Perimenopause can feel like a wild and unpredictable ride. For many people, it affects nearly every aspect of life — physically, emotionally, mentally, relationally, and spiritually. Physical symptoms may include hot flashes, sleep disruption, hair loss, changes in libido or genital tissue, and shifts in body composition. Energetically, people may experience fatigue, restlessness, or difficulty falling or staying asleep. Emotionally and mentally, perimenopause can bring brain fog, anxiety, depression, grief, difficulty concentrating, or the resurfacing of unresolved trauma.

This transition can also deeply impact relationships and identity. Many people begin reevaluating intimate partnerships, parenting, work, creativity, and the ways they have moved through the world up until this point. Things that once felt sustainable or acceptable may no longer fit. There may also be a profound reckoning with aging, sexuality, self-worth, and one’s relationship with the body itself.

And yet, alongside the challenges, perimenopause can also bring tremendous gifts. Many women describe caring less about others’ expectations and feeling more connected to their authentic selves. Boundaries become clearer. Self-care becomes more accessible. Intuition may feel louder and easier to trust. There can be a deepening sense of wisdom, discernment, and personal truth.

Perimenopause is a major hormonal transition, in some ways similar to puberty. For some, it feels chaotic and overwhelming; for others, gradual and manageable. As with the menstrual cycle, there is no right or wrong way to experience this transition.

For many women, puberty was not marked with ritual, support, or celebration. If we were lucky, someone — perhaps a mother, aunt, or teacher — explained what menstruation was and how to use pads or tampons. But many people received little emotional support, reassurance, or acknowledgment of the significance of the transition. If you were welcomed and supported during puberty, I am so happy for you! I would love to hear how you were welcomed so my 13 year old can relish in that! If you were not, it can be difficult to imagine what it might look like to intentionally support yourself through this next hormonal initiation.

One of the things I value most about ketamine-assisted therapy is its intentionality. We pause to reflect on why we are engaging in this work, what we hope to receive from it, and what support or practices we want to put in place beforehand. The process itself becomes a ritual — a conscious act of turning toward ourselves with curiosity, care, and presence.

Many people in midlife have little time or space to contemplate ritual or intentional transition. Life is often filled with caregiving, work responsibilities, maintaining relationships, and supporting aging parents. Yet whether we consciously acknowledge it or not, change is happening. It may begin subtly: forgetting words that once came easily, changes in sleep, shifts in libido, emotional sensitivity, or feeling disconnected from yourself in unfamiliar ways. Many women have learned to override these signals and “just keep going” because there is always something or someone needing attention.

These symptoms — whether quiet whispers or loud disruptions — may be invitations to slow down and listen more deeply. They may be asking you to reflect on what this stage of life requires from you, what needs tending, and what can no longer be ignored.

A ketamine journey can offer space to explore both the obvious and subtle dimensions of perimenopause. It can provide an opportunity to slow down, reconnect with yourself, and consider how you want to move through this transition. It may help illuminate what support, boundaries, healing, or life changes are needed. It can also create space for grieving, honoring, and integrating the many phases of your life and identity — including the years shaped by fertility, caregiving, creativity, partnership, or motherhood, whether literal or symbolic.

In addition to supporting emotional reflection and ritual, ketamine may also help alleviate some of the other symptoms associated with perimenopause. For some women, this transition intensifies anxiety, depression, hopelessness, or emotional overwhelm. Ketamine has been studied for its rapid-acting antidepressant effects and may provide meaningful relief for some individuals. Many women are prescribed low-dose antidepressants during perimenopause, which can be an important and supportive option. Ketamine may also serve as an alternative or complementary approach, particularly for those experiencing medication side effects or seeking additional support. It can also work alongside MHT (menopausal hormone therapy), which may help address some of the hormonal and neurological shifts that occur during this stage of life.

Many women feel isolated in their perimenopause experience, which is one of the reasons Vanessa Weiland, NP and founder of Phases Clinic, and I are offering The Unfolding Series: Perimenopause — From Transition to Transformation. This workshop is an opportunity to gather with others navigating this life stage and develop a clearer understanding of the hormonal and neurological changes occurring during perimenopause — and why so many people feel as though they are navigating it without a map.

Together, we will explore somatic practices that honor the full arc of hormonal change and participate in a guided hypnosis designed to support resilience, self-awareness, and intentional transition. Participants will also receive priority access to the upcoming Ketamine-Assisted Perimenopause Support Group launching this fall.

