How to Write a Goodbye Letter

How to write a goodbye letter? Begin by recognising that this is it — the moment when all that needed to be done has rounded itself into quiet completion, words emerging upon the arrival of sweet parting, and this moment of honouring farewell feels natural. This goodbye letter was written to celebrate what has been, what is currently present, and what lies ahead for us.

My days in 2025 were the preparation for this goodbye letter. It took me two Autumns to arrive at clarity — perhaps courage — to let go of what is no longer mine to hold. Since the closure of our physical space last October, I have been listening closely to the pulse of the ground beneath me and whether it still echoes the rhythm of my heart.

For a long time, I knew I had to bring bodywork to an end. The decision was made a year ago, yet the actions moved at their own sticky, slow grinding pace. Many times, I wanted to try again — another month, another season, another friction met with the system. All these happened while tending to a body that had grown weary from the years of entrepreneurship. I blame no one, not even myself. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. But if I am brutally honest, I struggled when the odds felt stacked against me.

The making of Kati Vasti/Basti dough.

One of my favourite treatments to offer.

These thoughts and feelings are energy, aren’t they? When expressed in full alignment, they become the strength to move mountains or the discernment to set boundaries. When left to harden into resentment, displeasure, and victimhood, they are sharpened as blades that cut deep into the bed of insufficiency. This year, I learned through both the light and the shadow — and you can imagine the depth of their impact. Brutal, cathartic, and all-encompassing. 

Many days were spent in solitude, in honest dialogue, and in returning to my Why, again and again. There was nothing superfluous to share, and so I wrote less and less — to you. I came to realise, as a seeker, my path is led by my heart; there was no need for my intimacy to be paraded through the fleeting algorithm. Eventually, I released the urge to show up for maintenance of our relationship, trusting that silence and space are a way of communication too.

As a facilitator/space holder, I struggled to find my footing in rooms that were not carved out the way I envisioned them to be. I thank the uncomfortable lessons that pushed me further, to question intentions, to not go easy on spiritual communities, and to maintain my silence as a form of resistance. Not because I’m afraid of pushing buttons, but because my truth doesn’t need further approval or clarification from the external. This action of knowing Self, through the self, starts to free me into the limitless.

This is the evergreen truth, dear friends: systems fail, love repairs, time heals. As I stay hidden from view (mostly), tending to what was most tender and immediate, I slowly found my ground again. The soil becomes rich in flavour — earthy, warm, moist — and almost ready to receive the seeds of new dreams.

Where it all started, October 2020.

A dream softly unfolding in my living room.

It is now clear to me that this version of me no longer wishes to be bound by the label of “bodyworker.” I no longer wish to live under the illusion that my clients cannot live without me, nor do I want to feed the ego that says I can only thrive through this one form of service. This is not a severing, but an intentional choice — a firm and loving decision to seek beyond this horizon, away from the shackles of conformity. I am still all the parts that make up, me. The difference now is that these labels are not permanently sealed, but an easy velcro to tear off when the time ripens.

For those of you (whom I know many of you are) who agree that bodywork is not merely the manipulation of bones and muscles, but a language of love, understanding and acceptance through the wisdom of our living cells, you will know that nothing is truly lost, even if I step away for a few years. And what are a few years, in the vastness of time?

Now you may ask, what comes next? Possibilities are quietly brewing as I continue to tend to my soil, my heart, my hearth. If needed, I will dirty my hands to model my own clay again. One big lesson this year has taught me is to be more reserved, to share only when I am ready, to speak only when necessary.

So just like this goodbye letter — when the clarity arrives, the words will, too.

Stay in touch, dear ones. If you're on the mailing list, you will receive my invitation when the season calls. As the year comes to a close, I want to thank you for our beautiful connection. My heart embraces you with gratitude and appreciation. Thank you for being here, thank you for seeing me as I am.

For now, let's rest through the winter.

Rest and be.

Rest and Be.

Love,

Candice

P.S. A final gathering for the year is happening on 30th December. A mantra has been guiding me, and I feel a desire to share it with you. In this spirit, our regular Tuesday meditation will become a special year-end gathering. You can find out more here.

P.P.S The fruition of letting go means I am finally parting ways with my favourite linens, sarongs, oils, and such. If you’re keen to rehome them, follow SOL House’s Instagram to receive updates.