Dr. Charlotte Meier, DC

Integration is the Medicine

Posted on October 27, 2025 by Dr. Charlotte Meier, DC

From Expansion to Embodiment: The Missing Step in Healing

One of the most overlooked aspects of healing, whether through plant medicine or body-based practices, is integration. Expansion is powerful. It cracks us open, reveals new possibilities, and shifts the way we see ourselves. Yet if the opening is not tended to, it can leave us vulnerable, destabilized, or endlessly seeking the next breakthrough rather than embodying the one we have already been given.

I have witnessed this often in plant medicine circles. People move from one ceremony to the next, chasing the high of expansion, without allowing the lessons to land in their nervous systems, their relationships, or their daily lives. Expansion without integration does not necessarily create wholeness. In fact, it can create fragmentation, because the body, mind, and spirit are left out of sync.

My First Journeys

My first psilocybin journey taught me this in a very personal way. I was with a group, but instead of feeling safe in their company, my body wanted to retreat. I separated myself, hiding away in my room, and it was only then that I could surrender to the medicine.

As I allowed the experience to unfold, I saw the faces of my ancestors. I felt the rain outside as if it was washing directly over my body. I sensed the life force running through the earth itself. And then something deeper happened.

I felt myself molting inside a cocoon. The old me was being vaporized, stripped away piece by piece, while the new me was slowly being reborn. It was not comfortable—it was raw and disorienting—but it was also profoundly true. The medicine was teaching me that transformation is rarely clean or linear. It is a process of death and rebirth happening in the same breath.

My main lesson from that journey was clear: life is not about either/or. It is about yes/and. Holding paradox. Honoring multiplicity. Trusting that truth does not cancel itself out, but can live in many forms at once.

San Pedro brought me into even deeper lessons. In my first ceremony, I was in a room with people who had journeyed many times before. I felt like a novice—wide-eyed and uncertain—but still open. The medicine cracked open my somatic empathy and suddenly I could feel everyone’s process in my own body. The purging, the tears, the grief, the darkness. Part of me wanted to shut down and close, but the medicine asked me to remain open.

It was overwhelming at times, and my body’s instinct was to flee. Instead, I went into nature. I asked the earth to help me clear the energies that were not mine to carry. That act of asking for support was part of my integration. It taught me that I could stay open while also tending to my own boundaries and nervous system.

The second time I sat with San Pedro, the experience shifted. The medicine was more gentle. It turned my awareness inward rather than outward. I reconnected with my childlike innocence. I felt that deep well of joy and trust that had always been within me. In that moment, San Pedro gave me one of the clearest teachings I have ever received: You do not need to keep coming back to the medicine. All the wisdom you are seeking is already within you. Trust yourself.

That message still guides me. The medicine was not asking for my loyalty. It was reminding me that the ceremony continues long after the circle closes.

Integration Beyond Ceremony

This truth is not limited to plant medicine. The same openings happen in my office every day. The sessions I offer are not just treatments. They are portals. They open hidden rooms within us, bring old patterns to the surface, and shift the body into new rhythms.

A chiropractic adjustment may release decades of tension stored in the nervous system.
Acupuncture may activate an emotional memory buried deep in the tissues.
Energy work may reconnect someone with a forgotten aspect of their spirit.

These moments can be profound, but they can also be tender. Sometimes what rises is joy. Other times it is grief or fear. From a trauma-informed lens, this is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It is the body thawing what was once frozen. Integration means creating the safety, pacing, and support for those thawed pieces to find their rightful place again.

The Science of Integration

Neuroscience gives us a language for what happens in these openings. Breakthrough experiences—whether through plant medicine, ceremony, or a healing session—activate neuroplasticity. The brain becomes more malleable, capable of creating new pathways. But without integration, those pathways fade.

Trauma research deepens this understanding. For a nervous system that has lived in survival mode, sudden expansion can feel overwhelming. Integration practices offer a way to digest the experience slowly, titrating the healing so it can be metabolized instead of re-traumatizing. This is why gentleness matters. A walk in nature, orienting to safety, grounding practices, or a conversation with a trusted guide can stabilize what the body is learning.

Think of it like wet cement. A fresh adjustment or ceremony experience is pliable, impressionable. Integration is the curing process that makes the shift strong enough to last.

