Friday mornings; sanctuary of restoration

The world rushes, but I choose stillness. My mornings have become a deliberate act of tenderness...gentle rebellion against the constant demand for productivity. 

The shower is more than cleansing; it's a ritual of transformation. Washing away last night's oils and serums spreading like elixirs across my skin, each drop a small promise of care.

Warm tea steams beside a puzzle...pieces waiting to be connected, a metaphor for how I'm carefully assembling myself these days. Intentional. Deliberate. No sudden movements, no harsh transitions.

A massage awaits later, not as luxury, but as necessary maintenance. Like oiling machinery, but softer. More compassionate. 

Friday night dinner approaches, not like the Gilmore dinners  but something more authentic. A meal that promises warmth, not just of temperature, but of spirit.

This is my reset.

My breath before the week's storm.

A moment of quiet preparation.

Each slow movement is an act of defiance against the world's hectic rhythm. Not just preparing for the week but  holding space for myself.