhaps it’s true for wellbeing itself.

I’m learning to let my journal meet the person I am today, instead of expecting it to serve the person I used to be.

And, that feels like progress.

P.S. I’ve found journal prompts from and very supportive this month 🙏🤍✨

𝕁𝕌ℕ𝔼, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟞

🪷 Wellbeing Warrior:

This month I decided to address my coeliac disease (CD), and when I say address, I mean properly so… I’ll provide you with the backstory for context. I was diagnosed with CD in the 1990s, although looking back, the first symptoms appeared in the 1980s. The first signs weren’t digestive, they were neurological — tingling in my hands and feet. At the time, everything neurological was investigated apart from CD, and it would be another decade before I was finally diagnosed.

Eventually, I learned about gluten ataxia, where CD affects the nervous system. Some people experience neurological symptoms, some digestive symptoms, and some, like me, experience both. Looking back, I can see that I’ve experienced almost every symptom associated with gluten ataxia. This month, the dizziness was so bad that I walked into stationary walls/doors, and struggled to stand up or walk in a straight line (not much fun in the supermarket).

Over the years, I also discovered just how much I hadn’t been told when I was first diagnosed. I knew to avoid wheat, barley, and rye, but no one explained cross-contamination, “may contain” warnings, temporary lactose intolerance while the gut heals (because the lactase enzyme is produced at the tips of the damaged villi), or that some people also react to gluten-free oats because of a protein called avenin. Without realising it, I spent years exposing my body to things it simply couldn’t tolerate.

The effects have reached far beyond my gut. Years of malabsorption left me severely deficient in essential nutrients. At its worst, it affected my thyroid, first presenting as myxoedema during my teens. I became bedbound and was given a prognosis of just three months to live — a chapter of my life that deserves its own story.

Since then, I’ve lived with chronic fatigue, debilitating neurological symptoms, digestive problems, skin reactions, severe vitamin D / iron deficiency, and low vitamin B12 and folate. I’ve also lost four molar teeth, which I personally believe was another consequence of my body simply not absorbing the nutrients it needed.

I’ve been six stone, and I’ve been thirteen stone.

I’ve come frighteningly close to losing my life more than once.

Looking back now, in my forties, I can see how CD has shaped almost every chapter of my life, often in ways that weren’t recognised until much later.

Take infections, for example. Over the past couple of years, I’ve realised that I seem to pick them up more easily than most people. I’ve also experienced countless episodes lasting anywhere from 24 to 72 hours that felt exactly like the flu. For years, I assumed it was just one of those strange things my body did.

Then I discovered that many people with coeliac disease describe the same experience, often referring to it as “gluten flu”.

Having a name for something you’ve silently lived with for years doesn’t change the experience, but it does make you feel a little less alone.

Yet the hardest lesson so far hasn’t been understanding the condition. It’s been learning to stop abandoning myself for something that many people simply don’t understand.

People often tell me how much easier CD must be now that gluten-free food is widely available compared with when I was first diagnosed. I know they mean well, but my biggest challenge has never been finding something labelled gluten free (GF). Many processed GF foods don’t agree with me anyway, and accidental exposure through cross-contamination (even whilst eating GF when out and about) has become increasingly difficult for my body to tolerate as the years have gone by. What I tolerated in my teens is no longer tolerable in my forties.

Interestingly, it wasn’t until the pandemic that it became impossible to ignore.

Because I was spending most of my time at home, my health actually began to improve. That simple change forced me to ask myself a difficult question, and then have to sit with the answer.

Why had I spent so many years taking risks with my health?

The truth was uncomfortable.

• I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

• I didn’t want to seem difficult.

• I didn’t want friends, family, or colleagues to feel awkward because of me.

• I was exhausted from constantly having to explain myself, only to feel dismissed, misunderstood, or told I was overreacting.

And, looking back, I can see that I wasn’t protecting my health… I was protecting everyone else’s comfort.

So, although I’d stopped eating gluten per se years ago, I still kept saying yes to the things that hurt me relating to that. E.g. “may contain” and cross contamination in my own home, eating out with friends and family, and attending mixed grill bbq’s… all whilst my body kept paying the price.

