Our culture does not have the infrastructure to support life transitions. We all go through them — new jobs, retirement, death, parenthood, divorce. They reshape our days, change our identities, and can leave us with feelings of grief, inadequacy, frustration, and despair. We mark the beginnings with baby showers and launch parties and weddings, and we mark the endings with retirement parties and funerals and farewells. But we don't mark what happens after — the aftermath, the slow identity shift, the getting-legs-under-us that needs to happen before we can move forward.

What if instead, your transition was treated as sacred — worthy of being slowed down, witnessed, and honored?

What I've seen — and experienced myself — is that what people actually need in these moments is not advice. It's not someone telling them how to get through it faster. It's a place where their experience can land. Where it can be spoken and witnessed and not immediately translated into a solution.

May We Gather is a place where change can land. It's a small group coaching circle for people in transition.

Each session, we'll orient to a different phase of change — drawing on a model that gives language and shape to what you might be inside of. We'll complete a simple exercise or ritual to help you find your footing. And then we'll share about our own transitions and have our experiences witnessed and held by others who are navigating the in-between themselves.

Something magical happens when you hear other people speak from inside their own transitions . It reorganizes your sense of what's allowed. You start to recognize your own experience in theirs. You borrow language you didn't have before. You feel less alone, less strange. And just as importantly, you get to be a witness too — to sit with someone else's life without needing to fix it. That changes how you sit with your own.

Between sessions, I'll send you a reading and a writing prompt to keep the thread alive while we're not in the room together.

By the end of the fourth session, you will feel witnessed and celebrated in your transition. You will have new language and tools for moving through it. You will have the permission you need to get comfortable in the in-between — to ask for this vulnerable place to be honored. You will have a group of people who have seen you in your transition, learned from it, and been changed themselves from holding it with you. And you will know that your story matters — and feel, maybe for the first time in a while, more rooted, more full, more at home in your own life.

If you're in a moment where something is shifting — where you feel a bit unmoored, without language, or overwhelmed that this shift is taking longer than you thought — don’t go it alone. You are allowed to treat this moment as worthy of your full attention.

Spring is a good time for this. The world is insisting on newness. You're allowed to be somewhere in the middle.

Facilitated by Caitie Hilverman — Wayfinder life coach with a PhD in cognitive psychology. Through my writing project, All My Dead and Living Things, I write about belonging and change in Hudson, NY. I ran a pilot of this circle over the winter, and I was struck by how quickly people softened when they were in a room where they felt seen and supported. By the fourth session, people had legs under them.

The details:

• Four Wednesday afternoons: May 6th, 13th, 20th, and 27th.

• 3 to 4:30pm

• Hudson, NY (location announced shortly).

• 8 people.

• $250 for the series.

• Sliding scale available — reach out.

We slow down. We treat it as sacred. We honor it — together.

May We Gather: An Overview

Each week opens and closes with ritual. We write. We move. We witness each other. We burn what needs burning and we welcome what's ready to arrive.

Week One — May 6 — What We're Leaving Behind

We begin by naming it. The version of yourself you've been carrying that no longer fits. The story you inherited that was never really yours. We don't rush past this part — because you can't cross a threshold you haven't acknowledged. We open the container together with ritual, and we write toward the truth of what's ending. Then we let it go. Not by pretending it didn't matter, but by honoring it enough to set it down.

Week Two — May 13 —The In-Between

This is the hardest place to stay. The old thing is gone and the new thing hasn't arrived yet, and everything in us wants to rush to solid ground. We won't. We'll sit together in the not-knowing — with our bodies, with our breath, with stream-of-consciousness writing — and we'll practice trusting that this liminal space is not a problem to solve. It's the work itself.

Week Three — May 20 — What's Been Waiting

There are parts of you you set down a long time ago. Dreams that felt too big or too strange. Longings you stopped letting yourself name. This week we go looking for them — gently, curiously, without pressure. We ask: what got left behind? What's still there, waiting to be retrieved? We try things on. We let ourselves want things out loud. We welcome what's emerging.

Week Four — May 27 — Stepping Through

You are not the same person who showed up on May 6th. This week we name that — in our bodies, in writing, in community. We close the container with intention: a ritual of arrival, of committing to the version of yourself that came forward in these four weeks. Not a finished product. A living, breathing beginning. We step through together.