Can BrainEcho Technology Help Treat Insomnia?

A ’90s pop hit is blasting as I drive up to Solana Beach to go dancing. I’m dressed in the millennial nightlife uniform: black tee, cute jeans, heels. It is 6:30 p.m. on a Tuesday. The dance party starts soon. I’ll be home by 10 p.m. at the latest. I may even catch an episode of Summer House.

I am acutely aware of my age in this moment. I haven’t willingly chosen the club life since my 20s and early 30s. Yet here I am, transported back to 2014 with a few more wrinkles, a lot more ibuprofen, and a touch of “pandemic stole this from me” in my pocket.

A few days earlier, a friend texted to suggest we go to a concert the upcoming weekend. “I can’t, I’m already tired on Friday,” I replied. At 42, two glasses of cabernet bend my space-time equilibrium. A hard sneeze risks a sprained neck. Did I mention the perimenopausal night sweats yet?

I arrive at the Belly Up at 7 p.m. Wilson Phillips comes on the stereo, and I sing-shout the lyrics before stepping out of the car.

Someday, somebody’s gonna make you want to turn around and say goodbye | Until then, baby, are you gonna let ’em hold you down and make you cry?

Tonight’s event is billed as “the dance party that starts earlier.” Surprisingly, I’m not the oldest person in the room. A 60-something man shoulder bops to the DJ set. A Gen X woman shimmies by and snaps photos of the glow-stick-spinning raver on stage. Few are drinking.

Started by two North County locals, Amal Chandaria (32) and Max Gold (37), Earlier is a dance party for older adults who want a club experience without the sleep-deprived, hungover physical toll. Running 6:30 to 10 p.m., attendees get home at a reasonable hour for a full night’s sleep.

Seems I’m not alone in my tired.

“[We’re in] a time where loneliness is high, people are craving connection,” says Chandaria. “One thing we were really intentional about is that you don’t need to go and have drinks to have fun. It’s about the music and getting the wiggles out.”

Early is part of a national trend: the green-juice-ifying of party culture. Americans aren’t going out as much as they used to. They’re drinking less, and 10 p.m. has become the new 2 a.m. Wellness as a lifestyle concept is old hat, and each generation manifests itself in different forms (fitness booms in the ’80s, organic food in the 2000s).

According to a 2024 survey by consulting firm McKinsey & Company, the US wellness market now exceeds $500 billion annually, up from roughly $300–$350 billion a decade ago. More striking than the spend: Wellness as a top priority has surged from about 42 percent in 2020 to more than 80 percent today.

The timing makes sense. Studies show Covid led to long-term shifts in lifestyle patterns. We all began to reassess our lives and made some existential changes—like 6 p.m. soberish dance parties. In a recent Gallup poll, only 54 percent of US adults reported drinking alcohol, the lowest level in about 30 years. Conversations around longevity turned “treat yourself” into “invest in yourself.”

The downer of any wellness trend, though, has been the “can’t” philosophy—can’t eat that cake, can’t sip that marg, can’t binge that show. What if we could do health stuff and still dance and not totally suck the joy out of life? That’s what people like Chandaria and Gold are banking on.

Last year when they attended Atomic Groove—a variety dance band from 5–8 p.m. most Fridays at Belly Up—it sparked an idea. “People want to be healthy and active, and they don’t want to compromise on that by not feeling rested,” says Gold. “I thought, ‘I bet if we’re feeling this way, other people are looking for something like this, too.’”

He was right. Nearly 200 people showed up to the pair’s first dance party last July. Tonight’s crowd is nearing that number again. Among them is Cardiff-by-the-Sea resident and second-time attendee Lauren Marley.

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“If you do one thing for yourself—and it means that you don’t have to be completely exhausted and wrecked for all the stuff you have to do the next morning—it’s great,” she says.

Though EDM isn’t quite my thing (give me some stank-face hip-hop from the 2000s), it’s clear from the number of return attendees that Chandaria and Gold have filled a need, one that isn’t just in famously health-forward cities like San Diego.

