This is the moment my heart officially gives up pretending it’s not all in.
List of Workshop Titles from the Solstice Hollow Archives
The Clitoral Compass: Find Your Way Back to Your Sacred Self™
Rage Yoga & Emotional Nudity: Unleash the Inner Scream Pillow
Plant It Like It’s Sacred: Tantric Gardening for Beginners
Sponge Me Slowly: Cleansing the Aura Through Touch and Devotion
Rooted & Railed: A Primal Movement Experience™
Breathe Into Your Abs: Masculine Softening for the Emotionally Crunchy
Unclench Me Daddy: The Art of Releasing Control While Semi-Naked
Moon Milk & Masculinity: A Ritual in Soft Power and Steamed Oat Beverages
Sage, But Make It Sensual
Emotional Edging: Journaling on the Brink of a Breakthrough™
The Sacred Howl: Reclaiming Voice, Volume, and Vowels
Rebirth Through Blanket Forts
The Wound Is the Portal: Crying in the Steam Dome With Purpose
Consent Is Foreplay: A Trust Circle That Ends in Lap Pillows
Bliss-ism #12/^
Hydrate, moisturize, and trust the process—even if it involves lavender labyrinth tag and emotionally charged potted herbs.
Chapter Twenty-Six:
The Unofficial, Emotionally Questionable, Spiritually Accurate Epilogue AKA I Accidentally Created a Commune and Now I Sleep in a Pile of Love and Pancakes
The retreat was supposed to last seven days.
It’s been 1,095.
Give or take a solstice.
Apparently if you spiritually lather five men, emotionally anoint their abs, and teach them how to plant metaphorical seeds with their actual feelings… they don’t leave.
They build shelves.
And install an espresso machine.
And repaint the root chakra dome after you burst into tears because the lavender mulch didn’t “match your aura’s seasonal grief.”
So now Solstice Hollow is a retreat-slash-sanctuary-slash-“emotional adult sleepover that serves brunch.”
I wake up every day in a ridiculous, oversized, quilt-covered bed that smells like sandalwood and someone’s post-masculine healing sweat.
This morning, it was Jax on my left, snoring like a thunderstorm with opinions.