This month I decided enough is enough, so:

• I’m no longer eating out.

• I’m no longer taking chances at shared bbq’s.

• I’m pressing pause on dairy while I give my gut the chance to heal before gradually reintroducing it.

And, most importantly, I’m no longer making decisions based on whether ignoring my health will make life easier for everyone else. I’m making decisions based on what my body actually needs to heal.

Perhaps that’s what being a wellbeing warrior really means, for example:

• Not fighting harder.

• Listening sooner.

• Honouring your body before it has to shout.

Sometimes that means disappointing other people. Sometimes it means setting boundaries that should’ve been put in place years ago. And sometimes, it means finally believing that your own health matters just as much as everyone else’s comfort.

That’s the promise I’ve made to myself this month.

And, for the first time in a very long time, that decision feels lighter than any burden I’ve been carrying, as I feel like my healing journey has come full circle.

Wishing you all a wonderful summer, full of lightness and brightness!

Until next time,
Take care.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜

Today is the 30th of March, and I usually share four free offerings each month in The Somatic Lab (which is a podcast and sub-section of The Grounding Guide, available on Substack and now, also on YouTube). However, by mid-March, I realised we were gaining a bonus fifth week… and I hadn’t prepared anything for it. So, I began putting a diary-style post together… just beneath this personal note (or audio overview, if you’re listening), from me to you.

A look at the calendar shows there are four extra Mondays in 2026: 30th March, 09th June, 31st August, and 30th November).

My Substack was originally known as Dana’s Diary where I explored weekly themes and resources (e.g. such as podcasts, books, poems, films, and quotes), plus I shared some simple wellbeing activities relating to the theme. Over time, my writing shifted towards including the seasons and nature, and eventually evolved into what it’s now known as today: The Grounding Guide.

Dana’s Diary (as a section, rather than the entire Substack) then became home to Dreamweaver, a monthly installment offering a window into my intuitive, reflective journey through somatic release and autonomic nervous system regulation. These entires have always been personal and exploratory in nature, and written as an invitation rather than instruction. I haven’t added any new journal entries since December 2025, and I’d been wondering what to do with the section as a whole. It now feels natural to include all “bonus fifth-week entries” here with an introductory audio voiceover.

On those extra weeks throughout the year, you can expect a diary-style entry (although, perhaps without extra long intros like this one!). Dreamweaver posts will continue, but they’ll be ad hoc, rather than on a fixed schedule.

I know inboxes get busy so, as always, feel free to dip in and out of content. To get The Somatic Lab only, you can opt out of Dana’s Diary in the “Manage Your Subscription tab on my website’s home page.”

Now let’s catch up with January, February, and March!

𝕁𝔸ℕ𝕌𝔸ℝ𝕐, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟞

💌 Word For The Year, 2026:

Every year, I choose a word to anchor myself. Last year, it was “Intention”. This year, it’s “Promise”. At first, it might seem like an unusual choice, but for me, it feels steady.

This year is about keeping the promises I make to myself… as a commitment to return, again and again. Because Promise isn’t just a word; it’s a call to action, and a guide. It’s how I build self-trust, by consistently trying to follow-through, and shape my decisions.

Some of the promises I’m holding this year include going back to basics: fixing my circadian rhythm (peri-menopause hit me hard over the past year), going deeper in daily somatic practice and moving my body (for myself, not just to teach), eating more protein and not eradicating carbs but eating smaller portions, drinking the correct amount of water my body needs, returning to my analogue roots, and creating space for reflection and gratitude, and creative growth.

This is how I aim to turn hope into something embodied. Not just something I wish for, but something I actually practise every day.

📺 Watched (a lot! Films, a TV show, a live stream, and a documentary):

• SISU

• SISU: Road to Revenge

• Fast & Furious: Hobbes & Shaw

• From the World of John Wick: Ballerina

• The RIP

• The Gorge

• The Hunger Games & The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

• The Young Persons Guide to Being a Rockstar (originally watched this in 1998 so it was very nostalgic and a wee bit ‘rose-tinted glasses’)

• Up-Helly-Aa, 2026 Live Stream

• Tourettes: I Swear I Can’t Help It (John Davidson)

🪷 Wellbeing Warrior

A wellbeing warrior is someone who takes a proactive, intentional approach to supporting their physical, mental, and emotional health… becoming a champion for positive change, grounded in self-care, mindfulness, and resilience.