In DC, Dancing on the Waterfront occurs every Saturday from 5–9 p.m. while Extended Play DC wraps up at 10 p.m. Philly has Matinee Dance Party (5–10 p.m.). New York City finally chooses to sleep, with Friday Feeling and Matinee Social Club both ending at 10 p.m. Last year, Day Shift, geared toward those over 30, debuted at Bloom Nightclub in San Diego.

In Chicago, Earlybirds Club was founded in 2023 by high school friends Laura Baginski and Susie Lee. About 100 people showed up to the sold-out “dance party for ladies who got shit to do in the morning.” Two years later, Earlybirds Club is now held in nearly 60 cities and regions across the US.

“It’s an outlet that [middle-aged women] don’t get in our everyday life,” says Baginski, who also recently appeared on the Kelly Clarkson Show to share their story. “It’s movement and dance. We’ve learned now that it’s really essential to being a happy person.”

Admittedly, it’s a bit harder to be happy when I walk into the Music Box for Earlybirds’ event in San Diego. War’s about to start, protests are the new social gathering, and the economy is gaslighting me into believing salads should cost $18.

But soon the club is a sea of 700 people wanting to dance their asses off. Any negative emotions quickly begin to disappear. Tonight’s music features hits from the ’80s, ’90s, and 2000s: Madonna, Britney, Christina, 50 Cent, Ludacris.

Shuffling past the bar to the already-crowded dance floor, my heartbeat quickens. Pure, unadulterated joy is oozing in this place.

“The whole club was women’s bathroom culture,” said returning attendee and San Marcos resident Beth Avant, 50. “[You get to] freely dance, not care about what you’re wearing, you’re not trying to really impress people.” Soon Whitney Houston’s golden pipes set the room on fire, arms raise, smile lines deepen, and for a few hours, nothing else matters.

Oh, I wanna dance with somebody / I wanna feel the heat of somebody

While Baginski continues to run the operation, Lee lost her battle with stage IV metastatic breast cancer in August of last year. Honoring her memory at each event are words from Lee herself: “Sing f**king loud, dance like nobody gives a shit, and remember who the f**k you are.”

And who we are are sleepy people. If this new wellness era really takes off, imagine the possibilities. Dinner dates at 5 p.m., the Super Bowl at 2 p.m. EST, Justin Bieber headlining Coachella at 7 p.m. Until then, you’ll find me in bed shooting down plans past 8 p.m.

Kelvins. If you’re anything like me, you probably haven’t thought about them since high school chemistry. Lately, though, they’ve become one of the more hotly debated measurements in interior design.

Kelvins measure the color temperature of light, which is a technical way of saying they’re key to whether a room feels calming or slightly unsettling. The wrong Kelvin temperature can suddenly give your bedroom the vibe of a hospital corridor. Warmer Kelvin temperatures cue relaxation. Cooler ones sharpen alertness. Interior designers now talk about Kelvins the way chefs talk about salt: invisible when it’s right, immediately obvious when it’s not.

That focus on light reflects a broader shift in San Diego homes—people are worried less about how spaces look and more about how they hold you over the course of a day. Design decisions now favor what fades into the background and silently improves daily life. And once you start thinking that way, it’s hard not to apply the same logic to everything else in the house.

My husband and I felt that impulse firsthand last year while shopping for a mattress. We spent multiple weekends wandering the showrooms at Westfield UTC, lying on beds in our outside clothes, asking questions about spinal alignment, breathability, and temperature regulation. We debated coils versus foam, read studies on sleep stages and thermoregulation, and compared notes in the parking lot like two people deciding whether to buy a house.

Eventually, we chose the Saatva Contour—a name that sounds more like a luxury sedan than something you sleep on. That felt fitting, given the amount of deliberation we put into it. We picked it for its spinal support and ability to dissipate heat through the night, two factors consistently tied to deeper, less fragmented sleep. At the time, it felt overly academic, but it made its case experientially: We experience fewer disruptions at night and wake with the unexpected sense of being genuinely rested.

