Welcome to Yesh Tikva’s 6-minute grounding meditation for Jews navigating infertility and family building before Thanksgiving.

Take a moment to settle into whatever space you’re in.
Let your body find a comfortable position.
Sitting, laying down, feet tucked under you, or resting gently on the floor.
Wherever you are is okay. Let your eyes soften or close.
Bring one hand to your heart, and the other hand to your belly.
Begin with a long, slow inhale through your nose.
And a full exhale through your mouth.
Now inhale again for a count of four. One, two, three, four.
And exhale for six, one, two, three, four, five, six.
We’re going to do it again, and let your shoulders loosen just a tiny bit with each breath.
Inhale, one, two, three, four,
Exhale, one, two, three, four, five, six.
Feel the weight of your body supported.
By the chair, the couch, the floor, wherever you are.
Feel gravity reminding you, you don’t have to hold everything up right now.
Let yourself be held.
Notice one place in your body that feels tight or protective. I
t might be your jaw, your chest, your stomach, your throat, just notice it.
There’s no need to fix it. Just offer that place a little breath.
A little warmth, a little compassion.
Now imagine a small, steady flame glowing in your chest.
It’s not dramatic and it’s not demanding.
It’s a quiet flame, like the eternal light that never goes out.
This flame is a part of you that knows who you are beyond what you’re facing in your journey.
The part of you that existed before the questions, the treatments, the losses, the waiting.
The part of you rooted in a lineage of Jews who have survived impossible things.
This flame is yours. This flame is steady.
This flame does not flicker based on what others say or assume.
Let that light fill your chest with a sense of belonging and enoughness.
Now gently bring to mind the questions, comments, or assumptions that often come up at family gatherings. Any news? 
When are you having kids? Are you still trying? Just relax.
Or even the quiet ache of other people’s children filling the room.
And as these thoughts surface, imagine placing each one outside of your body.
Visualize yourself as a tree.
And these are just leaves falling from you, landing in a pile a few feet away.
They’re not right on you. They are not inside you. 
They are just falling away from your center.
Now breathe in.
And whisper internally, “not mine to hold.” Again, “not mine to hold.”
Your body does not have to absorb the weight of someone else’s curiosity, commentary, or unearned confidence.
Now bring yourself back to that quiet, steady flame in your chest.
Feel its warmth, feel its steadiness. Feel its truth.
Say gently to yourself, “my story is mine.”
“
My pace is mine.”
“My boundaries are holy.”
Let these words settle into your body, like warm water.
Washing over you.

Now envision yourself surrounded by a soft circle.
A sukkat shalom.
A shelter of peace, woven from every person who has ever carried this pain in their heart.
You are not entering this holiday alone.
You walk in with a community at your back.
You walk in with strength that is ancient.
You walk in with tenderness that is real.
Rest in that shelter for a breath.
One, two, three, four.
Exhale, one, two, three, four, five, six.

Now as you prepare to come back to your day.
Place your palm on your heart and say, “May I move through this holiday with gentleness.”
“May I honor what I need.”
May I take up space in quiet, true ways.”
“And may I remember that I am worthy of care today.”
Take one more deep inhale.
And now a slow exhale.

And when you’re ready, open your eyes, and return.