About Me, Katia
When did you begin to realise you'd stopped feeling like yourself?
Maybe it wasn't one moment so much as a growing sense of unfamiliar feelings.
When you have always felt everything around you so acutely, moving through the world attuned to the moods and needs of others without even trying, it can take a long time to notice how little of that attention has truly been turned inward.
It is often that very attunement that draws you towards people who seem to carry something steadier, something more solid, something you sense you are still finding in yourself.
Somewhere in that admiration, the accommodating begins. What is true, what is right, what is best, starts to be decided without you. And you go along, because connection matters to you. Because this is the water you swim in.
There is a particular kind of exhaustion in always sensing what another person needs, in recalibrating yourself to keep the connection alive. In making it look effortless when it is anything but.
And yet there is a growing awareness that something is eroding. Relationships that leave you more depleted than held. The feeling of giving so much and still somehow ending up on the outside of something.
This is not a new experience for women like us. What is new is that we are finally finding the words for it. Finally allowing ourselves to ask the question out loud.
My name is Katia. And I know this because it was my story too.
I grew up between worlds, never quite belonging to either. I found my place in nature long before I found it among people. The bush, the seasons, the slow reliable rhythm of the natural world gave me something I couldn't always find in the relationships around me.
But even that grounding wasn't enough to prevent a gradual depletion happening underneath. It was like a river basin drying out over years of drought, the edges pulling back so slowly I didn't notice the waterline had dropped, until one day the ground was cracked and bare and I realised I had lost myself somewhere along the way.
Life, as it does, forced my hand. The pain I had been moving around for years started asking to be felt. The question I had been avoiding rose to the surface. How have I been numbing myself to what I actually need?
That is how I lost my voice. Gradually, without realising it was happening.
In retrospect I can see it for what it was. A turning point.
We'd never had that conversation, the one where someone sits with you and says, this is midlife, this is what it can feel like, and you are not alone in it. That it is asking something of you that no earlier season could. That everything you are feeling is pointing you somewhere. Somewhere more true to who you are than anywhere you have been before.
I want that conversation for you.
Crossing this threshold alone is harder than it needs to be. The work I do, through reiki, counselling, and the monthly women's circles I hold, is about helping you find your way through it with greater clarity about who you truly are and who you are becoming.
Reiki works at a level beneath words. It settles what has been chronically unsettled and creates space for something true to surface.
Counselling helps you understand what you find there and gives language to what has been living in you unspoken.
And in circle, something else becomes possible. Something that opens in you when you are in the presence of other women weaving their way through the same threshold.
Together they have given me, and the women I work with, something deeply centering that is hard to describe until you feel it. A kind of coming home to yourself that changes everything.
That is the rebellion. And in my experience, it is one of the most sacred things a woman can do.
If you are somewhere in that in-between place, I would love to walk this season with you.