Motherhood tests your capacity past its limit, demands a resilience you have not yet met in yourself, and wakes the child you once were at the exact moment you are raising one, whether they are six weeks old, or sixteen years.
Hora holds you through three months of it: two sessions a month, who you are and the season ahead read from your astrological and Human Design charts, and every day, a weather forecast in my voice on the influences affecting you. You can answer it, and I answer back. And your children's designs, every one of them, read alongside yours. For mothers, at any stage.
Before we begin and throughout our work, I read the skies ahead and the weather you are walking through - whether short-lived transits, or the long arcs of your evolution. Where the pressure lands, what it is asking of you, and when it eases. You know what is coming, and you know it is not a failure when it comes.
Live and online, up to seventy-five minutes each, with whoever is in your arms. The first lays out who you are and the season in front of you. The ones after it meet what arrives: in your body, in your mothering, in the children in front of you, and in the child you once were.
Every day, a voice message from me on the weather you are walking through: what is moving through your chart that day, which part of you it reaches, and what it asks of you. Recorded around my own children, with you within twenty-four hours.
There is no homework. The forecast arrives and you listen when you can. When you need me between the sessions, you send a voice message and I answer. The sessions meet you where you are that fortnight.
Alongside your own design, I read the design of each of your children: how they take in the world, what settles them, what they push against, and what they need in order to be met. Every child is included, and the focus goes to the one who is most significant for you now. Your capacity is always capacity for something. Here it is for these children, at these ages, built the way they are. Knowing them is how you parent the child in front of you.
Every day of the three months, I sit with your chart and the sky, and I send you what I see. It arrives on your phone as a voice message from me: the weather moving through that day, where it meets your chart, which part of you it is likely to reach, and what it asks of you. The field everyone is standing in, and then your own line within it.
This is the part I most look forward to. Twice a month we go deep. Every day in between, you hear from me, so you are never left working out alone why the day feels the way it does. On a hard day the forecast says: this is what is pressing on you, and it is not you failing. On an easier day it says: this is what is open.
It is recorded around my own children, so some days there will be a small voice in the background, and it reaches you within twenty-four hours. You listen while you feed, while you drive, while you sit in the car outside the house for one more minute. And it goes both ways: when something hits, or the day comes apart, you send me a voice message, and I answer you in mine.
What the sky is doing for everyone that day: the season from astrology, the day's weather from Human Design.
Where it meets your chart, and which part of you it tends to wake.
What the day is asking of you, and what it is not, in plain words.
Three months is long enough for a pattern to show itself more than once, and short enough to stay in view.
The wound is the shape your being took as it learned to meet and be met. Mothering finds that shape faster than anything else in a life.
TemenosIt begins with who you are. Before the first session I read your charts: the signature you came in with, the way you are built to meet the world, and the pattern of wounding and nurturing that runs beneath how you mother. Then the six to twelve months ahead. When we meet I lay both in front of you, who you are and what is coming toward you, the weeks that will press and the weeks that will give. Most mothers have never been told that the hard week was coming. You will have been.
Then the rhythm. Twice a month we meet, live and online. You come as you are and share what you are facing. We work with what is there. Sometimes that is the body, and we stay with what it is holding. Sometimes it is the child you once were, arriving in the middle of your own mothering and asking to be met at last. Sometimes it is the pattern itself, seen clearly for the first time, and the relief of knowing it has a shape and an origin, and that the origin was never you.
Between the sessions, the forecast. Every day, my voice on your phone: the weather moving through your chart, which part of you it reaches, and what it asks of a nervous system built like yours. On the hard days it says: this is the week we talked about. On the ordinary days it is a way of staying in contact with yourself while everyone else needs you first.
And who they are. I read each of your children's designs as well, and we look at them beside your own: where you are alike, where you are built differently, and where their way of being presses on yours. A child who needs to move when you need stillness, or who goes quiet when you need to talk, is a design meeting a design. Once you can see it, you can meet them in it, and yourself as well.
What grows is dexterity. The dexterity of the noticing. You feel the pattern as it begins to move, rather than finding it afterward in the wreckage. You catch the old grief a beat sooner, before it starts asking through your children. The weeks still come. You meet each one with a little more dexterity than the last.
Not promises of a different you. The same you, with the season read ahead of you and more dexterity in the noticing.
The old pattern has a feel in the body before it has a story. You learn that feel, and you catch it as it starts to move, while there is still a beat in which to choose.
The core pattern of wounding and nurturing that runs beneath how you mother has a shape and an origin. When it wakes, you know what is happening, and you know where it came from.
Every age your child reaches, met as what that age is, expecting neither more of them nor less. And when their behavior, appropriate for them, lands on something old in you, you notice the wounding it has touched and you know it as yours.
Through three months of someone else needing you first, there is a daily point of return: my voice on your phone, the weather you are in, and your own body. Not another thing to do. A place to stand.
Each of your children is built in their own way. You learn how each one is made, what they need from you, and where they differ from you, so the way you parent fits the child you actually have.
What you learn to notice, you keep. It is there for every stage your child reaches after this one, whether we are still working together or not.
Hora is built for a life in which you will be interrupted. The shape of it assumes that, rather than asking you to pretend otherwise.
Feed, rock, bounce, change. Nobody needs to be quiet and nothing needs to be hidden. The session continues around whoever is in your arms.
Whether your child is six weeks old or sixteen years, the session begins with what you are facing that day.
A session will not always fit in one piece. It can be taken as two shorter ones in the same fortnight, when the day will not allow it.
Children move plans. When a session has to move, write to me and it moves. You do not need to apologize for your life.
Some days you will want to be seen. Some days you will want to lie down in the dark and talk. Both are the work.
No reading, no journal, no homework. You arrive, and that is the preparation.
Tell me where you are in it: how old your children are, and what you are facing in it right now. A few lines is enough.
A short conversation, so that you can ask what you need to and we both know this is the right season for it.
You send your birth date, time and place, and each of your children's. I read who you are and the months ahead, with your children's designs alongside, and the first session lays it all in front of you. The forecasts begin.
Who you are and the season ahead, read before we begin, with your children's designs alongside. Three months minimum, $12,000 in all, billed as $4,000 a month. For mothers, at any stage. Write and tell me where you are in it, and we will begin with a conversation.
Begin with a conversationNo. Matrescence does not end with the newborn. It begins again at every stage your child reaches. Hora is for any part of mothering that is testing you, whether your child is six weeks old or sixteen years.
No, and you will not be learning them. I carry the charts. You hear what they mean for you in plain language, and the forecast is made to be understood on no sleep.
Yes, every one of them. Each child's design is read alongside yours, and they run through the sessions. With more children, there is less on each one, more on how your family moves together as a whole, and the focus goes to the child who is most significant for you now: the one you find hardest, the most reserved, whoever it is. Hora is about your mothering, and your mothering is always of particular children.
Ideally, yes, for you and for each of your children. An exact time and place give the most accurate chart. If you do not have one, tell me what you know and I will tell you what can still be read with confidence.
No. Hora draws on somatic and relational modalities and is delivered with care and rigor, but it is a coaching container, not a clinical practice. If you are in acute distress, or need psychiatric or perinatal mental health support, please seek that alongside or instead of this work. If you are unsure, write and ask. You will get an honest answer.
Yes. The season is read from the month you begin.
Three months is the minimum. Continuation packages can be discussed as the third month closes.
Yes. Support by voice between the sessions is part of Hora. When something comes up, send me a voice message and I answer you in mine.
The Naos is the three-month container for everyone, by application. Hora is the one built for mothers: the daily forecast, your children's designs read alongside yours, and a shape that assumes you will be interrupted.