Throughout 2026, I’m intentionally adding practices into my daily routine that reflect this, alongside my word for the year: Promise.

The first thing I did was set up my diary for the year ahead. It’s an A6 Moleskine, originally from 2024, semi-used throughout 2025, and now repurposed for 2026. It’s become a space for me to process the feelings that move through each day. The contents are private, but I hope you enjoy the washi pages I’ve shared above. I love having a few spreads where I simply collect the washi I’ve used throughout the year. Also, my front page sticker is already starting to peel… any suggestions for fixing it?

Then, I ordered a jade roller and gua sha set. I owned a roller years ago but it broke and I’ll admit, I’d questioned their effectiveness… but research by Sun-hee Ahn et al. (2025) suggests that both facial rolling and gua sha massage can improve facial contours through distinct physiological mechanisms. You just know I’ll be there for anything that supports lymph flow and fascia! I start with the jade roller to prep the skin and gently stimulate circulation, then follow with the gua sha to release tension and softly sculpt the facial muscles. Now,of course, I’m also considering purchasing a lymphatic drainage face brush…

𝔽𝔼𝔹ℝ𝕌𝔸ℝ𝕐, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟞

📺 Watched (just films this month…):

• I Swear

• The Running Man

• Terminator Genisys (rewatched)

• The Matrix, Resurrections

🪷 Wellbeing Warrior

I invested in this traveller’s journal because my everyday “dear diary” (A6 size) was simply too small to hold everything I want to write down. This one has become a space for anything that sparks resonance or feels worth remembering… quotes and restacks that stay with me in both mind and body, questions people ask that I want to return to for my Q&As (if I don’t write them down I tend to forget), new words I’m learning, and little drawings along the way.

There’s something so special about having it all in one place. And honestly… how beautiful are these notebooks? The handmade travellers journal itself feels exquisite. If you’re interested, the notebooks are from Flame Tree Publishing and the journal is from September Leather.

I also started adding The WildCard Wellness 20-Minute Tai Chi, Qi Gong & Bodyweight At-Home Workout into my routine. Some mornings, I do the full sequence at the start of the day. Other days, I sprinkle a few moves in every hour or two. On Saturdays, it usually happens in the kitchen after I’ve finished tidying up and I’m waiting for the washing machine to finish spinning.

Combined with my usual somatic, on-the-mat bodywork, I’ve felt so much better. More grounded, present, and connected to my body. It’s also had a ripple effect… helping me sleep and eat better too.

𝕄𝔸ℝℂℍ, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟞

📺 Watched:

• Lethal Weapon, Lethal Weapon 2, Lethal Weapon 3, and Lethal Weapon 4 (all rewatched — XYZ had a “Lethal Weapon Week”…)

• Tropical Thunder (Has anyone else watched this? It’s one of the oddest and weirdest films I’ve ever watched!)

• Cellular

• War Machine

🪷 Wellbeing Warrior:

In keeping with my word for the year, “Promise,” I’ve been gently experimenting with living in alignment with the Chinese body clock (or TCM Organ Clock), focusing on sleep, eating, and movement; and noticing what shifts when I honour the body’s natural rhythms.

This approach is rooted in Taoist philosophy, especially Taoist cosmology, Yin–Yang theory, and the Five Elements. It’s also at the heart of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), a healing system derived from ancient Taoist practices that aim to harmonise the body with environmental cycles and seasonal change. Along the way, I found some good info online here, here, and here.

Taoism feels deeply aligned with nervous system regulation. Whilst it doesn’t focus explicitly on the fascia, it resonates in a way that feels both grounding and expansive, as if different languages are pointing towards the same inner experience.

I’ve mostly been revisiting The Complete System of Self-Healing Internal Exercises by Dr. Stephen T. Chang. I first picked up a hard copy (see photo above) years ago, I think back in the 1990s, but only now am I returning to the practices with intention.