Integration with Cacao

This is one of the many reasons why I offer cacao ceremonies. Whether one-on-one or in a group setting, cacao creates a safe space to explore the integration process. Cacao is a gentle heart-opener, a plant medicine that teaches us to soften rather than shatter. Unlike visionary medicines, cacao roots us into presence without overwhelming the system.

For those with trauma histories, cacao can be a steady ally. It helps the body remember trust at its own pace. After a cacao ceremony, integration often looks like small, heart-led actions: making the phone call you have been avoiding, allowing yourself to rest when you would usually push, or speaking your truth with tenderness.

Cacao bridges the gap between insight and action. It reminds us that healing is not only about dramatic revelations. Sometimes it is about the quiet courage of leaning into love, one choice at a time.

Threshold Guidance

This is the heart of why I offer Threshold Guidance. These are trauma-informed sessions for those standing in the in-between—after something has cracked them open, but before it has found its full place in their lives.

Threshold Guidance supports integration so the experience does not remain an isolated event, but becomes an embodied transformation. Sometimes this means channeling ancestral wisdom that wants to come through. Sometimes it means offering grounding practices to regulate the nervous system. Sometimes it means mapping what shifted and creating pathways to carry that into daily life.

The threshold is sacred. It is the cocoon itself. It is the place where the old is dissolving, where the self we once were is being vaporized, and where the new self has not yet taken form. Without integration, it can feel disorienting or even unsafe. With integration, it becomes the exact place where healing crystallizes into wisdom.

The Deeper Work

In both plant medicine and body-based healing, the invitation is the same. Expansion is not the destination. It is the doorway. The real work begins after the opening, in the steady and sometimes quiet process of integration. This is how an insight becomes a truth we can stand on. This is how healing becomes sustainable rather than fleeting.

Integration is where experience becomes wisdom. It is where reactivated authenticity takes root. If this work is calling to you, I invite you to schedule an in-person or virtual session with me.

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Disclaimer:

The reflections in this article are based on personal experience and professional observation. They are offered for educational and contemplative purposes only, and should not be taken as medical, psychological, or legal advice. Psychedelic substances remain illegal in many countries and carry medical, psychological, and legal risks. If you are considering working with psychedelics, please ensure you are aware of the laws in your region, consult with qualified healthcare professionals, and seek support from trained, ethical facilitators. Nothing in this writing should be interpreted as encouragement to use illegal substances. Healing and integration are possible through many paths, with or without the use of psychedelics.

Learning To Be Seen: A Glimpse Into My Life

Posted on September 19, 2025October 13, 2025 by Dr. Charlotte Meier, DC

I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to write for VoyageSTL three times now—twice this year and once the year before. For a long time, I kept this part of me quiet, perhaps out of fear of being seen or uncertainty around how to hold my own accomplishments. Along the way, I’ve also had other published interviews, been invited onto several podcasts, and spoken to large and small groups about my journey. Each experience has been both humbling and affirming. I wanted to share this most recent interview here as a gentle reminder to myself of how far I’ve come, and as a way of honoring who I am in this moment.

Here’s the published article.

VoyageSTL

We recently had the chance to connect with Charlotte Meier and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Charlotte, thank you for taking the time to reflect back on your journey with us. I think our readers are in for a real treat. There is so much we can all learn from each other and so thank you again for opening up with us. Let’s get into it: What do the first 90 minutes of your day look like?

Recently I’ve adopted a new habit: silence and no screens for the first hour of my day. I enjoy slow mornings in my backyard with a cup of coffee or cacao, a breakfast bowl of chia seeds, granola, and fruit, joined by my pup and my partner as we watch the birds and squirrels begin their morning. I like to place my feet in the grass for grounding, and sometimes I’ll gently sway in my hammock while looking up at the morning sky. I’ve also started reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron and I am excited to begin writing my morning pages during this quiet time.

After my silent hour, I turn on the screens, check my office schedule, and begin preparing for the day: creating notes, setting up invoices, and responding to emails, texts, and voice messages. On the days I am not in the office, I shift my focus to other tasks such as setting up events, redesigning my website, writing on Substack, mapping out errands, planning future travels, or tending to both business and personal responsibilities. My neurodivergent mind can easily get sidetracked, so abruptly moving from one task to another is common for me. I time block my calendar and keep a task list on ToDoist to stay grounded and make sure I don’t miss important deadlines, because if it’s not listed there, it is not likely to ever get done!

