Rituals that bring me home

Part five of a quiet series I’m sharing — letters that tell the truth of where I’ve been, and how I found my way through

There’s a lot of talk about self-care,.

But what I’ve learned is this: when you’ve carried the weight of life and death, rest is not indulgence. It’s intelligence. It’s responsibility. It’s sacred.

My rituals aren’t trendy. They aren’t something I “fit in.”
They are how I stay connected — to myself, to my intuition, and to what matters most.

Every day, I take a bath.

Not because I’m trying to relax — but because it’s where I hear the clearest guidance. The water holds me. Connects me to the feminine.
It’s not hygiene. It’s communion.

I sit in the bath and ask:
What’s moving in my body?
What emotion is present?
What brilliant message does this bring — and what if it’s not what I think it is?

This is how I lead myself.
Before I speak, before I plan, before I guide others — I listen.

My mornings begin with classical music. Soft. Spacious. Always.
It sets the tone. I won’t start the day in urgency. I start it in presence.

Every day, I write seven gratitudes.
Not a list. A state. I feel each one. Let it rise in my body before it hits the page.

I walk often. And I don’t rush. I pause in front of trees, trace the veins in a leaf with my eyes, sometimes I’ll hug the tree — yes, really.
It’s grounding. It’s real. If you haven’t tried it, I recommend it.

Three times a week, I meet my pranayama teacher in India on Zoom. Breath, stillness, presence. No performance. Just a deep return.

And then there are my massages — long, intentional, two-hour sessions. Trauma massage, cranial sacral, healing touch. It’s not just physical release — it’s a kind of somatic remembering. A recalibration of everything I carry.

After deep work with clients — intensives, masterminds, emotional sessions — I take the next day completely off. I don’t book. I don’t apologies. I rest. Not just to recover, but to integrate. My nervous system needs space to return.

These rituals aren’t for show.
They’re how I stay clear.
How I don’t lose myself in other people’s fires.
How I remember that my energy isn’t endless — but it is powerful, if I honour it.

I’m sharing something special in these letters — not advice, not tools, but truth.
Because I know many of you are holding so much. You’re leading. You’re caring. You’re solving problems with global stakes.

But your nervous system needs you.
Your feminine knowing needs room to breathe.
You are not a machine.

So if you’ve forgotten what presence feels like, start here:
Music in the morning. A walk with no destination. A question whispered into silence.

You don’t need to do more.
You need to come home to yourself.

Thanks for reading.

Love,

Rita

Ps. If you’re ready for a steadier, deeper way of leading, I offer private 1:1 thinking partnerships for leaders building what matters most. When you’re ready, the space is here. If it feels like the right time, message me and we’ll have a quiet conversation. 

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