Circles Aren’t Luxury Self-Care; They’re Community Repair
Hey friend,
Are you ok out there?
How are you wintering?
I keep thinking about that. About all of us. About how people try to hold everything solo like they’re some kind of one-person ecosystem, and honestly, it makes me want to lie face down in a field somewhere and whisper “no, no, no, not like this.”
I’ve been wanting to write about circles, but every time I sit down, I end up staring at the wall, or drifting off into other ‘tasks’, thinking… what even is this work? Why am I doing it? And why does it feel both ancient and brand new to me?
I’ve been a therapist forever. A supervisor forever. I could’ve just stayed in my lane, kept doing the things I know how to do. But something tugged at me. Something older. Wilder. A little bit rude, even. And I thought… “Alright then. Let’s see.”
If I had a pound for every time someone has said “I just need better self-care,” I’d probably buy a cabin in a forest and disappear into it like some kind of queer moss witch.
Because the idea that people can self-care themselves out of this culture?
Absolutely feral logic.
Hilarious…
And by hilarious, I do mean slightly soul-wilting….
And by soul-wilting, I mean… no wonder everyone is knackered….
It’s the same old capitalist whisper:
Do more!
Fix yourself!
Optimise your wellness routine! Sign up for my program and I’ll show you how!
Buy another candle!
I like a candle, don’t get me wrong, but Serenity Mist is not rescuing anyone’s nervous system, no matter how ethically sourced and hand-poured it is.
Meanwhile, the rest of nature knows. Nothing heals alone.
Go and walk into a woodland and you’ll see it. Everything leaning on everything. Moss clinging to a stone. Stone returning the favour with its cool quiet steadiness. Leaves falling without shame. Soil opening its arms. Mycelium doing tiny gossip exchanges under the surface. A whole underground cosmos of support.
No wonder people feel weird and crispy.
They’re trying to be whole ecosystems on their own.
No backup network. No cross-species collaboration.
Just “try harder” and “don’t be needy” echoes for infinity.
And circles… circles are older than all this.
Older than self-help.
Older than therapy.
Older than the idea that emotions are something you deal with in private behind a closed door next to a Himalayan salt lamp.
Back then, people didn’t have to do it all alone, couldn’t do it all alone, the group had to work together.
Because stories were survival.
Because the group was the organism.
That’s what I feel when I hold circle. Something inside me goes “oh… right… this.”
Older than my anxious parts.
Older than the polite part that wants to keep things neat.
Older than the part of me that wants to jump in and fix.
IFS would probably say those are protectors.
The land would say they need to get outside more.
Both are correct.
People talk about wildness like it’s a peak experience of going off into the wilderness with just a penknife, there’s one way to do it. But wildness is just the part inside that refuses to shut up and shrink itself.
The part that feels too much, cares too much, loves too much, wants too much.
The part that knows when a space is safe because it starts to unfurl.
BUT…
That unfurling doesn’t happen in isolation.
That unfurling happens when someone is truly witnessed and listened to.
When nobody is jumping in with advice, or fixing, or “have you tried magnesium?”
When someone is allowed to be messy. Contradictory. Tired. Tender. Real.
That’s circle.
Bring the part of you that thought it wasn’t invited.
Bring the part you’ve been trying to hold together with a hairband and a prayer.
Bring the part you’ve silenced because the world kept saying “not that, not here.”
When I call a circle, I’m not offering luxury.
I’m not offering a glowy curated experience with a matching mood board.
I’m offering something older. Something villagers understood better than we do.
Sit.
Speak.
Pause.
Listen.
Let something shift.
Let something land.
And in that sitting and speaking and not-speaking and speaking again, the threads reconnect.
Story to story.
Nervous system to nervous system.
Part to part.
No glittery affirmations.
No tidy spiritual one-liners.
No aestheticised healing with linen robes and strategically placed crystals (Ok, fine, there may be a few crystals).
Just people meeting.
Just belonging happening quietly in the background.
Just the kind of repair that doesn’t look like anything from the outside, but feels like relief from the inside.
Circle reminds people they’re not meant to be singular organisms.
They’re meant to be forests.
Rooted. Intertwined.
Holding and held.
A living, breathing network of humans who don’t have to do any of this alone.
If this resonates and you’d like to sit in circle with me one day -therapist circles, community circles, the neurowild tender ones click the button below.
About the author
Jude is a psychotherapist, IFS supervisor and accidental circle leader who went for a walk one day, touched a tree and never quite recovered. She works with neurodivergent and queer humans, weaving nature, parts and community into everything she does.