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?

My name is Charlotte, and I am the founder of Alma Luna Wellness, a practice dedicated to whole-person healing. I integrate chiropractic care, acupuncture, energy, sound, and ceremony to create safe and resonant spaces for transformation. What makes my practice unique is the way I bridge science and spirit, offering pathways that honor both the intelligence of the body and the wisdom of energy medicine. Each session is an invitation to remember one’s divine wholeness, weaving together the body, mind, heart, and soul.
My path has never been linear. It was only when life unraveled through sickness, heartbreak, and the collapse of what once looked like stability that I discovered the deeper truth of healing. Each experience became a teacher, leading me to rediscover myself at various points along the way.

My childhood was marked by both financial hardship and the tender ache of my parents’ separation. I carried both quiet pain and an inner strength I could not yet name. Over time, I came to recognize this sensitivity as an empathic ability that would guide me toward a life of service and become an integral part of my practice.

At eighteen, I was diagnosed with Grave’s disease and told I was the youngest patient my doctors had ever seen with this condition. What felt like a breaking point became an initiation, teaching me resilience and guiding me to seek knowledge beyond the borders of allopathic healing. I immersed myself in the study of psychology, anatomy, physiology, and biochemistry to find answers, and my fascination with the sciences became a pathway that helped me understand the body’s intricate systems. This foundational knowledge continues to inform the grounded, integrative way I practice today.

Discovering chiropractic care and acupuncture changed my healing trajectory entirely. Witnessing true natural healing for the first time was nothing short of magical. For the first time in my life, I noticed the subtle shifts in my body, the release of built-up tension, and the way my energy seemed to regenerate from within. Something deep awakened within me. I felt called to share this magic and immediately enrolled in graduate school, eager to learn and bring these modalities to others.
Life, of course, brought other challenges alongside the blessings. In my final year of graduate school, I went through a painful divorce. I buried my grief beneath work and ambition, but unprocessed sorrow eventually turned into burnout. Through soul-guided connections, I encountered Reiki, sound healing, and the sacred medicine of cacao – all of which reminded me that healing is not just physical but also emotional, spiritual, and relational. These practices became the perfect complement to the physical modalities I had been studying, filling in the spaces that science alone could not reach.

After eighteen years of unravelling the physical, mental, and spiritual roots connected to the Grave’s disease diagnosis, I have now been in remission for the past three years. I hold deep gratitude for my past self for her courage to pursue healing and for trusting her intuition along the way.

Currently, I am deepening my studies in Biogeometric Integration (BGI), a healing philosophy developed by Dr. Sue Brown. BGI builds on the original intention of chiropractic: to release interference to the innate intelligence of the body, the organizing wisdom that regulates heartbeat, breath, and every process of life. Unlike conventional views that see subluxations only in structural terms, BGI recognizes both the physical and energetic dimensions of misalignment. Every life experience carries a tone or frequency. If that experience is integrated, it becomes part of the body’s music, enriching the complexity of who we are. When unintegrated, it is stored as dissonance, creating tension and dis-ease. This approach illuminates the geometry of how experiences are held within the body, and how precise and intentional adjustments can open pathways for release, coherence, and integration. In practice, this means that every adjustment is not just mechanical, but an opportunity to evolve. To me, BGI feels like a remembering and an acknowledgment that we are living symphonies, always capable of creative expression. It has become a powerful extension of the work I offer, bridging structural care with energetic awareness.

What makes my work unique is not just the blend of modalities but the lived journey that shaped them. Healing is not a destination, it is a lifelong remembering. My practice reflects this truth, offering spaces where others can rediscover their own light and resilience. Today, I am expanding into resonance-based pathways that allow clients to enter through the door that feels most aligned to them. Whether through bodywork, energy medicine, or ceremony, each offering is designed to create safety, connection, and the conditions for true healing to unfold.

My hope is simple: that in our work together, people feel safe enough to soften, to listen, and to meet themselves more fully.

