I was the only one in the room with my hand raised.

This past week the facilitator had asked who was nervous. Seven other retreat members were practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of a galactic journey. And there I was, hand up, because I knew. Medicine takes you places you may not want to go. This wasn't my first journey. My last one was necessarily brutal, and my body remembered.

So as we settled in, I quietly asked (okay, maybe begged) the medicine to be gentle. Softening is a fear of mine. A luxury I haven't always allowed myself. I asked it to be kind to my body.

Then I got those little chewy buggers down with some lemon juice and settled into the couch.

My journey opened with a giant DNA strand. As the clamminess and body heaviness arrived I noticed my body beginning to contract. I remembered my intention, playful curious explorer, and decided to just ask. "Why do you make me cold and clammy?"

This is how we communicate. Communication slides along our network.

Okay that’s super cool. What else you got?

From there we dove deep into the galactic technology that is my body. Light filled places (almost like a street party!) Joyful places (slides of light!). When I hit shadowy spots my hands moved the energy out intuitively. At one point a shadow said I'm not ready to leave and I said: no problem, I'll sit here with you.

Then the medicine said: It's time to work.

I laughed. Then I knew exactly what it meant.

My senses opened to the collective field, the matrix of eight humans in various states of their own unraveling. It was intense. Pressurized. I felt my system begin to retract.

And something in me said: It's a lot. Expand.

Not push through. Not white knuckle it. Not perform okayness while quietly contracting inside. Just acknowledge the weight of it, and expand anyway. For two hours I worked with the energy of that room. As people purged I expanded with compassion. As people cried I expanded with love. Every contraction, mine or the field's, became an invitation to expand rather than retreat.

My entire journey was teaching me this: softening isn't weakness. Softening is how expansion becomes possible.

I felt it in my bones when it was over. How many times have I risen to the occasion but tense? Contracted? Did the thing, held it together, and came out the other side depleted and wound tight? More times than I can count.

What if there's another way? Not bypassing the hard. Not pretending it's fine. Just a simple honest acknowledgment: it's a lot. And then a choice. Expand anyway.

I'm experimenting with this now. Crowded space with lots of energies. Aging parents. Perimenopause (truly, this is a LOT🤣). Partnership. A work environment that doesn't always feel stable. Every time I feel the familiar pull to contract, to brace, to manage, I'm trying it instead.

It's a lot. Expand.