Screaming at the top of my lungs

When the dam breaks

Hello love,

Last week, I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Not at anyone, but definitely in front of my husband, Ché. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t pretty. It was just... there. Suddenly. All of what I’d been holding in exploded out.

The week before had been very full. My birthday came and went, and while it held beautiful moments, I was so depleted I barely had the energy to form an opinion about how I felt. I’d worked nearly every day for over two weeks straight while simultaneously caring for my two children, who were on spring break. I had barely taken any time to pause, telling myself I’d rest soon, when they were back in school and work slowed down. I pushed through. And then I pushed a little more.

And then, in the quiet moment after a really connective couples therapy session, something cracked. A small, sharp moment that pierced through the layers of over-functioning and holding it all together.

I found myself whispering through clenched teeth, “I can’t hold it in anymore. I can’t keep doing this.”

I tried to walk away, to collect myself, to contain it. But the pressure of holding it together suddenly couldn’t be contained.

I screamed at the top of my lungs and then ran to my bedroom and screamed into a pillow. And then, about thirty seconds later, I sobbed and held myself in my arms.

And afterward, I felt grief. And also… relief.

Not because I handled it perfectly, I obviously hadn’t. But because I finally let myself feel what I had been holding back and holding in. Because the dam broke, and I didn’t break with it.

I didn’t spiral into shame or decide to go into hiding or look for ways to numb the pain, all perfectly normal and understandable responses, ones that have been what I needed at various times in my life.

But instead, I reconnected with Ché as soon as I was ready. I took responsibility for the explosion of emotion. I checked that he was okay and that we were okay, and I shared the layers of what had come up within me so that he could hold the full picture with me.

I connected with myself, I met the voice inside that worried I wasn’t cut out to share this coaching offering that I was so deeply ready and excited to release into the world. I had a conversation with the part of me that wanted to know, “Who are you to support people in this work if you are still very much on the path?”

This is what Building a Home Within is about.

It’s not about becoming someone who never unravels, never yells, never forgets what they need, never has moments of rage, or deep sadness, or collapse.

It’s about having the courage to pause—even for five minutes—and ask, How am I? What do I need? It’s about building an inner home you can return to when life carries you far away from yourself.

It’s about building a place inside ourselves that can hold us when those moments come. It’s about being able to say to ourselves, “Even now, I am still worthy of love. Even now, I am not alone.”

When I reached out to my own coach, Natalie, later that day—worried I wasn’t “qualified” to offer this work when I still have these big, uncomfortable, human moments—she asked me something I’ve been sitting with in the days since:

How might this not disqualify you… but actually be what qualifies you?

Because the truth is, this work isn’t about transcendence. It’s about presence.
It’s about learning to return. To listen within. Even when we forget. Especially when we forget.

It’s not the unraveling that’s the problem. It’s how we meet ourselves in the moments after the dam breaks that matters most.
Do we shame ourselves? Or do we approach ourselves with gentle curiosity?
Do we spiral into judgment? Or do we return to loving kindness?
Do we hide from the world and the ones who love us most? Or do we reach out for support?

This offering, this work—is born from my own journey through these cycles. From forgetting and remembering. From falling out of rhythm and returning again. Not because I figured out how to do life perfectly. But because I’ve lived into this truth:
We all need a place to return to inside ourselves.

This home within isn’t a place to get everything right. It’s the place we come back to when everything feels wrong.

So if you’ve been feeling a little (or a lot) too far away from yourself lately…
If you’re exhausted from holding it all together…
If you're craving a new way of relating to your inner and outer world…
If you’ve ever wondered if you’re still lovable in the messy middle…

You are, my love.
You always have been.

And you don’t have to hold it all alone.

You don’t have to be perfectly regulated or endlessly patient to belong here.
You don’t have to outrun the hard feelings.
You don’t have to stay lost in the swirl.
You just need a way back.

This work is that tether.
A place to pause. To reconnect. To cultivate inner belonging. To return, again and again.

With love,
Raina
Finding Stillness

P.S. If you're in a season of reorienting, maybe you’ve been doing or holding a lot, this is an invitation to pause and ask: What is one small thing I know that reconnects me to myself? Maybe it’s a walk. A glass of water. A big cry. Loud rage singing in the car (one of my favorites!) Let whatever it is be enough. Let it bring you home.

Building a Home Within is a three-month one-on-one experience that blends integrative coaching, supportive tarot readings, and co-created invitations for practice—to help you reconnect with yourself in ways that are both grounding and expansive.

→ Read more here
→ Schedule a call to chat with me
→ Send me a voice note, if you like!
Download the Voxer app and find me here.

Or simply reply to this email—I’d love to support you with whatever arises.

Did you think of someone while reading this letter? Feel free to pass it along to them ♡

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A note on imperfection & typos — Being blessed with the gift of dyslexia means typos often sneak in, sometimes comically. As I continue disentangling from perfectionism and sharing more freely, I’m spending less time editing and trusting it’s okay to show up just as I am. Please know that any typos you spot reflect my imperfect human nature, not a lack of care or devotion. (I know this needs no explanation, but openly acknowledging this part of myself is deeply healing, so thank you for witnessing.)