Great, so let’s dive into your journey a bit more. What part of you has served its purpose and must now be released?

The part of me that over-identifies with struggle. For many years I carried my story of pain like an anchor, believing it gave me definition and worth. It shaped me, but it is no longer who I am. The lessons have already crystallized, and the weight no longer needs to be carried. What I release is the attachment to being “the one who endured.” In its place, I choose to embody the one who transformed, the one who listens deeply, and the one who walks in remembrance of joy.

If you could say one kind thing to your younger self, what would it be?

I would tell her that she doesn’t have to carry everyone else’s pain to be worthy of love. Her softness is not a weakness but a gift that will one day become her greatest strength. I’d remind her to be gentle with herself, to trust her timing, and to know that every challenge she faces will eventually reveal a deeper layer of resilience and purpose.

Alright, so if you are open to it, let’s explore some philosophical questions that touch on your values and worldview. What do you believe is true but cannot prove?

I believe that every experience we carry—joy, grief, pain, and love—has its own frequency that lives within the body. Even though science cannot yet fully measure these frequencies, emerging research supports the idea that our bodies hold these vibrational imprints. Studies on sound therapy and vibroacoustic healing show that specific frequencies can shift nervous system activity, ease tension, and enhance overall well-being. Research into brainwave entrainment and limbic resonance suggests that our nervous systems can sync with external rhythms and the energy of others, influencing how we feel, relate, and heal. Trauma research and somatic approaches reveal that unresolved experiences remain encoded in the body, creating tension or dissonance until they are integrated. Mapping emotion in the body has further shown that people consistently feel emotions in specific regions, confirming that our lived experiences leave tangible traces within us.

I trust that every part of our story is purposeful and that even the hardest moments can be woven into a greater harmony within the body. Healing is not about erasing what has been, but about remembering our wholeness and finding coherence within the music of our lives. I feel that these emotional frequencies shape the way we move, the way we relate, and the way we heal.

Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?

I hope people say that I helped them remember their own light. That I created spaces where they felt safe enough to soften, to breathe, and to connect with the wisdom inside themselves. I hope they remember me not for my titles or achievements, but for the way I listened, for the resonance I carried, and for how deeply I believed in the beauty of the human spirit. If my story is told as one of presence, compassion, and the courage to bridge science and spirit, then I will have lived in alignment with my purpose.

The Disappearance of Kindness

Posted on August 18, 2025September 3, 2025 by Dr. Charlotte Meier, DC

Lately, I’ve been noticing something that feels heavy: how often people are unkind to one another. Not just in moments of stress or conflict, but in the ordinary ways we move through daily life. The curt tone with a server. The impatience in traffic. The dismissive comment online. The quickness to judge instead of understand.

It’s almost as if kindness has become a rare currency, saved only for those we feel “deserve” it. Yet the deeper I look, the more I see that this isn’t just about individual behavior. It is a reflection of the society we’ve built.

Why We Forget to Be Kind

Human beings are wired for survival. Historically, our ancestors had to assess quickly: friend or foe, safe or dangerous. That instinct hasn’t left us, and in a fast-moving world full of uncertainty, we often default to defensiveness. Add in economic pressures, cultural divisions, and the numbing pace of technology, and kindness begins to feel like an afterthought.

We also live in a society that prizes efficiency over empathy, productivity over presence, and competition over collaboration. In such an environment, kindness can feel inefficient, even vulnerable, something we believe we don’t have time for.

What Kindness Actually Does

Kindness is not weakness. It is medicine.

Neuroscience shows that even small acts of generosity activate the brain’s reward centers, reduce stress, and strengthen social bonds. When we experience kindness, our bodies release oxytocin, sometimes called the “bonding hormone,” which lowers blood pressure, reduces inflammation, and helps the body move out of a chronic stress state.

From the lens of the nervous system, kindness shifts us from fight-or-flight into social engagement, the state described in Stephen Porges’ polyvagal theory. In this state, the vagus nerve signals safety to the body, allowing our breath to deepen, our heart rate to steady, and our sense of connection to increase.

Unkindness, on the other hand, often triggers sympathetic activation—our body tenses, heart rate spikes, and we move into defensiveness or withdrawal. Over time, repeated exposure to unkindness wires us toward vigilance and distrust.