On my most recent trip to India I fell more in love with Nandi. Nandi is the bull that is always, unwaveringly looking at Śiva. If you see Śiva Nandi will be there looking on, and it is customary for people to whisper their prayers or desires to Nandi because he will bring them to Śiva.

Nandi is the epitome of single-pointed focus because no matter what is happening his gaze is focused on Śiva. As I saw Nandi in many forms and many places throughout the incredible yātrā with my guru and saṅgha I was inspired and curious about my own focus and also lack thereof. 

As I reflected on my own life and where my focus is at any given time it is rarely single-pointed. I might say my spiritual practice is my primary focus, but then I get caught up in making money, doom scrolling, defending my opinions, comparing myself to someone I think is doing “better” or “worse” than me, etc. How much of my focus is truly where I say it is?

As the crowds swirled around Nandi people were enamored by the architecture, taking selfies or having conversations. I was constantly drawn to Nandi’s stillness, silence, steadiness and unwavering gaze, but soon enough I would become entranced by a carving in the temple, a conversation would grip me and I too would desire that perfect picture. 

My guru talks about taming the mind before we can train it, and Nandi is a beautiful example of a mind that is both tamed and trained. One thing I notice about Nandi is he is always sitting, which implies stillness. My guru also emphasizes the importance of stillness. To be able to simply sit still is a huge practice in itself! Try sitting absolutely still for 1 minute and you may find how difficult it is. I notice how often I want to fidget my fingers, adjust my clothing, scratch that itch, grab for something, etc. When we start to train the body to be still we are also training the mind. When I notice the urge to grab my phone and sit in the desire without moving I can feel the energy move through my body and dissipate. I can start to feel how there is a little discomfort that I want to get away from and I can do that by distracting myself with my phone. When I can sit in stillness I can be in a more intimate relationship with myself because I can start to observe when I leave myself through distraction.

I also love Nandi’s gaze. It is soft, sweet, loving and yet unwavering. There isn’t an intensity to his gaze. There is so much love. When I approach something I often do it from a place of intensity and drive, which feels quite the opposite of Nandi’s vibe. Even when I am practicing sitting still it can get rigid, tight and harsh. Then I give up and collapse. Nandi shows me that focus isn’t about gripping, it is actually about softening. This is paradoxical to the way I have learned about focus. Focus takes effort and discipline. This is true, but it can also be sweet and loving. I remember when I first met my dog many years ago and loved staring at him. There was no effort involved. It was pure joy to watch this being move about the world. I hear this from new parents too. The joy of love. So how do we transform hard discipline into sweet devotion? How can discipline happen because of desire and longing vs. should and force? As Nandi looks at Śiva it is not from an obligation. It is because there is nothing else in the world he would rather do.

There are parts of myself that I love and there are parts of myself that I don’t love, but Nandi doesn’t turn away from Śiva because Nandi loves Śiva regardless. What if I could love myself whether I am distracted or focused? I am able to still still or I am wiggling around? Nandi’s gaze shows me there is nothing to fix within me and I am loved just because I am. 

What do you love more than anything in the world? What could you stare at for hours on end without ever getting bored? Could you turn that sweet, loving and devoted gaze on yourself? Can you sit still with yourself to be with the parts that you love and don’t love? If you can’t, can you sit with that too?

Blog by Vanessa Weiland, ARNP, of Phases Clinic

“What stood out about Saumya’s approach was the intentionality. This wasn’t just about the medicine. It was about arriving with a clear intention, being held well during the experience, and doing meaningful integration work afterward. Saumya’s integration support mattered too. The insights from a ketamine session don’t just automatically stick — you have to do the work to weave them into daily life.”

Here the full blog here.

May you honor and befriend the darkness so it can teach you its magic.
May you celebrate and relish the lightness so it can fuel your joy.

May you rest so fully your soul is nourished.
May your heart fuel your work so it uplifts rather than depletes you.

May you turn so far inward you see the brilliance of your being.
May you look so deeply into the “other” you see that brilliance inside and out.

May you create the boundaries you need to honor the precious and limited time and energy we all have.
May you allow yourself to open to the unimaginable possibilities life has in store if you don’t close yourself off. 