The book offers simple instructions and small pointers that, over time, unfold into something much deeper. The exercises themselves, combined with subtle “aha” moments that arise in practice, make the experience rich and layered.

I’m aware the book was written in 1986, so some ideas may feel outdated within modern qigong practice. Even so, the foundations still feel relevant, and I imagine there are old school students and practitioners out there who continue to work with these teachings.

I also noticed the author refers to chi-kung instead of qigong in the introduction, alongside older terms such as Nei Kung, Tao Yin, and Yang Sheng, describing the work more broadly as “internal exercises.” It felt like a small window into how these traditions have evolved while staying rooted in their origins.

Perhaps this is what I’m learning right now… that “promise” is about gently returning back to my centre, consistently, intentionally, and with curiosity.

Have you ever experimented with aligning your day to your body’s natural rhythms? What did you notice?

See you for the next instalment when I’ll be catching up on April, May, and June.

Until next time,
take care.




𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜

This entry shares a somatic dream journey flowing with tides, pulsing colours, and encounters with eagles, octopuses, and jellyfish. These images carry transformation, freedom, and renewal.

If at any point you notice strong emotions, body sensations, or memories, it’s perfectly okay to pause, breathe, or step away. You might place a hand on your heart, feel your feet grounded on the floor, or gently notice your surroundings to anchor yourself.

Read at the pace that feels right for you, and carry only what resonates 💜

This dream journey follows on from my first exploration of the fascia of the ribcage relating to the viscera of breathing and the abdomen, where I worked through the long back, stretched the diaphragm and used gravity on the mat to support gentle release.

I noticed subtle contractions, expansions, and shifts, observing how the nervous system responds to movement, breath, and resistance.

The practice awakened sensations along the abdomen and diaphragm, waves along the spine, and soft impulses rising from the body. It evoked memories from the nervous system, and created fertile ground for a dream journey where breath, awareness, and intuition meet, allowing the imagination to guide and inform the body.

If you haven’t already, you may wish to start with the Dreamweaver intro, where I explain the why and how of this series:

The Long Back — Diagphram Stretching

This journey didn’t come easily.

My body resisted after a long day at work. It felt tense, restless, and weighed down with fatigue that seemed to sink into my bones.

I’d showered and completed the practical exercises, yet my fascia and muscles held tight, like they were refusing to let go. I breathed in, breathed out, yawned, and let the air fill the spaces where tension lingered. For a long while, that was all I could do to simply be with my body… noticing the coil in my stomach, the tightness behind my eyes, and the weight in my chest, as I let my nervous system settle.

The familiar purple colour arrived in my minds eye, pulsing and expanding… shifting through white, yellow, and green waves of light. It wasn’t just visual; it had weight, warmth, and a vibration that moved through my chest, flowed along my spine, and radiated down my arms. Its presence felt like a gentle, wordless invitation: I see you. You are here. You are safe.

From that pulse, images emerged. A bird glided into view, undefined at first, then became an eagle when I focused. Its wings stretched wide and its gaze was piercing as it carried the quiet authority of the sky. Bright blue stones appeared, luminous and solid, grounding me, and a jellyfish floated past, translucent and delicate, brushing my awareness like silk. The scene felt aquatic, fluid, and tidal like emotions taking shape, moving through me, and teaching me in waves.

Emotions shifted like the ebb and flow of the sea:

• agitation

• nausea

• anger

• cautious balance

• calm

• serenity

• a sense of being enveloped and safe

I asked myself quietly:

What’s the eagle showing me?
Which parts of me need regeneration, like the octopus that can renew itself?
Where am I resisting freedom in my own life?

Birds embody freedom and are able to traverse earth and sky, moving between worlds. The eagle is more than a bird; it’s a guide, a messenger, and a symbol of clarity and vision. It invited me to rise above the daily chaos, to trust my intuition, to forgive myself when I stumble, and to see beyond immediate struggles.

The octopus appeared as a reminder of transformation and resilience. I feel that its ability to shift shape and regenerate lost limbs reflects renewal, adaptation, and self-compassion. Both guides seemed to tell me that rebirth is possible, but it requires patience, presence, and acceptance.