Kindness interrupts that cycle. It offers the nervous system a message of safety. In this sense, a simple act of care is not just moral but biological. It regulates, repairs, and restores balance.

On a collective scale, communities marked by cooperation and care consistently thrive more than those built on fear and domination. Every major shift in human history—civil rights, women’s suffrage, movements for dignity and freedom—was powered not only by resistance but also by an insistence on care. People fed one another, protected one another, reminded each other that life is worth more than oppression.

Reclaiming Kindness as Power

To be kind in today’s world is a quiet form of rebellion. It asks us to slow down, to recognize the humanity of the person in front of us even when we don’t agree with them. It requires courage to soften when everything around us hardens.

What would change if kindness were not just a fleeting gesture, but a daily practice? If we treated it not as something “nice,” but as a form of power, a way of shaping the world into something more livable?

The Invitation

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: every time I’ve been on the receiving end of an unexpected kindness, it has shifted something in me. It has reminded me that despite the noise and cruelty of the world, gentleness still exists. And every time I’ve chosen kindness over reaction, I’ve felt a glimpse of the world I hope we are capable of building.

Maybe the work is simpler than we think: to practice kindness not as transaction, but as remembrance. Remembrance that we belong to one another. That life is fragile. That we all want, in our own way, to be seen and treated with care.

And maybe that remembrance is the first step to healing the world we live in.

Practicing Kindness in Daily Life

Kindness becomes real when we embody it in small, ordinary ways. Here are a few simple practices that ripple outward:

Pause before reacting. When irritation rises, take one breath before speaking. That pause helps the nervous system downshift, giving you the chance to respond rather than react.
Offer presence. Listen without rushing to fix or interrupt. Presence signals safety to the other person’s nervous system and creates space for true connection.
Give something small. A compliment, a helping hand, or even a warm smile can spark oxytocin release in both you and the receiver, easing tension and building trust.

None of these cost anything, yet each carries weight. Kindness may not change the whole world in an instant, but it can change the world of the person standing in front of you. And along the way, it helps regulate your own nervous system, creating a feedback loop of safety and care that extends far beyond the moment itself.

✨ If you take anything away from this article, take this: Kindness is how we remember we belong to one another. ✨

If this resonates, I’d love to hear how kindness has shaped your life in the comments.

Softening the Strong Side: When The Masculine Yields

Posted on July 28, 2025 by Dr. Charlotte Meier, DC

On this current healing journey (post head-on collision with the only sustaining injury being my right hand), I’ve been asked several times:

What have you learned during this process?
What does it mean to heal your hands?—

The hands that channel healing.
The hands that are the foundation of your practice.
The hands that also need time to rest.

I started to contemplate what it really means to let the dominant side rest. And when I did, I felt this immense shift in my mental processing. It was like an inner awareness woke up—a knowing that my “doing” side, my masculine side, my dominant side, my right side—was being invited into its yin phase.

Ready to soften.
To do less.
To retract.
To dismantle the need to fix things.

I noticed how tightly I tend to hold onto my need to solve problems. How urgent it can feel. But then something in my body shifted—I began to move my body in a way that felt organic, almost involuntary. A somatic unraveling. An intimate dance. My body knew it was time to release this program, this pattern that says the masculine must always be the one doing, carrying, and holding strong.

I had to release the belief that softness is not an option.

And in that moment, it felt like my feminine finally stepped forward—offering a deeper understanding:

That balance is not just a concept—it’s a necessity.
That sometimes the feminine takes over and leads.
Sometimes she becomes the dominant hand.
To feed you.
To care for you.
To mend you.

Even as my mind insists my right side is capable—ready to return to its normal rhythm—my body tells another story.

Numbness.
Weakness.
Exhaustion.
Pain.

A message: There is no more space to hold everything alone.

This injury is teaching me about cooperation. About interdependence. About co-creation. About the sacred balance that occurs when one hand is down—and the other steps in to support.

And so, this injury is also teaching me about relationships.

How people have shown up to care for me in this time—and my profound resistance in receiving. Feeling as if I was a burden, and yet holding deep gratitude to those friends who insisted I was worth caring for. Those same friends who have gone above and beyond to care for me despite what is going on in their own lives. To remind me that it’s okay to rest. That a pause is merely an invitation for transformation. That there will always be a soft place to land.

