The Sixth Session
May 28, 2026
I’m guilty.
And I’m not the only one.
Two years ago, in our first cohort of Azamra, Chaya L. shared a life changing facilitation hack.
She suggested that for every five client sessions we provide, session number six has to be one we gift ourselves.
Chaya is good that way. She has no problem whipping out her calendar and booking that massage the minute her five slots fill.
All of us loved the idea.
And then we proceeded to forget all about it. Well not forget precisely, but maybe forget to implement it.
Or we forgot how to count to five. Which we tend to do when life gets overwhelming and blessedly busy.
We forgot that our bodies are also part of the equation.
Which is funny, because as facilitators, this is literally what we preach.
It took eighteen months, but we finally made our first Azamra facilitator reunion happen Tuesday. We called it The Sixth Session.
We joked that it was more like the batal b’shishim session, the idea in Jewish law that something gets dissolved when it is only one sixtieth of the greater whole.
It was a joke that landed a little too hard.
Because sometimes we forget about ourselves so completely that it starts to feel normal. Like a fact of life. Like something we can laugh about in the room while we quietly keep running on fumes.
But it’s really not funny.
After the reunion, almost everyone who came took the time to text me privately.
And almost every message said the same thing.
“I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
I’ve been feeling it too.
Yesterday, after the most stunning reunion on Tuesday, I crashed.
I should have felt rested. Rejuvenated. Full. And instead, I felt cranky and anxious and sad.
It took me until this morning to understand why.
I can’t remember the last time I took a real day off.
I can’t remember the last time I spent a late morning in bed without guilt.
Or went on a hike.
Or let my body have something just because my body wanted it.
Some of that is on me.
I prioritize everyone and everything above my own easy to suppress needs.
And some of it has been wildly beyond my control. I didn’t exactly ask to be homeschooling my boys this year while navigating some brutal personal transitions.
Still, the fact remains.
My body is not happy with me.
I lost my sixth session awareness.
And my body wants it back.
There is a little rage in that.
A lot of grief.
Some blame.
And also, this morning, I pulled out my calendar and promised myself a date.
It’s not tomorrow.
It’s not even going to be possible this month.
It will take planning and juggling and rearranging and probably some serious inner negotiation.
And also, it's getting done.
Because I wish you could have been there Tuesday.
I wish you could have seen the glow on the faces of the Azamra facilitators after we breathed together.
The tears in our eyes.
The lightness in our hearts.
That shared, “Oh. I missed this,” exhale.
It was the most beautiful day.
Members from the first two cohorts met, connected, bonded, and laughed. We danced. We shared. We plotted. We blessed the space for the incoming cohort, (which begins in just over a week!)
And of course, we breathed.
Funny enough, the breathwork session was the only hiccup of the day.
I had planned everything down to the last detail. Including a beautiful breath session on chairs, with partners facing each other.
And then my people mutinied.
They refused the chairs, and insisted on getting on the floor.
No mats. No blankets. No pillows.
Just hardwood floor, blindfolds, and breath.
I was shook.
And so stinking proud.
There I was, trying to preserve everyone’s pretty clothes and dignity.
And there they were, laughing in my face.
“You trained us better than that,” they told me.
And one by one, they got down on the floor and breathed.
That moment has been sitting in my body ever since.
Because I keep saying I need my sixth session.
And I do.
I need the break. The hike. The quiet. The spaciousness. The whole delicious day where nobody needs anything from me.
I have a version of it in my mind.
A perfect day.
A perfect hike.
The perfect amount of time.
The perfect conditions.
And that perfect picture has been blocking me from getting down on the floor and taking the breath that is actually available.
There is no perfect sixth session.
And we still need the sixth session.
Some weeks, it might be the massage.
Some weeks, it might be the float tank.
Some weeks, it might be a fifteen minute nap, an early bedtime, a walk around the block, or closing the door and letting yourself cry without making it productive.
Tiny still counts.
Imperfect still counts.
מכל מלמדי השכלתי
I learn from all my students.
Thank you, Azamra facilitators, for reminding me to stop waiting for perfect.
Thank you for getting on the floor.
Thank you for showing me that the sixth session is not another thing to earn.
It is the breath that lets us keep giving from overflow.
And I am taking mine back.
You should too.
Count.
Count what you give.
Count how often you show up.
Count how many times you hold, serve, listen, create, care, carry, answer, drive, feed, teach, soothe, and pour.
And then count yourself back in.
Do something that tells your body, “I didn't forget you.”
Gift yourself that sixth session. Or that deep breath.
You deserve it more than you know.
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