It was pitch black. And motherfucking hot.
Of course it was. It was Mexico in July, and I was seated inside a sweat lodge.
A new offering on the menu. The photo in the brochure made it look peaceful and traditional. Stepping into a Mayan ritual seemed like a brilliant idea, a way to embrace my quest for wellness in a truly cultural way while staying at a longevity clinic in Mexico. I naively did no research. Turns out that was a good thing, because the Condé Nast article I read after the fact would have sent me packing.
And I didn’t just sign myself up. I enrolled my daughter, too, who looked at me afterward and said, that was the wildest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.
A beautiful Mayan shaman greeted us. (I’ll be honest, I’m not sure that’s the right word for a woman who serves as a ceremonial guide in the Mayan tradition, but it’s the one I have.) She was knowledgeable and calming. We both felt reassured as we were saged, welcomed, and led inside the Temazcal.
As the volcanic rocks were placed in the firepit and the temperature began to climb, she asked us to consider what we were seeking.
I said peace.
I had no idea those two hours were about to expose something I had spent my entire life trying to outrun.
But to explain that, I need to back up.
I’m writing this en route home from SHA Wellness — my second stay in two years. Last year, my daughter, two friends and I arrived fully immersed in one of their seven-day detox programs. This year, with only a few calendar days to spare, we opted for a shorter stay, one we could design ourselves, catered to our own desires and outcomes. A program they call Stay Your Way. We signed up.
Four days to unwind after the whirlwind summer I’d set in motion. My priority was singular: relaxation. Four full days of living in a bathrobe, leaning into rest, ironing out a nervous system still recovering from cross-continent trips and, more honestly, from years of stress and trauma.
It sounds luxurious. It is. Don’t get me wrong.
But it doesn’t come easily for someone who has spent a lifetime tying her worth to her productivity.
What I’m realizing, though, is that longevity, wellness, my overall well-being — this is the work. Not the thing I get to after the work, but the work itself.
And not only for me. For my daughter, too. It’s something I hope she can embrace at 21 in a way I’m only learning at 52.
We added our own twist, of course. A glass of champagne each night before dinner. Because here’s the thing: living at full tilt isn’t the norm, and I know that when restriction hits hard, the pendulum swings back even harder. So even at a wellness clinic, there’s a place for a pop of that kind of pleasure. Trust me, they’d noted my propensity to savor bubbles right in my profile, which only makes me appreciate them more.
What I’m after, always, is balance. 80/20. A week away doesn’t need to be an extreme for the benefits to still deliver.
Here’s the fuller truth, though. I have been chasing wellness for the majority of my adult life, in some shape or form. I’ve tried, and I’m willing to try, just about anything.
I have attended countless yoga trainings. More than I can recall. Name the modality, and I likely have a certificate of completion tucked into a file marked “Yoga Teacher Training Certificates” — because of course I have that.
I’ve been on women’s retreats. Not the kind that reunite friends for a fun weekend, but the kind that led me to wellbeing and alternative treatments for aging long before Instagram existed — before TikTok made everything mainstream and viral. The kind that led to a full kitchen edit, where I forced my family to eat quinoa I’d soaked for a full day, because back then quinoa only came raw, sold at health food stores with abstract names like Claudia’s.
With a degree in East Asian Studies, I found my way to Traditional Chinese Medicine years ago, and I swear by it, for my weekly nervous system reboot and for so many other ailments I’ve battled over the years. There’s something about ancient medicine that has always held an allure for me.
Honestly, there is nothing quite like floating on the waters of the Dead Sea, basking in the mud beneath it, then scrubbing it off with the salt crystals that form along the shore. The therapeutic benefits are as mystifying as the land that surrounds it.
And then there’s therapy, of course. I believe everyone can benefit from a good therapist. It’s never easy, but exploring the past and getting to know all my internal parts has been a huge shift in how I experience life and my relationships.
As for longevity and wellness clinics, they’ve been earmarked in the Notes app on my phone for easily a decade. I was mesmerized by the first article I read and held onto it, knowing that one day I’d find my way to one. After my late husband died and my daughter left for a school year in Switzerland, I did. I booked a week at a renowned clinic near her, ended up extending my stay, and went back the following year.
And still. After all of it, and so many other things I’ve done, I’m always curious what else is out there.
Which is how my daughter got dragged into a sweat lodge with me, along with baggage I didn’t even know I was carrying.