I found myself wondering: Do I show up for others in the same way?
Can I? Do I even have the capacity to do so?

This right hand injury is teaching me what compassion really looks like.

It’s also illuminating the shadows—those beliefs buried in shame and guilt.
The ones that tell me I shouldn’t need rest.
That I should be healing quicker.
That I’m weak for returning to my creature comforts.
That healing must look a certain way.

But what if this retreat into comfort—into the soft and familiar—is exactly what’s needed for healing?

Not to shrink, but to expand.
And not with shame.
Not with guilt.
Not with self-judgment.
But with reverence.

And as I reflect on this experience through the lens of the world around me, I can’t help but notice the parallels.

We are living through a time when the dominant hand of the world—its masculine-coded systems of power, productivity, extraction, and control—is faltering. Cracking. Growing numb with overuse. Burnt out from centuries of imbalance.

What we’re witnessing on a global scale is a body too long in overdrive. Whether through ecological collapse, war, collective burnout, or social fragmentation, we are witnessing a world that can no longer hold everything alone.

Just like my own right hand, the world is asking for help. For pause. For recalibration.

And in that pause, something ancient begins to stir.
A memory of balance.
A return to the feminine current: quiet, relational, circular, receptive.

We see it in grassroots healing spaces, in mutual aid, in the way communities are reorganizing themselves around care rather than consumption. In the rise of somatic practice. In the way people are redefining strength—not as endurance at all costs, but as the capacity to feel and receive.

What if this isn’t just a breakdown, but a sacred rebalancing?

What if, like my body, the Earth is asking: Please, let the other hand rise.

To hold the world differently.
To listen.
To mend.
To remember that healing is not a solo task, but a communal unfolding.

So here I am… softened, slower, still healing. Letting my body re-teach me what the world is also remembering.

That real strength includes the willingness to be held.
That rest is not a failure—it is a bridge.
And that in the stillness, we begin to dream a new rhythm into being.

So when people ask about my healing process, all I can truly say is that this right hand injury has only just begun to unfold it’s lessons.

It’s teaching me that to truly rest is to let go of the inner struggle.
To soften self-judgment and give yourself full permission to experience exactly what is here right now.
That an unexpected pause can be fertile ground.
That I am still deeply human.
Still allowed to love what makes me feel safe and warm and alive.
Still held in spirit.
Still connected to the Divine.
And that balance—true balance—means honoring both.

My Divine Pause: What My Healing Is Teaching Me

Posted on June 24, 2025 by Dr. Charlotte Meier, DC

I’ve been quiet lately — not because there’s nothing to say, but because I’m learning to speak from a different place.

On June 17th, I was in a head-on collision that caused whiplash, significant neck pain, deep seatbelt bruising, and — most devastatingly — an injury to my right hand. The very hand I’ve used to serve thousands of bodies, to adjust spines, place needles, offer Reiki, create healing sounds, and to hold sacred space in ceremony. The right hand is action-oriented. It’s the doing hand. The practitioner’s hand.

And now, it’s the one asking me to stop.

I was offered prescription medications to help manage the pain. But something inside me said no. Not out of stubbornness or pride, but because I could feel there was something in the sensation itself I needed to hear.

Because pain, as uncomfortable and inconvenient as it is, is also communication — a messenger from the body saying: stop, tend, listen. And when we listen without rushing to silence it, something remarkable begins to unfold. A deeper dialogue opens. One that speaks not only to the tissues and tendons, but to the spirit inside them.

So I’ve been sitting in sacred ceremony with the pain.

Letting it speak.
Letting it slow me.
Letting it teach me.

In my listening, I’ve been allowing my body to rest — often napping multiple times throughout the day. I’ve also increased my nutritional support with clean protein, grass-fed collagen, liposomal vitamin C, iron, and a prenatal multivitamin. In addition, I’ve started drinking more hydrogen water, using arnica gel on my bruises, sitting in reflective meditation in my backyard with ceremonial cacao, and taking gentle evening walks through my neighborhood. And of course, I’ve been receiving gentle chiropractic care and laser treatments to engage my nervous system and to help amplify the body’s natural healing cascade.