Eventually, I realized that our search had been less about shopping for comfort and more about shopping for recovery.

Now when I wake up, I usually head straight to our little sauna, which sounds much more impressive than it actually is. It sits just outside the house, tucked into a narrow corner of our small backyard. Technically, it’s meant to live indoors, but we adapted it for outdoor use because that was the only place it would fit. The door closes with a soft thud; the scent of cedar blooms as the heat sets in. Inside, there’s a single bench and barely room to stretch my legs. It isn’t glamorous, but the science on sauna use is compelling: Regular heat exposure has been linked to improved cardiovascular health, reduced inflammation, and more efficient recovery via circulation and the nervous system. To me, its real value is something simpler—a few quiet minutes that are mine before the day and its noise begin to make their claims on me.

For a long time, luxury meant square footage, statement kitchens, and bonus rooms designed to impress people who don’t actually live there. Homeowners are making different choices today.

“These days, the questions my clients ask are, ‘Will I actually use this?’” says James Denton, senior architectural and interior designer and owner of James Denton Design. “‘Will it help me sleep better? Will it simplify my routines?’”

Interior designer Maegan Ayukonchong, owner of M. Swabb Interior Design Collective, sees that shift in nearly every project. Clients want layouts that reduce friction, storage that actually functions, and spaces that feel uncrowded. “It’s less about filling rooms,” she says, “and more about designing homes that support how people want to live.”

That recalibration accelerated during the pandemic, when homes were suddenly forced to perform at full capacity. Living rooms became offices, kitchens became classrooms, closets became refuges for phone sessions with your therapist. Denton says he noticed clients suddenly confronting how their homes actually functioned.

Ashley Chavez, a realtor with Compass Real Estate in San Diego, watched the same awareness show up in buyer behavior. “After spending so much uninterrupted time at home, buyers started noticing things they used to overlook,” she says, like the amount of natural light, how rooms flow into one another, and whether spaces feel peaceful or overstimulating.

Health conversations widened beyond workouts to include sleep, stress, and recovery, areas where the home environment plays a defining role. Chavez notes that buyers may not use the word “wellness,” but their priorities are clear. “Clients comment on how a home feels,” she says. “They notice whether bedrooms are quiet, whether the layout supports their routines without constant adjustment.”

The results show up in what people choose to build and invest in. Spare bedrooms become infrared saunas. Massage chairs edge out media consoles. Red light panels replace bar carts, delivering low-level light that supports cellular repair, muscle recovery, skin health, and circadian signaling (it’s worth noting that cocktails pretty much do the opposite of all that). Rooms once dedicated to entertaining are reimagined for restoration.

Clement Qaqish drops into a chaise in the living room of his Solana Beach home with the familiarity of someone used to managing fatigue. A maxillofacial surgeon by day and an endurance athlete by choice, he’s completed 14 full Ironman races and a dozen Half Ironmans. “When you’re training this much, recovery isn’t optional,” Qaqish says. “And even if you’re not doing Ironmans, your body still has to recover—from stress, from sitting, from whatever you ask of it.”

Normatec compression boots sit coiled on the floor beside him—long black sleeves that look part medical device, part sci-fi costume. He slides his feet in one at a time, zipping them up to the thighs. They inflate, with air pulsing upward in slow waves, rhythmically compressing his legs to push blood and lymphatic fluid back toward his heart. The soft mechanical whir fills the room. The goal is faster recovery and less soreness after heavy training. “Most people wait until [their legs are] broken,” he says, smiling slightly. “I’d rather not get there.”

When Qaqish and his wife, Gabby Galleo, a biotech executive, moved into the house, those priorities shaped the abode early on. “The first thing I bought for our home was an infrared sauna for Clem’s birthday,” Galleo says. “Once we had the space, it just made sense.”