May you embrace the darkness of this day, celebrate the light of tomorrow and honor the cycles of in and out, night and day, open and closed and being and doing.

As my gift to you here is a yin practice, solstice meditation and a pranayama micro-practice, which you can weave together for a nourishing solstice experience. 

Suggested sequence, but feel free to choose your own adventure:
Yin Practice
Pranayama
Meditation
Savasana on your own to rest

If you try any or all of the sequence let me know how it felt and/or if you have any questions. I love hearing from you!

May you have a peaceful solstice,
Saumya

Last month, I had the incredible opportunity to be in Alaska with my teacher and sangha, immersing in both spiritual practice and the ethereal magic of the aurora borealis.

We were treated to breathtaking displays—vivid greens, deep reds, flashes of purple and yellow—as the night sky transformed from black and star-studded to a kaleidoscope of color stretching from horizon to horizon. Starbursts shimmered overhead, and glowing pillars reached endlessly upward.

Standing under the aurora, staring into the dark sky for hours, is a rare and humbling experience. It reminds me how small and insignificant I truly am—and I cherish that feeling. Nature has a way of pulling me out of my mental loops: the stress, fear, anxiety, and endless attempts to control outcomes. In that vastness, I remember the grander universe I’m part of.

When the sky suddenly opens and a quiet flicker of green morphs into a streak of red tipped with violet, everything I was thinking about disappears. The aurora calls me into the present. I’m captivated, still, deeply content just to be.

My teacher often speaks of the eternal now of Kālī—the goddess who dances in the cemetery, who devours time. Kālī is time: both the linear time we all know and the timeless time of the present moment, where time dissolves completely.

Time is such a fascinating construct. A single minute of pain can stretch into what feels like hours. A vacation week can pass in a blink. Yet time itself doesn’t change—we do.

My logical, linear mind can’t quite grasp the idea of transcending time, but my direct experience can. When I’m waiting for the aurora to appear, I feel every second stretch. I feel the cold. The tiredness of being up so late. Time crawls. But when the sky lights up and I’m lost in awe, I don’t feel the cold anymore. I lose all sense of how long I’ve been gazing up. I don’t even notice that my mouth hurts from smiling. Time disappears. I simply exist—merged with the moment.

Awe and wonder can unlock this state of timeless presence, but so can shifting from doing to being. When I’m looking for the aurora, I’m in doing mode: checking apps, watching solar wind data, anticipating outcomes. Then—suddenly—I receive what I was seeking, and in that moment of satisfaction, all grasping falls away. I rest in being.

Then, as the sky darkens again, doing resumes. Time returns.

Doing isn’t bad or wrong—it’s necessary. Life is happening through doing. I’m writing this post. My food is digesting. Consciously and unconsciously, doing continues. So the question becomes: How can I access being amidst all the doing? How can I experience the eternal now within the structure of linear time?

What I’ve learned from my teacher is that doing is linked to outcomes—future-oriented—and that what we do is shaped by our conditioning—past-oriented. The past and future form the line we call time.

For instance, I became a yoga therapist because of my own powerful healing experiences integrating yoga and mental health. That past experience shaped the path I chose. If I’d had a profound experience gardening with my grandmother, maybe I’d have become a horticulturist instead. What I’m doing today is a result of past events and choices.

Now that I’ve built an identity around being a yoga therapist, I unconsciously seek to maintain that identity—through the books I read, the practices I do, how I present myself to the world. I’m often acting out of a desire to be seen a certain way, to uphold this self-image I’ve grown attached to.

Think of an identity you hold—parent, friend, professional. If you trace it back, can you see what experiences led you there? Can you observe how you now work to preserve that identity?

Now recall a moment of pure awe—skiing, playing with a puppy, catching a glimpse of Mt. Rainier through your car window. In that moment, you’re not your job, your role, or even your name. You simply are.

These moments of awe and presence are usually fleeting. The “doer” quickly returns, but they help me remember that I can access the timeless now. The more I remember that feeling, the more available it becomes—even in ordinary moments. I can feel awe washing dishes, walking in Seward Park, or eating my meal.

This is the gift of mindfulness: the capacity to be fully present, to touch the magic in every moment—not just in peak experiences like witnessing the aurora, but in the beautiful, quiet rituals of daily life.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

I love the Serenity Prayer because it offers perspective—helping me recognize where I have control and agency in my life and where I am resisting things beyond my power to change.