What I know is this: The aches in my muscles, the pooling of blood within the bruising, the fire of inflammation in my hand — they are not just symptoms of an injury — they’re there for protection. It’s the body’s way of creating sacred space. A biological boundary that says: “Nothing enters here. This space is for healing only. You are not meant to move forward just yet.”

And I’ve come to trust it — not just as a chiropractor, not just as a healer — but as a human being who is learning, once again, that the body knows.

Despite that trust, there’s a particular kind of heartbreak that arises when the thing you use to give is the thing that gets taken offline. As a solo practitioner, as a chiropractor (from the Greek meaning “to practice with hands”), this rupture goes far beyond the physical.

It touches the core of my identity, my work, my daily rhythms, and my purpose.

Pending further review for a possible scaphoid fracture, I’ve had to cancel everything — appointments, collaborations, plans. I’ve had to slow down, ask for help, and sit in the stillness.

But the stillness isn’t empty. It’s potent. It’s revealing. And it’s uncomfortable in all the ways growth often is.

What This Pause Is Teaching Me

This isn’t just a physical injury. It’s a spiritual initiation.

I can feel it in the way my nervous system is finally exhaling.
In the way grief and gratitude are walking hand-in-hand.
In the space that’s opened up — space I didn’t even know I needed.

I’ve been guided to reflect on some tender, soul-level questions:

What if this moment isn’t a setback, but a redirection?
What if my voice, my presence, my energy — not just my hands — are just as powerful tools for healing?
What if the version of me that emerges from this is more aligned than ever before?

I don’t have the answers yet. But I’m sitting with the questions, day by day. Breath by breath.

On Being a Healer in Healing

There’s a pressure in our culture — especially as practitioners — to always be okay. To be the one who holds it all together. To keep showing up no matter what.

I’ve lived that story. I’ve embodied it. I’ve prided myself on being grounded, capable, and consistently available for others.

But now I’m learning to receive.
To let myself be held.
To allow this body to unravel, rebuild, and rewrite its own wisdom.

I don’t know exactly how long I’ll be in this pause. And maybe that’s the medicine too — releasing control, letting go of timelines, and unraveling the illusion that our worth is measured by our productivity..

What I do know is that this time is sacred.

And I feel called to write from within it — not just after I’m “better,” but while I’m still in the raw, liminal space of healing. Because healing isn’t linear. It’s circular, spiraling, and profoundly humbling.

A Birthday in the Pause

July is also my birthday month — which will be a quieter milestone this year.

I won’t be celebrating with big gatherings or loud joy, but rather with reverence. With reflection. With deep breaths and slow mornings. There will be gratitude — for breath, for life, for this body that is working so hard to heal. With the soft medicine of knowing that every year we’re gifted on this Earth is a chance to listen more deeply, love more fully, and realign with what truly matters.

If you feel called to share a birthday wish, a prayer, or simply a moment of presence — I welcome it with an open heart. More than anything, I’m grateful to be here. To be healing. To be held by this community.

Here’s to another turn around the Sun — even if this one looks a little different. 🌞

An Invitation to Breathe With Me

If you are also in a season of pause, transition, grief, or transformation — I see you.

May we remember:

Rest is not laziness. It is listening.
Slowness is not weakness. It is wisdom.
Surrender is not giving up. It is giving in — to something deeper.

This is not the content I planned to be writing this summer. But maybe it’s the message that wants to come through. Maybe this chapter isn’t about returning to what was, but becoming something new entirely.

Thank you for being here — whether you’re a client, a friend, or simply a kindred soul walking your own sacred path.

And a very special thank you — from the depths of my heart — to everyone who has stopped by to check on me, offered rides to my appointments, brought nourishing meals, delivered thoughtful gifts, sent words of encouragement, offered distant Reiki, or whispered a prayer on my behalf.

I feel your love. I feel your support.

Not just around me, but within me — woven into my healing.

For the first time in my life, I can truly say: I trust that I am held.

And that knowing is its own kind of medicine.

If anything in this post resonated, I’d love to hear from you in the comments. What are you learning in your own sacred pause?

With tenderness and truth (written mostly with one hand and voice-to-text),
Dr. Charlotte
🌿 Between Realms

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