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06/10/2025

Art is magic. Art is grief. Art is healing. Art is. ✨

This week’s newsletter is about grief processing through the arts. Link in bio if this sounds like it might be medicine for you. 🪴

02/10/2025

Well HELLO there. 🐸
I didn’t know you were here! How long have you lived here? I just moved here with my family a few months ago. It’s been delightful, actually. I mean, there are things that come up that are hard. I miss my friends. Forrest misses his friends too. And there’s also.. All the cold clear water here. I am sure you know all about the water, don’t you? I really love the rivers and the lakes. I always make a point to put my feet in. Something about putting my feet in cold water while looking around at the trees and the sky and the rocks and the way sunlight hits it all. It’s indescribably beautiful. And, there’s so much I don’t know. I don’t know what is next. I don’t know what next year will be like. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. You seem like you know a lot more than me. Maybe that’s why I needed to stop here and talk to you. You know what? I feel held. Thank you for that, frog. Thank you for being, frog. I love you.

29/09/2025

A silly little poem for your silly little self.
This went out in my last Bless-Your-Inbox Newsie. Want the next one? Link’s in bio ✨

25/09/2025

Here’s what kept me avoiding my latest intention (to start and share a creative writing practice):

🧺 Laundry (she overflows)
🎯Expectations of self (I’m a baby deer learning to walk on creative legs, and she thinks I must begin gracefully leaping by 3pm)
💭 Thinking (“I should know how to do all of these things I’ve never done before!”)
🎭 Emotional gatekeeping (I’m SAAAAAAD. But there’s too much to do. Maybe I’ll feel this later)

What’s your favorite way to avoid your dreams?

P.S. Even though I am a baby deer– I went ahead and did the thing. I shared a ceremony in my most recent newsie that helped me do the thing. (Link in bio if you want in)

18/09/2025

✨How I celebrated my mom on her birthday ✨

🌲 Created a natural alter at the base of a Douglas fir tree (her favorite)
☕️ Had a slow morning with coffee and a book (her favorite)
🌊 Frolicked in Puget Sound (her favorite— and also where her ashes were scattered)
💟Talked to her, and heard her voice in my head when she answered.
🎂Baked a cake she loved (spiced carrot cake)
🕯️ Sang to her (we all got a candle)
🐻 Ended the day with watching Paddington 2 (the most hygge adorable kids movie ever— seriously. It’s the best)

Celebrating her birthday is one of my favorite ways to feel connected to her. She cares for me in all of these forms— she’s the tree, the characters in my book, and the cool salt water. This is how she loves me now.

How do you feel connected to loved ones who have passed on?

08/07/2025

I moved from Salt Lake City, UT (my home of origin) to the Atlanta area 10 years ago. As I prepare now to move to Seattle, I’m reflecting on what I needed to know the last time I made a cross country move.

Here’s what the 26 year old me needed to hear when making a cross country move:

—Yes, you’ve hugged and loved all your favorite Utah people. But, did you kiss the lilacs? Did you go up to the East bench and watch a sunset - with no one but your breath and eyes to witness? Paige- please go hug an aspen tree. You have no idea how much you’re going to miss them.

—This is going to be a lot harder than you think, love. You’re leaving behind everyone and everything you know and love. Nothing else will compare to that life. This phase of your life is ending, and it’s sad and hard and brutal.

—You won’t have friends for awhile, but you do have two elderly dogs who love you. They don’t love anyone else.. so they need more hugs. And so do you.

—You’re not depressed, your grieving. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re simply responding naturally to a difficult part of your life. Grief is sacred work. Let yourself be lost/confused/flailing/sad. It’s part of this. Let the waves of sorrow take you to your next chapter.

—When you get a nudge of intuition that a person/place/thing isn’t for you— listen. Everything has its own life cycle. When jobs / friendships / ideas / thoughts are ready to be thrown into the compost heap— do it. Letting go of what’s ready to be let go will create soil for the next garden.

—Call your Mom. She’s done this many times. & she loves you very very much.

—You’ll get used to the bugs. You’ll actually learn to love {most} of them. For now, notice how cute the lizards and turtles are. If nothing else, these creepy bugs feed your favorite reptiles.

Anyone else have a love note for a younger version of yourself?

02/07/2025

A Summer Solstice Moving Toward Gathering & Ceremony.
A walk through the neighborhood to visit the flowers blooming (& the bees who work there).
A poem I wrote about how it feels to be in this transition.
A foggy morning in the woods.
A lazy dog on the porch.
It feels like Georgia is performing for me, saying.. “are you sure?”
Yes, And: I love you. I’m going to miss you.

Friends, I’m pondering my next phase. I am planning to begin writing & sharing again when I arrive in Seattle, offering online group transformation workshops, and offering one on one support. Newsletter in bio will have more details. Hugs and fluffy clouds. ☁️⛅️

25/06/2025

For going on 10 years now, this is where I’ve been doing my work. It may have looked a whole lot like teaching yoga. It felt a lot like playing, dancing, crying, reading, un-doing people pleasing patterns, over-correcting, starting, quitting, starting again, resting, letting parts of myself die, becoming new, being present. It’s been messy as f**k. And I regret nothing!

This space ( ) has been a container for all of that mess. And I am forever grateful. Thank you & for all that you do and are.

This week— I’m teaching my last classes here as I gear up to move across the country. I hope to get to see my favorites this week; you know who you are. 🥹🫶🏼
Come give me a hug. I need it!!
Wednesday @ 12pm - All Levels Flow
Thursday @ 6pm - All Levels Flow

Peace fingers and fluffy clouds. ✌🏼☁️

24/05/2025

The center-est place in my rib basket is having too much tenderness to the point where spills are happening out of the container. In other words-
my heart is OVERFLOWING.
✨
Last night was the first of what’s turning out to be a few “last classes” before I make my way to the Pacific North West. The stunning folks who turned up tonight really blew my mind in a good way.
Anyway- I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going to live or anything at all- but I do know that I love these humans and the space they exist in the world.

18/07/2024

I am over the beautiful moon because I get to work with some of my favorite humans on Goddesses green earth to guide another round of yoga teacher training
Bring your messiness, your sparkliness, put on your curiosity hat and come PLAY. Can’t wait to begin again. 🫶🏼
2nd & 3rd photos: 📸

17/07/2024

Sometimes it happens quietly.
Sometimes- it’s a sunbeam in my eyes so bright I close my eyes and am asked to trust my feet instead;
This feeling, my joy.
Thank you, carpenter bee, weighing down a heavy cosmos bloom.
Thank you, dirt on my feet.
Thank you, carrots crunching.

If I were to make a vow to myself (which I did), and I needed a photograph to commemorate this vow (why wouldn’t I), here it would be. 🥕

05/01/2024

I was looking at this picture of us on my son’s birthday, and this poem happened to me.

Today I decided to write the poem.
The poem of happy chaos.
The poem of evolving sorrow.
Where I have a floor and dogs who drip their water on it.
Where I have rags to wipe the floor.. That end up just staying there for longer.
Where I gave birth to a son three years ago who invites me, every day, to hold hands with my own inner child.
My sorrow is still there, too. She finds me when I sit down.
I try to avoid sitting down.
So I wipe the floor, and make tea.
Eventually, though, I do have to go and peer into the underworld, where she’s waiting.
And I have to kneel down in the mud that lives there.
And I have to sink into it, in order to be washed clean.
And in my washing, I remember, there’s no end to the water.
I can even float, sometimes.

©️Paige Dunford

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