With the current administration igniting fear, panic, rage, grief, and uncertainty for so many, it can be easy to feel powerless, hopeless, and lost. At the same time, history shows us that communities have stayed connected, built, thrived, and sustained themselves in the face of oppression for centuries.

Accepting What I Cannot Change

How do I accept the things I cannot change? This question is profoundly difficult, and I believe the majority of humans struggle with it. Why do horrific things happen in the world? Why is there violence? How do we accept things that seem fundamentally wrong? I don’t have the answers, but I sit with these questions every day.

For me, acceptance starts in my own small universe. If I can practice acceptance here, perhaps I can extend it to the larger world, where I have little to no control. When a difficult emotion arises in me, how do I respond?

• Do I fight it, trying to banish it because it feels unwanted?
• Do I judge it, labeling some emotions as good and others as bad?
• Do I welcome it in, sitting with it like an old friend?
• Do I run from it, trying to hide?

How I engage with my internal landscape mirrors my ability or inability to accept external realities. I can’t change my emotions just because I want to, but I can work toward accepting them. Acceptance doesn’t mean I have to like or enjoy them—it simply means allowing them to exist because they are part of the present moment, and I cannot change that reality.

In Yoga one of the niyamas in the eight limbs of yoga is Īśvara praṇidhāna, which literally means surrender to the Lord. Acceptance can be seen as a form of surrender to what is, which is different than giving up.

Finding the Courage to Change What I Can

In some ways, it’s easier to direct my energy outward than to look within. If everyone, including this administration, did what I wanted, I wouldn’t have to examine myself or the places where I have the power to create change, both internally and externally. This is not saying we should not fight for the change we want to see in the world because that is necessary, but by relying on others to change we lose some of our agency. 

I appreciate the word courage in this prayer because it asks me to acknowledge my own power, resilience, and strength in the face of what I cannot change, and it also asks me to take responsibility.

As I bring it back to my internal world, if I am uncomfortable with anger, I may try to suppress or bypass it, pretending I’m not angry. That’s not acceptance. True courage means being willing to look at what I’ve rejected, punished, or pushed aside. It’s vulnerable to sit with anger (or sadness, fear, grief, etc.) and face it directly. I can’t control whether I feel anger, but I can cultivate the courage to engage with it consciously.

The niyamas of Yoga also include Tapas, which translates to austerity or heat. This ability to have the courage to act and do something within our sphere of control is necessary, but if we only move from tapas without surrender we will burnout.

Developing the Wisdom to Know the Difference

It may be simple to say, I can’t control what someone else does, but I can control what I do. In my experience, it is often more complicated.

I have little control over my body’s reactions, the emotions that arise and subside, or even the thoughts that enter my mind. Try this: Don’t think of a pink elephant. Did you have control over the image that popped into your head? Much of even our internal experience is out of our control, even when we believe otherwise.

This is where cultivating witness consciousness can be powerful. The witness observes everything—internal and external—with compassion and objectivity. It watches without judgment, whether I like what I see or not.

When I can witness my experience instead of being consumed by it, it creates space, which is one of the key ingredients of The Renegade Method, a transformative and embodied form of self-inquiry. That space allows for choice. Instead of being fear, I can observe myself feeling fear. This practice isn’t easy to cultivate, but when I do, intuition grows, and new possibilities emerge—ones I never imagined were available to me.

Another niyama is svādhyāya, which translates to self-study. By examining how we can—or struggle to—practice acceptance and courage, we gain insight into the obstacles that hinder us and the opportunities that lead to wisdom. This process deepens our self-awareness, strengthens our intuition, and helps us recognize our unique ability to engage with the world, our communities, and ourselves that is infused with acceptance, courage and deeply grounded wisdom.

Practicing Acceptance, Courage, and Wisdom

Sometimes, I am so immersed in my experience that I feel trapped. Can I accept that?
Sometimes, I can shift my perspective or integrate something that supports me—like a hug, time in nature, or simply pausing to connect with my breath. Can I summon the courage to lean into these resources instead of falling into old patterns of avoidance or rejection? Sometimes, I can witness my experience from a place of infinite love and compassion. Can I cultivate the wisdom to recognize these different states and allow my experiences to unfold—knowing that acceptance, courage, and wisdom feed into one another in an ever-evolving cycle?