Recently in yoga class, we leaned into the powerful words of Brianna Wiest. She is one of my favorite writers—a wise young woman who feels light-years ahead of her age.

Before you read further, I invite you to pause.
Take a soft, slow inhale … and an even slower exhale.
Let your shoulders soften. Let your jaw release.
Allow yourself to arrive—right here, in this moment.

Maybe right now, life feels upside down. Or inside out. Or like you’ve been tossed into a cosmic spin cycle with no idea when it will stop.

Maybe you’re sitting with decisions that feel too heavy—or too quiet to name. Maybe you’re trading one version of yourself for another, and it doesn’t feel graceful. (Spoiler: it rarely does.)

And then these words from Brianna Wiest land like a lightning strike:

“Your new life is going to cost you your old one.”

Author Brianna Wiest

Yes. That.

For me, these words echo through every layer of my being. I am not an expert. I am simply a woman learning how to live in a radically altered life since my son, Judson, died by suicide. I am figuring out what matters now, and what never did. Who is truly walking beside me, and who drifted away when things got too real.

I am slowly learning to stop apologizing—for my grief, for my truth, for the way I show up in the world now. (And thank you, dear students, for reminding me in your loving way that the apologies aren’t needed.)

I am trying to live awake in this new landscape—raw and brutal at times, yet still full of beauty. I want to be someone my son would be proud of. And I’m doing my best to stay grounded and kind in a world that often feels like it’s burning down in slow motion.

So no, I don’t write from some mountaintop of wisdom. I am right here in it with you. Feeling all of it:

• The grief.

• The grace.

• The gratitude.

• The mess.

• The becoming.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe unraveling, rebuilding, and learning to breathe again are not distractions from life but the very path of life itself. Maybe this process—painful and imperfect—is what prepares us for what’s next.

In class, when we reach the peak of a sequence and energy builds, I often let out a big “Whoooooosh!” as we release it all. Perhaps life is the same: a buildup, a surrender, and then, somehow, a soft landing.

With love and a nudge,
Jami