Dear ,
You answered. Maybe it was 2 a.m. when sleep wouldn't come again. Maybe it was after a day when the heat rose up your neck in the middle of a meeting, or the words you needed simply weren't there. Or maybe it was a moment of rage that frightened you, because it didn't feel like you.
Whatever brought you here, I want you that you are not falling apart. You are coming through.
So many of us were taught to carry this season in silence. We smile and keep working. We tell our doctors, our husbands and our children that we're "fine." And slowly we start to feel invisible, even to ourselves.
The Fire Years was created so you don't have to carry it alone anymore.
From October 30 to November 2, a small circle of women will gather at Frenchman's Cove in Portland. There will be turquoise water, warm sand and the green hills holding us. These are women who know exactly what you mean without you having to explain it. You will laugh more than you expect, and probably cry in the best way. You will leave with sisters.