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This week’s Full Moon is all about talking… to ourselves. I love that it arrives right at the end of the year but the start of the month. It feels like an invitation to have an honest, compassionate conversation with yourself about the year you just lived. For me, the Full Moon is a sacred monthly check-in—one of those natural pause points where I reconnect with what I want, what I’ve learned, and what’s shifted. (If you want to go deeper into this, I have a workshop that helps guide the process.) And because I always carve out time in December to reflect on the year and dream into the next one, having the Full Moon land this week feels… perfect. It encourages me begin my review slowly, intentionally, and without pressure. If you want to join me, let this week be the beginning of a gentle dialogue with yourself. Try asking:
You don’t need to have full answers right away. Just start. Write a few thoughts. Let it marinate. Come back to it when the next insight bubbles up. Once you crack the door open, more clarity always follows. In Joy, P.P.S. There's still time to save on massages for you and yours. Get yours here before this special ends this Friday!
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Nyssa Hanger
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The past few weeks in my treatment room I've had different versions of what feels like the same conversation: "I just need to get through Thanksgiving." Some clients are managing the duties of hosting like a professional caterer. (That's us. 🙋♀️) Others are doing Olympic-level schedule coordination to make it to several meals in the same day. Either way, there's usually a factor of "... and I have to talk to so-and-so." You know the one I'm talking about. 👀 They're the family member you have...
It usually starts with a tiny little bottle. My mom’s story did. She was traveling to California in a VW van in the ’70s when they stopped at a flea market in Texas (of all places). That’s where she found her first “tiny little bottles.” They were labeled essential oils—or at least the closest thing to real essential oils you could find back then. She started putting them in her massage oils, and that was it. She read everything she could get her hands on, started a school and wrote books....
Apparently my generation was the last to grow up offline and the first to grow up online. Of course, I read that on the internet … no irony there! 😂 But dang, Reader, I relate to that. I remember dial tones and busy signals. AOL Online. (“You’ve got mail!”) Yahoo before this new search engine called “Google.” What’s better, I also remember the lost art of playing outside. 🏃 Riding my bike to my friend’s house. Kickball in the street. That satisfying *thwack* of a Keds shoe hitting a rubber...