Mud Pies and Other Wisdom

Hi dear one,

When I was little, I would sit in the backyard with my pink pail and make mud pies under the branches of our dogwood tree. Hands gathering earth, pressing my palms into the cool dirt, feeling the grainy texture slip between my fingers. Mixing just the right proportion of water to get that perfect squelch — that delicious sound as the mud oozed and shaped itself into earthy little cakes. And then, the waiting — letting them dry in the sun, feeling the slow pulse of the day as they hardened like tiny monuments to the moment.

It’s funny how the body remembers. How it holds onto the sensation of hands in dirt, the scent of wet soil, the way the world seemed to soften and slow as the mud pies baked beneath the sun. Our bodies remember touch, texture, temperature. They remember what it feels like to be present, to be here.

This work of recovery is all-encompassing. Yes, it’s sobriety, boundaries, authenticity, and healing. And it’s also the tender act of inhabiting our bodies without armor or apology. To let the senses be our compass, guiding us back to this moment — where life is happening. Last Saturday, in the Feeling Is Knowing workshop, we took those first small steps toward listening. Sitting with sensation. Feeling without fixing. Letting the body speak its language of whispers and warmth, pressure and pulse.

This? It’s slow work. It’s vulnerable work. Adrienne Maree Brown reminds us that “we move at the rate of trust.” And trust takes time. Time to untangle the old stories that say our bodies are battlegrounds instead of sanctuaries. Time to let ourselves rest in the ache, the tightness, the flutter — without needing to fix or force it away. Time to simply be here, breathing into what is.

And here we are in late spring. The earth spilling open with life, trees unfurling their green, everything reaching upward. This is a season that calls us to open too — to come closer to our own aliveness. To let the senses anchor us when old stories try to push through. The silk of a breeze moving through your hair. The taste of a fresh berry bursting on your tongue. The weight of your body cradled by the ground as you lie beneath a canopy of leaves.

If you’re ready to go deeper, to engage the body as a companion in your recovery, I’d love to invite you to Somatic Sessions. This is 1:1 work, slow and tender, focused on rebuilding trust with the body — not as a project to fix but as a wise, steady friend to come home to. There is no rush. There is only the rhythm of the body, the rise and fall of breath, the way the world slows down when we listen. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.

May you find moments of softness in the simple things — the way the wind dances through the trees, the comfort of a blanket draped across your shoulders, the gentle rock of a hammock cradling you in its sway. May you remember that your body is not a problem to solve but a companion to hold — tender, wise, and here for you, always.

With love and care, Anne Marie