Last year, SHA’s diagnostic testing told me my sympathetic nervous system was hardwired for threat. At the time, I assumed it was because of everything I’d lived through over the previous two years.
This year, I expected different results. Yes, life will always have its ups and downs, but I have continued to do the work. And for the first time in SO LONG, I am genuinely happy.
But the numbers hadn’t changed. If anything, they got slightly worse. My parasympathetic nervous system (the one responsible for rest and digest) is literally asleep at the wheel.
It wasn’t until I found myself sitting in the dark inside a Mayan sweat lodge that I realized why.
I’ve spent a lifetime bracing. Bracing for the floor to fall out. Bracing for something to be taken away. Bracing for the other shoe to drop.
Peace wasn’t the thing standing in my way. Bracing was.
I couldn’t access it because I was still preparing for impact.
And somewhere in that dome-shaped “house of heat,” meant to represent the womb of Mother Earth (I know, it sounds so woo-woo), amidst an indigenous ceremonial ritual, with hot water poured over volcanic rocks, steam rising with no escape, the smell of herbs and medicinal plants in the air, the rhythmic chanting all around, I broke my own glass ceiling.
What I’ve come to know is this: the subconscious is the real driver, and our own glass ceiling.
The body keeps score. And mine has been keeping a high one.
Locked in every muscle and fiber, the shadows of my subconscious have been hiding.
For years I thought I could crack mine by pushing harder. Thinking more. Reading more. Learning more. Running marathons across the globe. Scrubbing, rubbing, mud-bathing, and needling my way through all the layers.
We all have our own version of “not enough” playing on default somewhere in the depths of the brain.
But in the dark, I found a shadow bigger than that, one no masseuse in the world was going to unlock.
I went in asking for peace.
But somewhere between the sage-infused steam, the primal chanting, and the layers of sweat, trust surfaced.
The one missing piece to my puzzle. The one thing I never questioned.
And here’s the part I cringe to write: I have never held trust as a foundation. It isn’t what I was built on.
As a product of divorce, I lived a childhood of chaos and uncertainty. Things were taken from me as a parenting tactic, one likely passed down from the generation before. Somehow, through it all, I learned early on that if I couldn’t count on others, I would take care of myself. And I did. I have more grit than I know what to do with.
But trust? No.
When things get pulled away at a young age, you learn to expect it. At least I did. So I built a world I could depend on, and I controlled and organized my way through life.
But here’s the thing. That foundation doesn’t hold when the uncontrollable happens.
No clear plastic bin, however neatly labeled, can withstand an earthquake overnight.
In the last few years, I’ve had my fair share of unexpected loss. And when those things happen, big or small, the subconscious defaults to what it knows best. In my case, that’s to expect more.
Living in a body that’s always preparing for impact is no way to live. Trust me – and I say that both honestly and ironically.
My own glass ceiling wasn’t about inner peace. It was about trust.
Suddenly, those test results made sense. My nervous system wasn’t simply responding to the losses of the past few years. It was responding to a lifetime spent bracing. My body wasn’t confused. It was doing exactly what it had been taught to do.
You can’t relax your way to calm when the foundation underneath is I don’t trust this to hold.
Trust is the one thing I couldn’t train for. Couldn’t achieve. Couldn’t book at any wellness clinic in the world.
It only surfaced when I finally stopped doing.
I won’t pretend I walked out of that lodge holding it. I didn’t.
But I walked out knowing its name.
And after a lifetime of chasing, I finally know where to begin.
Always EDITing,
Leslie
Your comments fuel me. I read them all!
P.S. As for SHA Wellness, I look forward to my return and am excited to share some cool offerings that might pique your interest as well. Stay tuned.
As for me, I have a quick 24 hours at home before I am off on yet another adventure. Life will begin to slow down for me soon. Trust me, I am ready for it too.
I’ve done one of those before in Mexico. They really can be life changing. But also: motherfucking hot!!! I’m also going to try that place now. Sounds really amazing. Cheers to moving energy and trying new things. Great piece.
Leslie, “I walked out knowing its name” gives this essay its most honest measure of change. After years of seeking calm through training, travel, therapy, and wellness practices, you found language for the bracing that had accompanied you into every attempt to rest. Naming trust as the missing foundation leaves the work unfinished while giving the next step a truer starting place. Thank you for showing how recognition can become meaningful before it becomes resolution.