From there, the rest followed naturally: a Nordic Wave Cold Plunge on the patio (to support nervous-system resilience and curb inflammation), compression boots by the couch, a red light mask on the armoire (to promote cellular repair and skin tone). Tools more commonly found in a training facility or high-tech spa are folded into the feng shui of the home. With all the tech scattered around the house, “it’s easier to do it than to avoid it,” Galleo says. “You’re just moving through your day, and it’s there. We didn’t want it to feel like a production. If it required driving somewhere or scheduling around it, we knew we wouldn’t do it consistently.”

While fancy equipment certainly helps you unwind after a hard workout, most of the changes that make a home extra restful can be accomplished without hiring a contractor or taking out a loan for the latest technology.

“Editing is the new flex,” Ayukonchong says. “The most impactful shifts are often the simplest ones: Add live plants for a fresh, calming boost; reorganize storage; replace heavy window treatments with breathable linens to soften natural light.”

In general, lighting is a low-cost approach to achieve an outsized impact. Denton recommends “warmer tones in bedrooms for relaxation, cooler bulbs in workspaces for focus, and dimmers that let rooms shift with the day,” (gotta get those Kelvins right!).

From there, he turns to details most of us overlook, even as research increasingly shows how powerfully they shape how we think and feel. “Start with acoustics. They are key to reducing stress and mental fatigue,” he says. According to research from the University of California, Davis, chronic background noise raises stress hormones and cognitive fatigue, which is why oversized rugs and soft window treatments that dampen sound can matter just as much as aesthetics.

And you can double up on the boons from your houseplants by intentionally placing mirrors near or across from them. Studies on biophilic design link visual exposure to greenery—even if it’s reflected—with improved mood and lower stress, while blank walls offer no such benefit.

Air quality is the final layer. Indoor air can be more polluted than outdoor air, and poor ventilation has been associated with headaches, brain fog, and disrupted sleep. Simple upgrades, like higher-grade HVAC filters or a modest air purifier, address a problem quietly and persistently affects many homes.

Even simply designating one chair for reading, one corner for stretching, or one surface for tea or journaling can reshape how a home functions. Research in environmental psychology suggests that context-dependent cues help the brain switch states more efficiently, making it easier to relax or focus when an activity is consistently paired with a specific place. Over time, the space itself becomes a signal, reducing decision fatigue and allowing the nervous system to settle more quickly.

Dr. Jenn Chang, a physical therapist, yoga therapist, and founder of The Movement Mechanic PT, walks me through her small Carmel Valley condo. “I didn’t have room to include things casually,” she says. “Everything had to earn its place.”

In her home office, where she sees clients, a yoga wall with mounted bars and straps that support alignment and traction anchors one side of the room. “It feels like a bonus,” she says. “I can use it with patients, but it’s also there for my own practice.”

In the garage, an infrared sauna sits snugly against the wall. Despite the condo’s limited storage, Chang is careful to keep the area around it uncluttered. “If the space starts filling up, the sauna stops feeling inviting,” she explains. “I notice that right away.”

Aerial yoga hammocks hang from the ceiling for her kids (with safety mats below). A compact Swedish ladder supports dead hangs and calisthenics and doubles as something her children climb on. A vibrating foam roller and a Theragun are stored nearby. “The easier it is to use and put away,” Chang says, “the more likely it becomes part of your day.”

For a long time, I resisted getting a cold plunge myself. It felt unnecessary, even a little excessive. But after spending time with people who treated it as just another part of the house, I eventually purchased one, setting it up on my patio, steps away from the sauna that shields me from notifications and the mattress that we spent so long researching. All together, they offer me permission to do less, move a little slower, incorporate recovery into my everyday life. In a culture that never stops asking what’s next, that feels like the most radical thing.

On the day before their wedding, Alejandro “Jano” Galindo and Dr. Maria Jose “MJ” Galindo weren’t juggling timelines or hustling through the chaos of seating-chart tweaks and last-minute changes. They were rolling out their mats—yoga for him, Pilates for her.

