Most rooms were not built for people like us.
You've been holding too much lately.
Not because of who you are —but because of how much you’re asked to hold.
There’s a particular weight that comes with being an n’betweener.
You move between cultures, identities, languages, and worlds.
You read the room. You translate. You adapt.
And over time, that range can start to feel like a load.
You learn to make yourself easier to understand.
To soften your edges.
To shrink your desires so they don’t feel inconvenient.
Slowly, subtly, what once felt like richness can start to feel like effort.
And right now, in this moment in the world, that heaviness is amplified.
There is so much happening — politically, socially, globally.
For people who live in the n’between, this moment can feel especially intense.
You don’t just witness what’s happening — you feel it.
What’s heavy isn’t your complexity — it’s the absence of spaces that know how to hold it.
Most rooms were not built for people like us.
They were built for single stories, clean narratives, easy categories.
So we compress ourselves to belong.
And that compression has a cost.
What I keep sensing — in myself and in so many of you — is not a need for more effort.
It’s a need for true inspiration. That fills our cup.
For power that comes from being seen, not from pushing harder.
For spaces that remind us how powerful we are — even when things are hard.
You’ve been asking for a space to be seen — so this is about coming alive together.
Next week, I'm opening something I've never opened before — a rare space made specifically for n’betweener people to come alive together.
It’s special. It’s unique. It's magical.
And it’s not going to feel like anything you’ve been to before.
Hugs,
Nora