Every time I allow myself to write something truly personal, I realise something so beautiful. It becomes a voice to so many of you. Messages arrive, almost like newsletters written to me, saying,
“This feels like my story too”.
“I didn't know I was allowed to feel this.”
“I thought I was alone in this.”
So this week, I felt called to share. Because I sense that someone reading this needs permission to soften, to choose ease. Permission to stop holding everything together.
If you are here, this may be for you.
Lately, I’ve been asking myself a very simple question. What does Ezgi want? Not what is expected of me. Not what would keep everyone calm. Not what would make things easier for others. But truly, "What does Ezgi want?"
As I sat in warm water, letting my body soften and melt, I realised how unfamiliar this question once was. For a long time, I didn’t feel allowed to choose. I held things together. I adjusted. I explained. I softened myself so others wouldn’t fall apart. I was feeling their pain. Always. Instead of letting them feel. I carried everybody.
And somewhere along the way, I found myself living inside choices that weren’t mine—
accepting situations that felt heavy, harsh, or simply not real. This week, something shifted. I gave myself permission to choose. Not loudly. Not angrily. Not to punish or correct anyone. Just gently. I chose softness. I chose gentleness. I chose to step away from what required me to stay rigid, alert, or “strong” all the time.
accepting situations that felt heavy, harsh, or simply not real. This week, something shifted. I gave myself permission to choose. Not loudly. Not angrily. Not to punish or correct anyone. Just gently. I chose softness. I chose gentleness. I chose to step away from what required me to stay rigid, alert, or “strong” all the time.
And I noticed something important: When you make a clear, gentle choice for yourself, it can feel confronting to others. Your boundary may feel like rejection. Your clarity may feel like punishment. But a choice made in integrity is not violence. I don’t want them to feel punished. What’s punishment? I don’t know what that means. I was never punished. You are allowed to choose what is healing for you.
You are allowed to ask: Have I not been through enough already? Do I really need more struggle to prove something? So many of us were taught that growth must be harsh, that love must be earned, that choosing ease is a weakness.
But the body knows better. The body returns to balance not through force, but through safety. This is what homeostasis really is, biological balance of the body.
I remembered how I healed myself from Multiple Sclerosis. I was grinding, pushing, working hard, holding everybody together until I stopped feeling my legs, and then I had to stop. Unfortunately, crises have to happen for some of us to stop. So I stopped, and I sat still in meditation for hours. I was doing absolutely nothing. Literally nothing. Not thinking, not searching what's gonna heal me. I was doing nothing, trusting something, some force that I didn't even understand at the time, to heal me. And in doing “NOTHING,” my body healed. My legs healed. I no longer have MS. I remembered what made me sick. Harshness.
So, I chose softness, gentleness, ease for myself. And this is why, this week, I’ve been working closely with calendula.
Calendula doesn’t push. It doesn’t correct. It doesn’t rush inflammation away. It softens first. It calms the terrain. It creates the conditions where repair can happen naturally. Calendula is what happens when gentleness is allowed to lead.
That's why we infuse it slowly, over time, and why it lives at the heart of Winter Solstice Balm. The balm that exists to support skin when it’s tired of being held together. When the barrier feels overwhelmed. When the nervous system is asking for rest. When the body wants to melt instead of perform. Winter Solstice Balm is a seasonal preparation. We only make it in winter, when the skin—like the earth—needs protection, insulation, and deep nourishment.
We’ve just finished a fresh batch. As the weather warms, this balm will rest again until next winter. If you’ve loved it before, you’ll know it tends to quietly run out. No urgency. Just awareness.
And maybe this is the deeper invitation of this season: To ask yourself—gently— What do I want? What is healing for me? Where am I choosing hardness when softness is available?
You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t have to be the wise one.
You don’t have to hold the world together.
You don’t have to be the wise one.
You don’t have to hold the world together.
You’re allowed to choose gentleness.
You’re allowed to step away.
You’re allowed to be held, loved deeply, without earning it.
You’re allowed to step away.
You’re allowed to be held, loved deeply, without earning it.
With all my love,
Ezgi
Ezgi