These visions felt familiar yet ungraspable (the eagles, stones, and octopuses); real, yet not quite rooted in memory, existing instead only in the subconscious, and waiting to be acknowledged.

Perhaps the eagle encourages me to see the bigger picture, and the octopus reminds me that growth is fluid and sometimes messy. The pulse of colour, the tidal flow, and the movement of emotions… they mirror life itself, the cycles I live, and the changes I resist and/or embrace every day.

As I come back to the room, I carry these lessons in my body… the pulse lingering in my chest, and the tidal rhythm echoing in my spine. I place them delicately and deliberately… letting the eagle’s vision, the octopus’s regenerative energy, and the jellyfish’s fluid grace guide me into the next day.

I set an intention to carry:

• freedom

• trust

• forgiveness

• renewal

…to move with the tides rather than against them, to honour my body, my emotions, and myself.

In that momentary stillness, I feel it… my nervous system soft, my fascia open, and my heart awake. Tidal change is here, inside me, around me, flowing through me, and I am learning to move with it.

As you return from witnessing this journey, I invite you to take a moment to notice your own body.

• Where do you feel the pulse of movement, the tides of emotion?

• What images or sensations linger with you?

• How might you carry their lessons gently into your day?

You might place a hand on your heart, notice your breath, or feel your feet rooted on the floor. Allow yourself to breathe into the space that has opened, and know that you can return to this pulse, this rhythm, and these guides whenever you wish.

Carry with you only what resonates. Release the rest.

And as you move through your day, remember: transformation is a tide, a rhythm, and a gentle unfolding. You’re learning to move with it… one breath, one wave, and one heartbeat at a time.

What symbols arise for you?

Until next time 🦅

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜

Also in Dreamweaver:

This unfolds as a somatic dream journey through the hidden body, where fascia, heart, and spirit meet. It speaks of tenderness, transformation, and the quiet wisdom that lives deep within us.

If something stirs as you read (an emotion, a memory, or a physical response) pause. Take a breath. Feel your feet on the ground, your back supported, your heart steady. You’re here, and that is enough.

Move through this piece at your own rhythm, and take with you only what feels kind to your body 💖

This dream journey emerged after my third experiential practice with the fascia of the perineum, a hidden landscape connecting body and breath, ground and heart.

Through gentle activation of the superficial pelvic floor, subtle waves of energy rose and fell, as if the body itself was breathing. Each layer revealed textures of memory, emotion, and renewal.

The practice opened a space to notice how fascia holds both story and silence. From that presence, a dream journey arose, weaving together symbol, sensation, and spirit.

If you haven’t already, you may wish to begin with the Dreamweaver Introduction, where I share the purpose and process behind this series.

Superficial Pelvic Floor Activation

Returning to the body brings tenderness, especially in spaces we were taught to keep quiet. The room felt suspended. My breath moved like a tide, slow and deliberate. With each exhale, I sensed the weight of my body grounding through the base of my spine, as if the earth itself were listening.

As I worked with the fascia, my awareness sank lower, like light filtering through water. The practice wasn’t about control; it was about sensing, and feeling what lives beneath the surface.

A deep green shimmer appeared behind my closed eyes, pulsing softly. I was reminded of emeralds, heart energy, renewal, and healing. Opening the body is never only physical. It’s emotional and spiritual. Heart and pelvis speak to each other in a conversation without words.

I felt that the green light carried forgiveness, and a courage to stay with what aches until it softens.

The first image that I saw in my minds eye was a treble clef, floating in the green light like a quiet signal. I didn’t know its meaning at first, but I kept returning to it.

The treble clef is a key — it gives musicians access to the music, the order of notes, and the melody itself. Without it, the same notes sound different, lost in confusion. In that way, it mirrored my own journey where attention, gratitude, and awareness are keys that let us read the hidden music of our bodies.

Then came the blackbird, low and haunting, stirring something ancient. Blackbirds are messengers of change and guidance. Perched at the edge of awareness, it seemed to guard the threshold between what was and what is becoming.

Air moved with its wings, a cool rush through the chest that cleared space inside; and its song resonated through my bones, reminding me that endings are openings, not failures.

