There are moments in a woman’s life where she realizes, with certainty that she is no longer standing at the beginning of something… she is standing at the edge of herself.

Not the comfortable edge that you let yourself go to while still feeling safe enough,  The kind of edge that feels electric.

The kind that hums underneath your skin and refuses to quiet down no matter how much you try to move forward in all of the ways that used to work.

You start to feel it in strange, beautiful, unsettling ways.
Your business may be expanding, your clients may still be signing, your success and expansion may still look completely intact from the outside… and yet there is this pulse moving through your chest, this subtle but relentless knowing that the woman who built this life is no longer meant to be the woman who carries it forward.

you've outgrown this skin.

You may find yourself staring at your own work and feeling proud, grateful, even deeply connected to what you have created, while simultaneously feeling like you are watching an older version of yourself speak through it. You feel your voice wanting to deepen, wanting to stretch wider, wanting to become sharper and more honest and more dangerous in the most sacred sense of the word.

You feel your standards rising. standards for beauty, for money, for the way you are seen, for the way you allow yourself to live, and sometimes those standards rise faster than your external world can keep up with.

There is often a moment where you realize you can no longer unfeel the expansion pressing against your ribs. You cannot unknow the life that is beginning to call you forward. You cannot unknow the level of power, magnetism, wealth, or expression that your soul is suddenly showing you is available, and once you see it, continuing to live inside your former identity begins to feel almost unbearable.

This edge arrives as a collision of emotions. There is devotion and grief braided together. There is exhilaration that feels almost like falling in love with a version of yourself you have not yet met, and alongside it, there is mourning for the version of yourself who taught you how to survive, how to succeed, how to be received by a world that often asked you to soften your brilliance to remain safe.

And she deserves to be honored.
Because she carried you here.
But there comes a moment when honoring her means allowing her to die.

There comes a moment when your soul begins pulling at you with a kind of hunger that feels sacred and terrifying and wildly alive all at once. You begin to feel it in the way your body responds to your own dreams.

And if you have ever stood inside one of these death portals, you know it carries a firey heat that cannot be mistaken. It feels like standing in front of a doorway that is already open, feeling the pull of a life that feels larger and more alive than anything you have allowed yourself to hold before, while simultaneously feeling the tremble of knowing you cannot walk through it without leaving pieces of yourself behind.

This experience was created for women standing inside that exact, sacred, electric threshold.

Paris has always been one of the places where these portals open most vividly for me. There is something about this city that feels like it was built to seduce women back into their own aliveness. The streets feel layered with centuries of artists, lovers, revolutionaries, and visionaries who allowed themselves to be dismantled by beauty and rebuilt by devotion to what they were here to create.

Every time I return here, I feel an older version of myself step forward, kiss me gently on the forehead, and step aside. Sometimes she leaves easily. Sometimes she resists. Sometimes she leaves with tears sliding quietly down my face while something fierce and luminous begins rising through my spine at the exact same time. But she always leaves knowing she has carried me exactly as far as she was meant to, and Paris has always been one of the places that has held me while the next version of me takes her first breath.

Paris herself is a portal. 

This immersion is an invitation to step into that kind of death and rebirth consciously, to anchor that next level inside sisterhood, inside ceremony, inside the living, breathing architecture of a city that has witnessed women become legends of their own lives for centuries.