The Remembership

You’re doing fine. You function. And you miss them every single day, and somewhere along the way that became a thing you’re not allowed to say out loud anymore.

Everyone else moved on. They stopped saying the name. This is the room where the name is always welcome, said as often as you need, by people still as devoted as you are. You stop being the only one.

Some nights we move. Same playlist, our own earbuds, dancing in the dark for the people we lost. A Silent Disco for the grieving. Other nights we just talk. Get loud, get real, laugh in the wrong places and cry in the right ones. Come as you are. Howl, or sit quiet. Nobody performs okay here.

And some nights we make something. We bring the rituals from the book to life together, decorating them, writing to them, small ceremonies for keeping someone close. The book gives you the pages. Here, we do them side by side.

I’m not an expert standing above you. I’m one of you, and I’ll go first. Through research for the book, I saw how people have gathered to move, make, and say the names out loud since long before there was therapy.

This isn’t intended for the fresh wound. This is for after: grief that isn’t new anymore but never went away, and the people who won’t ask you to be over it.

Here’s how it works. Twice a month, Tuesday nights, I lead us live in your bedroom. Nothing to read, nothing to prepare, nothing to buy first. You just show up. Call it self care. Call it an altar where you can just...feel. Call it the one night a month you get them back.

The founding circle opens soon, and I’m keeping it small on purpose. Come as you are. Cancel anytime, two clicks, no guilt.