Breathing into this threshold, I felt the place where tension meets tenderness, and where release feels sacred. I felt like the bird was saying to me that it’s okay to let the old fall away, to make room for what’s needed.

The blackbird lifted into an open sky, vast and endless. The sky then became a map of the nervous system… so much space, and so much possibility. The North Star flickered faintly, like a pulse of hope.

Guidance can be gentle, subtle, and always present when noticed.

Clouds drifted and rolled — white for grace, and dark for challenges with unspoken weight. Both belonged to the same sky.

I didn’t try to clear them; I simply observed, noticing the wisdom that each held.

My hands found each other, palms pressed softly at the heart in the Anjali mudra, whilst a bridge formed between pelvis and chest, between effort and surrender. This simple gesture reminded me that healing isn’t about fixing; it’s about honouring.

The body, the heart, the sky, and the bird all felt connected. Light glowed through my chest. Everything was open yet grounded. There was no revelation, only a subtle shift. Small. Real. Enough.

When I opened my eyes, the room looked softer than it did before.

My body felt heavy and light all at the same time… rooted yet expansive.

Trusting the unseen and listening to the body’s whispers, it felt a little less hidden, and a little more home.

If it feels right, I invite you to:

• Place a hand on your heart.

• Take three slow breaths.

• Let the images and sensations of this dream journey integrate.

Notice if anything resonates or feels synchronous with your own experience. For example, pay attention to small signs, shifts in your body, or subtle insights.

Know that the hidden body, your inner guidance, and your capacity to renew are always present, awaiting your attention.

Until next time 🎼

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜

Also in Dreamweaver:

This piece shares a somatic dream journey exploring the sea, waves, and a bluetit. These symbols carry transformation, resilience, and hope.

If at any point you notice strong emotions, sensations, or memories in your body, it is okay to pause, breathe, or step away.

You might place a hand on your heart, feel your feet on the floor, or gently notice your surroundings to anchor yourself.

Read at the pace that feels right for you, and carry only what resonates 💙

This exploration follows the first somatic dream journey I shared in my previous letter where I first worked with the fascia of the perineum. Today, I move into the second exploration of the pelvis, noticing subtle contractions, expansions, and shifts. I observe how the nervous system responds to gentle movement and resistance.

The practice stirred sensations, memories, and subtle impulses. It created fertile ground for a dream journey where intuition and somatic awareness meet in synchronicity.

If you haven’t already, you may wish to start with the Dreamweaver intro, where I explain the why and how of this series:

Pelvis — Advanced Exploration

In my minds eye I see that I’m twelve again, small hands gripping the sides of a dinghy as it rocks across a sunlit sea. The salt air is sharp and sweet in my nose, carrying the faint tang of seaweed. Waves brush against the hull, a rhythm both familiar and mysterious.

My chest rises and falls in sync with the swell. My pelvis softens, shoulders loosen, and I breathe into the motion. Each breath feels like a subtle claim of presence.

A bluetit arcs across the horizon, vivid against the endless water.

I pause and let my eyes follow it, allowing my nervous system to register the freedom it embodies, the hope, the gentle nudge toward possibility. Even when fear knots my body, there’s movement… the open sky above me.

A flicker of tension rises in my belly as the waves grow taller, a whisper of old worries. I soften anyway, curious about the message behind the sensation.

The sea stretches in all directions, vast and uncharted, reflecting the currents within me, which are deep, sometimes chaotic, and always moving.

It carries the collective unconscious, hidden wisdom, and the layers of protection my nervous system has built to keep me safe.

The waves tumble and flow, sometimes calm, sometimes turbulent, like the rise and fall of fear, grief, hope, or joy. They remind me that change is natural and necessary.

Feeling the rhythm of the waves as life force in my body, I ride it with awareness, without judgement or resistance.

Sunlight glistening on the water catches my attention, brightest on my left-hand side. I let it warm my palm, imagining light as guidance… a gentle invitation to notice, breathe, and soften into what’s here.

Clarity arrives subtly, like sunlight scattering across a cresting wave. Safety can be felt before it’s fully understood.

The bluetit isn’t just a flash of colour. It represents hope made visible, a nudge toward renewal, a steady encouragement.

