Mentoring

Let me share a story with you:

The Wisdom Bench

A Space for Clarity, Truth, and Transformation

Through the cycle of seasons, a village remains – tucked among rolling hills, cradled by a shimmering body of water. In spring, the air is thick with the scent of blossoms, petals caressed by the whispers of the breeze. Summer hums with the warmth of ripe fruit and sun-drenched laughter. In autumn, a tapestry of red, orange, and gold blankets the ground, the harvest abundant, the light soft. And in winter, the village slows, wrapped in mist and the quiet hush of snowfall, a time for reflection and gathering close.

At its heart, where life pulses steady and strong, stands an ancient tree – her roots deep, her branches wide, a silent witness to the stories of those who pass beneath her. Beneath this tree, a bench, smooth and welcoming, worn by time and the presence of many before. 

Often, a woman sits on this bench – not defined by age, for she carries them all within her. The Queen, standing in her sovereignty. The Priestess, attuned to the unseen. The Crone, wise and steady. And sometimes, when the moment calls for it, the laughter of the Maiden rises from her lips, light and unexpected.

People, young and old, come to her – not for answers, not for solutions, but for space. Space to breathe. To settle. To untangle the knots within. A space where they can loosen their grip, let the weight they carry soften, let the armor slip off without fear. A space that doesn’t ask them to be more or less, but simply – be. And in that being, something stirs – something long buried beneath expectation, beneath the noise of the world, beneath the endless reaching for answers outside themselves.

She does not ask them to explain. She does not rush to fill the silence, to fix, to smooth over the jagged edges of their truth. She does not demand that they find clarity before they will. Instead, she meets them exactly as they are. 

She holds space – not as an empty vessel, but as a deep, unwavering presence. She is the ground beneath their feet when everything else feels unsteady. The pause between breaths. The place where defenses can drop, where nothing needs to be solved, where there is no rush to move beyond the very moment.

She listens – not just to what is spoken, but to what lingers beneath. The stories buried in the pauses, the emotions caught in the throat, the quiet tremble of words unspoken.

Here, in that stillness, they remember.

They remember what it feels like to be met without conditions, to be seen without judgment, to be held without needing to perform. They remember the sound of their own voice, unfiltered and true. The pulse of their own knowing, steady beneath the doubt. They remember that clarity does not come from force, that healing does not come from fixing, that they have always been whole – even in their brokenness, even in their uncertainty.

And when she speaks, it is not to tell, not to dictate, not to impose. Her words are not answers, but invitations. A gentle nudge toward what they already know but have not yet seen. Sometimes, she speaks with fierce love, unwavering in truth, cutting through illusion with the precision of a blade – not to wound, but to set free. Other times, she offers the softest of whispers, a barely perceptible flicker of light in the fog. She does not draw the map. She does not claim to know the way. She simply reminds them that they already hold the compass.

And so they come – not to be changed, not to be taught, not to be anything other than who they are.

They come because, in her presence, they remember: 

They are enough. They have always been enough. 

They were never lost – only waiting to come home to themselves. 

There is nothing to prove, nothing to earn – they have always been whole, just as they are.

This is what I offer. A place to pause. To reflect. To untangle the knots and rediscover what has been within you all along. Whether you seek direction, understanding, or the courage to follow your own North Star, I am here – not to lead the way, but to walk beside you as you find it.

Come sit at the bench. The tree is waiting.
So am I.