Six women. A houseboat on a tidal island in the Thames. No phones. No agenda except the one that emerges.
I should probably describe what we do, but the honest answer is: it depends on who's in the room. Some days we start with breathwork and end with someone finally saying the thing they've been holding for months. Some days we start with tea and end with tears and laughter in equal measure.
The river does something. I can't explain it and I've stopped trying. People arrive wound tight and leave something different. Not fixed. Not healed. Just softer. More honest. More in contact with whatever they've been avoiding.
The next Reset Day is in the calendar. Six places. That's all there ever is, because the boat is thirty-two feet long and there are limits.