Yes, transformation is possible. Yes, freedom is near. Even small gestures (a glance, a breath, a pause) carry significance.

Its vivid blue bridges body and spirit, the everyday and the divine. It offers a soft invitation to embrace joy wherever I find it.

Curiosity and acceptance rise naturally as I move through my subconscious.

My body recalls the dinghy beneath me, the rhythm of the waves, and the lift in my chest at the sight of the bird.

A tender release moves through my pelvis, fascia, and core. Decades of holding and bracing slowly soften as I allow myself to feel and to witness.

It is rest and work at the same time, surrendering into presence.

I pause, breathe, and notice the weight of my body on the boat. The sun scatters across the water, the faint taste of salt lingers on my lips, and a cool breeze brushes my cheeks.

There’s a thread linking past and present, inner and outer, plus body and spirit.

I’m at the centre of my labyrinth which flows, ever-changing, and ever-teaching.

This dream journey doesn’t offer tidy answers. It provides guidance through sensation, symbol, and quiet reflection.

The sea whispers of transformation and courage. The waves remind me of resilience and life’s cycles. The bluetit embodies hope, renewal, and encouragement to continue, even when the path is unclear.

Meaning lives not just in the symbols but in the noticing itself… the softening, the body’s memory of release, and the subtle shifts of presence.

Returning to the present (hungry, smiling, and aware of energy spent and energy returned) I carry a sense of empowerment.

• Where do you feel movement or tension in your body today?

• What small freedom could you invite into this moment?

• How does your body respond when you pause and notice without judgement?

I imagine tucking the bluetit gently into my heart as I step back into the day, carrying the rhythm of the waves in my breath and the sunlight on my left-hand side.

I move forward with curiosity, acceptance, and flowing presence.

The sea teaches trust.
The waves teach resilience.
The bluebird teaches hope.

Even in stillness, the body knows how to navigate.

As you read this, I invite you to notice your own body, if it feels safe to do so. Where do you feel warmth, resonance, or release? What symbols arise for you?

Until next time ⛵

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜

Also in Dreamweaver:

This piece shares a somatic dream journey that touches on themes of release, ancestral presence, and transformation.

If at any point you notice strong emotions, memories, or sensations in your body, know that it’s okay to pause, take a breath, or step away.

You might place a hand on your heart, feel your feet on the floor, or look around the room to orientate.

Please read at the pace that feels right for you, and carry with you only what resonates 💙

This exploration unfolded after working somatically with the fascia of the perineum… discovering the pelvis, contracting, expanding, sensing subtle fascial layers, and noticing how the body responds under the gentle resistance of gravity.

The practice stirred sensations, tensions, and memories, creating fertile ground for a dream journey where intuition and somatic awareness could meet in synchronicity.

(If you haven’t already, you may wish to start with the Dreamweaver introduction, where I explain the why and how of this series.)

Pelvis — Discovery

Before the journey, I felt resistance build inside me.

I wanted to run, to escape.

Sweat prickled my skin, subtle trembling stirred… old trauma rising.

Months of avoiding this practice culminated in this moment.

And still, I stayed.

I closed my eyes.

Even when your body trembles,

even when fear rises,

staying with yourself

is where healing begins.

The snowy owl appeared first… silent, luminous, eyes like moons in the dark.

Patient.

Watchful.

Asking me to pay attention, to trust what would come next.

A bouquet of yellow flowers floated in my mind’s eye; a gift from those who walked before me.

The flowers shifted into a sunflower, turning toward the light… a symbol of growth, of seeking beyond the self.

Then, a white ribbon drifted through the air, brushing my cheek with a softness that contrasted the knot of tension in my pelvis.

My breath deepened in my belly.

A quiet opening began.

From softness came shadow.

A coffin appeared.

Resting on top: an anatomical pelvis.

I felt the weight of all I had carried (old versions of myself, griefs, and limitations of my younger years) being laid to rest.

Tears flowed freely.

Primal.

Deep.

Necessary.

Then came my nanna.

My granny.

A glimpse of both of my grandads.

All deceased, yet fully present.

