A few years ago, I was at a recovery meeting, and a woman shared something challenging that was going on in her life.

She was young, struggling with addiction, and had just learned that she was pregnant.

It was an unplanned pregnancy, but one she wanted to keep.

And because recovery meetings are basically the best place in the world to talk about your life, she was met with overwhelming support. After the meeting, other women stuck around to talk to her, me included.

"Do you have everything you need?" I heard people ask. "Do you need help finding a doctor or making appointments?"

"Do you have a safe place to stay?"

"Do you have money for food?"

On and on, wave after wave of "how can I help?" questions were sent her way.

And she felt the love. But also some overwhelm. A lot was hitting her all at once, and she needed room to breathe.

So, with a sheepish look on her face, she said, "I need to step outside for a minute. I know that I'm not supposed to do this, but I really need a cigarette right now."

And naturally, some people judged her. "You're pregnant," their faces read. "You can't smoke anymore."

I, on the other hand, dug in my bag to see if I had a lighter. "I'll come sit outside with you if you'd like," I offered.

Was it ideal that a pregnant woman was smoking? No, of course not.

Did I have overwhelming concerns about a woman who was shooting heroin the day before having a few cigarettes while she tried to figure out how the &*$% to both get clean AND be pregnant AND then raise a child? Not in the slightest. Smoke on, sister. Let's take this one step at a time.

For all I knew, letting herself have a cigarette might be the difference between going home and winning her first day sober or leaving the meeting and texting her dealer.

Afterwards, when she was ready to leave, she mentioned that she needed a ride, and a handful of people volunteered to take her where she needed to go. And she looked at me and said:

"Will you take me? It's easier to be calm around you than it is around other people."

What a statement: "It's easier to be calm around you than it is around other people."

So I took her home, and she went on to live her life. I don't know how her story unfolded. In my twenties, I lived in a world where this wasn't an unusual occurrence. When you regularly attend recovery meetings, you see a lot. And you're blessed with the kind of social circles where you never need to talk about the weather.

But her statement came back to me this morning because I've been reflecting on my shamanic practice. I guess maybe my writing too. Or possibly it's bigger than that – maybe it's about my way of going through the world.

If you work with me, if you sign up for shamanic energy medicine sessions or go to a workshop I put on or read something I write – that calm thing? It's what I have to offer.

I can't promise to make you laugh. I have so many friends who are funnier than I am.

I can't promise to help you earn a gazillion dollars. I have no experience doing that.

I certainly can't promise to help you choose which shoes go with your outfit. Yesterday I contemplated setting my wardrobe on fire because I find getting dressed to be one of the greatest annoyances of human existence.

But I can probably help you feel a little calmer. More at ease. Relaxed, even.

And, if that sounds helpful to you, you know where to find me.

Or maybe you don’t? The answer is my website. I have a booking calendar on my Shamanic Energy Medicine page and it’s updated to include some US-time-zone-friendly options in July.

Wishing you peace and calm,

Keely