“When we sat down to plan, we didn’t start with colors or themes,” MJ says. “We asked, ‘How do we want this to feel?’ I’d read that you remember the feeling of your wedding more than anything else. That really stayed with us.”

So, they crafted their weekend around movement, shared moments, and feeling good. They let the day proceed at an easy pace, regularly stepping into a quiet room or out into the garden to breathe and reset, quiet check-ins that helped them stay grounded without guests ever noticing. “We wanted a fun, intimate atmosphere full of loving energy,” Jano says. “We wanted people to feel connected—to us and to each other.”

Their approach reflects a paradigm that’s become increasingly popular since the pandemic: Couples aren’t interested in weddings that leave them depleted. The old format, with late nights that slid into hungover brunches and timelines that left no room to enjoy the day, is losing its appeal. “The priority has shifted to intention,” says Ellen O’Brien, former editor at Brides Magazine. “Couples are integrating wellness not as an add-on but as a core value—sound baths, sunrise yoga, adaptogenic drinks, plant-forward menus. They want celebrations that reflect who they really are.”

Gen Z is leading the charge.

“They’re drinking less, sleeping more, and ditching cookie-cutter weddings in favor of deeply personal, values-first experiences,” O’Brien adds.

Where weddings were once a high-octane party weekend, they’re now a gentler, more grounded affair fueled by movement and mocktails. Instead of boozy brunches, couples are opting for sauna sessions and cold plunges. From reiki and vitamin IVs to breathwork and guided meditations, wellness is edging out indulgence.

“I’ve had couples swap traditional glam time for group sound baths or intention-setting ceremonies,” says Emily Campbell, who plans weddings for Four Seasons Lanai, Hawai‘i properties. Instead of dancing into the wee hours, some of her clients are instead planning next-morning hikes. “People want guests to feel good emotionally and physically—not just entertained.”

As weddings get healthier, San Diego’s resorts are leaning in.

At The Inn at Rancho Santa Fe, that looks like sunrise yoga on the lawn, guided hikes, and longevity-forward offerings—think detox and glow vitamin injections for the wedding party and IV drips for jet-lagged guests. “Couples want the whole weekend to feel like a retreat,” says Director of Catering Molly Nelson. “People arrive, breathe, and move their bodies. They leave feeling better than when they came.”

Rancho Valencia Resort & Spa has seen pre-wedding pickleball tournaments and quiet sound baths replace more traditional festivities. Couples opt for fruit-infused water instead of tray-passed Champagne, and vegetable-forward, anti-inflammatory dishes anchor the menus. Recently, one couple turned their private villa into a yoga pavilion draped in sheer white fabric, complete with morning smoothies and a flower-pressing station.

At Omni La Costa Resort & Spa, couples are crafting multi-day “wedding retreats” built around group fitness classes, Ayurvedic treatments, and hydration stations stocked with mineral-rich waters and botanicals. Sustainability has also become part of the experience, says Senior Catering Manager Jenna Nickl-Jones, with biodegradable décor, reusable elements, herbs in place of traditional florals, and even ceremony trees that can be replanted afterward. “There’s a move toward intention and minimalism,” she says. “Couples are prioritizing ease and well-being in every part of the weekend.”

And increasingly, couples are centering their pre- and post-wedding activities at spaces like Four Moons Spa, which has seen a dramatic rise in wellness-forward bridal gatherings. “Five years ago, most pre-wedding events leaned toward nightlife,” says founder Letha Sandison. “Now brides and couples are craving grounding, connection, and experiences that actually nourish them.”

And while planned wellness events can enhance the experience for couples and guests, sometimes enjoying one’s wedding means doing less, not more, especially when it comes to décor.

“[Couples are] choosing settings where the scenery holds the moment, rather than relying on ornate arches or elaborate installations,” Campbell says.

That’s exactly what drew Jano and MJ to The Hidden Chateau, their Victorian garden venue in Escondido with a built-in sense of magic. “We didn’t need to add much,” MJ says. “It had that elevated-backyard feel.”

It also supported what mattered most: staying present. The blend of open garden spaces and intimate rooms created balance, giving them the opportunity to celebrate and breathe simultaneously. “Guests told us it felt authentic to who we are,” Jano says. “People actually spent time with us and with each other.”

And that’s the heart of it: Wellness weddings aren’t about deprivation or austerity. “People want to experience their wedding, not perform it,” O’Brien says. “It’s really about presence.”

Everybody’s talking about hormones. Celebrities like Michelle Obama, Sex and the City’s Kim Cattrall, Oprah Winfrey, and the irrepressible Gwyneth Paltrow are waxing poetic on menopause, and, according to industry publication BeautyMatter, the market for products related to that particular life stage will hit $24.4 billion by 2030. There are more than 225,000 TikTok posts under the hashtag #hormonehealth, many of them focusing on “balancing” out-of-whack levels of estrogen, progesterone, testosterone, and more. Those often-mysterious little chemical messengers are having a moment.

According to Dr. Ashlee Schelsier, a Sharp Community Medical Group board-certified OB-GYN, “hormonal imbalance” isn’t a clinical diagnosis in and of itself, since “our hormones as women vary hour to hour, day to day, and by what part of the cycle we’re in, so it is normal to have big fluctuations.”

However, she adds, “we do have clinical diagnoses that result in changes in our hormones that are a symptom of a disease.” And with age comes the palpable shifts of menopause.

The associated symptoms—annoying at best and debilitating at worst—frequently leave ovary-havers scrambling for solutions, from medications and supplements to foods said to help our hormones achieve equilibrium. “It’s really important to partner with a medical team and a physician that is willing to sit and listen and understand your experience,” says Dr. Meredith McMullen, a San Diego OB-GYN with Kaiser Permanente. “In the past, there has been a tendency to underplay or dismiss these symptoms, both on the patient and provider side. But you don’t have to suffer in silence.”

The first step is working to understand exactly what’s going on. Per the World Health Organization, polycystic ovary syndrome, or PCOS, affects approximately six to 13 percent of reproductive-aged women globally. Doctors typically diagnose PCOS if you have some combination of irregular or absent periods; the titular cysts on your ovaries; and signs of elevated androgenic hormones like testosterone, including acne and excessive hair growth. People with the condition might also experience insulin resistance, chronic inflammation, issues regulating cholesterol, and even depression and anxiety.

“The syndrome itself actually runs with things like Type 2 diabetes … and obesity,” McMullen explains. “That’s why we call it a syndrome, because we see the effects across multiple body systems. This disorder is really specific to women who are still menstruating.”

Others experience the lesser-known premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), “defined as recurrent, severe, and distressing symptoms that occur during the luteal phase, which is the week or two before menstruation, and significantly improve within a few days after the onset of menstruation,” McMullen says. Symptoms include anxiety, depression, headaches, and severe fatigue, all more extreme than your garden-variety PMS.

Perimenopause (the period of transition just before your cycle stops permanently) and menopause (which you’ll have officially reached once you’ve gone 12 months without a period) are different—they’re normal, age-related stages, but they can come with uncomfortable symptoms and side effects. “What menopause really signifies is the end of the ovaries producing consistent levels of estrogen and progesterone,” McMullen adds. “But instead of the ovaries stopping like a light switch, what we see is that the light switch ‘flickers.’ It’s that flickering time frame that corresponds to the perimenopausal phase where you’re getting irregular secretion of estrogen from the ovaries. That’s why you see these perimenopausal symptoms”— things like night sweats, hot flashes, fatigue, weight gain, even joint pain—“start to become more prevalent.”

But because the symptoms people experience can be so diverse and far-reaching, it can be difficult to tell whether what you’re dealing with is truly a hormone issue. For example, “there are a lot of things that mimic PCOS, like androgen disorders [or] thyroid disease,” Schlesier explains. Clinicians use tools like physical exams, patient history, blood tests, and ultrasounds to diagnose conditions such as PCOS and PMDD.

While many hormonal diseases are not curable, there are plenty of routes to treat them. “There’s a supplement that is helpful with PCOS called inositol,” Schlesier says. “The main treatment for PCOS is going to be an oral contraceptive pill. It increases something called your sex hormone–binding globulin, which binds up those excess androgens. It also regulates your cycle. It is important to have four cycles a year … to protect your uterus against potential pre-cancer and cancer.”

I’m on all fours in a dark room, throat tight, body heaving, panting like an animal. My hair sticks to my sweat-soaked face, covering my eyes. All around me, like a scene from some ancient pagan ritual, women howl, curse, bawl, their bodies shaking in feral agitation. This is RAGEher, and we’re only halfway through the evening.

RAGEher is the brainchild of Kristina “Krissie” McMenamin, whose background in transformational leadership and somatic experiential coaching led her to navigate her own relationship with anger. She found few resources, especially for women to explore their rage, so she started hosting women-focused pop-up experiences as a way to help people express what can be an intimidating emotion in a healthy, collective way and channel it into joy, community, and relief. The event is modeled after a wild “girls’ night out”—the word “rager” is the loose basis for RAGEher.

People seeking spaces to vent anger seems to be an ever-increasing phenomenon. “Rage rooms” where participants can safely smash plates or old electronics with shameless abandon are a growing trend. And advertisements for men’s retreats in the woods—part fight club, part campfire Kumbaya— populate many an algorithm.

Are we becoming an angrier society? Or is anger a healthy emotion we’re finally learning how to confront and integrate into our daily lives? A combination of both? Recent personal experiences and the constant churn of the global news cycle left me grappling with how to handle anger in my own life with few tools in my toolbox, particularly since, as a woman, I grew up being taught not to express it publicly. RAGEher looked like a beacon to explore this forbidden flame.

Tonight’s session takes place at Gold Meditation and Wellness Center in Encinitas. The evening is divided into three stages. Part one is dubbed “Tempest Tavern.” It’s the nervous “entering the bar” stage of not knowing who might be there or how the night might progress. When I arrive, I’m asked to leave my given name at the door and choose a “rageling” name, a moniker intended to help me embody the spirit of my anger or the state I’m trying to manifest through this experience.

The names other participants choose are telling and honest—some political; some visceral, alluding to flesh and bone, female anatomy, or totems of personal strength. I am first in line, panic, and choose something bird of prey–related. Next, I’m invited to write the first word that comes to mind when I think of anger on a large easel-bound white board. The board quickly fills up, words like “hurt,” “fear,” “power,” “release,” “violence,” “f**k” (multiple times), and “destruction” scrawled in red.

I’m drawn from the main reception area at Gold down several steps into the meditation room. It’s a dark bunker of a space, sparse except for the expected mats, pillows, yoga bolsters, and… rubber baseball bats? I take note of them and find a place on the floor. I’m handed two questions on strips of paper, and, soon, I’m surrounded by fellow ragelings, maybe 20 in all. We break into small groups and awkwardly introduce ourselves, diving straight into questions we may have never been asked: “What are you allowed to be angry about? In what situations or with what people do you stop yourself from showing anger?”

Many of the participants have come to tonight’s session with a sense that their anger is unwelcome within their family networks, that they have taken up people-pleasing as a means of self-protection. One rageling says she has made herself small or silent to avoid disrupting the status-quo. Another confesses that her willingness to express anger has damaged her relationships—it’s seen as “too much” in her community.

I hear of childhood trauma, abusive partnerships, the feeling of powerlessness over climate change or the war in Gaza. I feel pain, heaviness, resentment, and regret in their stories. But I also see a hopefulness, the desire to grow and explore, a deep need to connect with other women, the longing for space to feel held and accepted. I realize how much we seem to have in common despite our range of ages and backgrounds, and my initial nervousness fades.