Around them gathered others… ancestors known and unknown, yet somehow deeply recognised.

They clapped.

They whispered.

They said: “Well done.”

A single red rose was offered to me.

The ribbon returned, tying it gently in a bow.

An offering of devotion and honour — to myself and to the lineage I carried.

Release is a gift, not just for me, but for all who came before.

I noticed my body:

• The sway in my pelvis.

• The warmth in my lower back.

• The vibration along my spine.

• The sighs leaving my chest with each breath.

The owl grounded me.

The flowers and ribbon suggested freedom.

The rose carried devotion and care.

The ancestors seemed to say I was breaking generational chains… transforming cycles of resilience and love.

We carry our ancestors’ courage,
their mistakes,
their love.

And in letting go,
we honour them
and ourselves.

The coffin, the pelvis, the ribbon, the sunflower, the flowers, and the rose… not separate, but a symphony of transformation.

Each a teacher.

Each a mirror of inner and ancestral work.

Tears slowed, yet a flow remained in my body. A pulse connecting emotion and tissue, heart and fascia, past and present.

Strength in letting go.

Grace in surrender.

Renewal in being seen and held by generations beyond my own.

Then, a blanket of turquoise drifted through the air… cool, luminous, protective.

Turquoise carries wisdom, communication, and connection between worlds.

Across cultures, it has been honoured as a stone of healing and protection — a purifier that restores balance and shields against what drains us.

I felt its presence wrap around me… nourishing, refreshing, and reminding me that restoration is possible when we are weary and in need of being gathered back to ourselves.

It was as though the ancestors had left me not only with their blessing, but with a cloak of guidance and renewal.

Presence is the bridge
between body and spirit,
between fear and understanding.

Strength, grace, and wholeness were never distant.

They were here all along.

Unshakable.

Rooted.

Alive in me.

As you read this, I invite you to notice your own body, if it feels safe to do so.

Where do you feel warmth, resonance, or release?

What symbols arise for you?

Until next time 🦉

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜

Also in Dreamweaver:

Welcome to Dreamweaver.

It’s the second pillar of my nervous system regulation practitioner training: Somatic Psychology, and these journal entries are from my personal journey.

Part of my healing is choosing to share them with you (while I’ve left out intimate details) and hopefully creating gentle shifts moving forward.

This is where body meets mind, where the intelligence held in your fascia and nervous system merges with emotion, intuition, and subconscious insight.

Before each dreamweaver journey, I lie on the mat, exploring subtle fascial movements — contracting, expanding, sensing.

I feel the weight of my spine on the mat, the gentle stretch in my shoulders, the pulse of breath through my torso.

Gravity supports me while my muscles engage in small, deliberate ways, creating movement and resistance (sometimes we stand or use a stool, but most of the time we work with gravity).

This somatic practice opens a bridge between physical awareness and intuitive insight.

It’s why the dream state feels so alive: images, emotions, and sometimes ancestral whispers arrive first through the body, before the mind can interpret them.

I approach each journey with curiosity and gentle intention, reminding myself (and you) that understanding everything is not required.

Through dreamweaver, I share experiences and synchronicities… moments when the body communicates, dreams emerge, and guidance arrives through sensation, vision, or subtle signs.

Sometimes a color pulses in your mind, a rhythm arises in your body, or insight arrives that resists description.

These journals are written with honesty, trauma-informed, and I invite you into a space of reflection, awareness, and self-connection.

My aim is to share one dreamweaver journal entry each month.

These entries take you into your body, the sensations, and the dream states I’ve explored during my training.

They won’t appear directly in the weekly Grounding Letters; instead, I’ll include a link (either at the beginning or end of the month) so you can dip in whenever it feels right.

Approach the journals with gentleness,

choosing what to explore —

they’re meant for witnessing,

not completion.

Pause, feel your breath and body as you read — arrive fully in this space.

Each journey is an experiment in presence: noticing what emerges in the body, following the mind’s reflections, and trusting the subtle language of the soul.

Presence forms a bridge between body and spirit, between uncertainty and understanding.

Every breath, every shift, every sensation offers an invitation to meet yourself where you are.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,
🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜

Also in Dreamweaver: