Take a Re-do

Hot Tub Lesson

Last week, under a warm Costa Rican sky, we gathered for our first potluck with our first family to support the actualization of this dream. We are exploring this new way of living and learning together.

There was excitement, hope, rush, and the soft ache of wanting it all to go beautifully.

We arrived with bags, snacks, contracts, ideas, five children overflowing with anticipation. We forgot all our wisdom. Teaching of New.

We sent them tumbling straight into the hot tub.

Five nervous systems. Five unique rhythms. Five small bodies adjusting to a new space as the adults sat down to talk logistics.

And in the swirl of bubbles and adrenaline, it unfolded: splashing, shouting, grabbing, hiding, chasing, tears. 
River and Juniper—our two eldest—locked into a cycle neither could exit. 
The younger ones followed the energy. The adults resorted to ways of old.

We slipped back into the familiar ways:
“Be nice.” 
“Stop it.” 
“If you don’t listen, we’re leaving.” 
Old patterns spoken from dysregulated bodies. 
Children reaching for boundaries that weren’t anchored.

No one was settled. 
No one was ready. 
And yet, there we were—expecting something smooth from a moment we had not prepared for.

This is why we are doing this work.

Later that night, after the children were wrapped in towels and safety, and after the dishes were washed and the heat of the moment had softened, we paused. 
We took a “redo,” as we call it in our home—a chance to reflect with honesty, compassion, and curiosity.

We looked at what really happened. 
We saw the truth beneath the behavior: 
the kids weren’t misbehaving, they were under-supported. 
Their bodies were overstimulated, their emotions big, their needs unmet. 
They needed more scaffolding. More presence. More rhythm. More gentle leadership. 
They needed us.

And we? We needed a moment to breathe and remember who we want to be.

Next time, we will arrive differently. 
We will land slowly—grounding, connecting, offering children the orientation their bodies crave before play. 

We will model the calm we hope they borrow. 
We will set simple boundaries held with warmth and clarity. 
We will stay close, observing, supporting, honoring the emotions that rise instead of rushing past them. 

This is the work—this scaffolding, this presence, this learning-by-doing. 

It isn’t about controlling children; it’s about creating the conditions in which they feel safe enough to eventually control themselves. 
To negotiate their own agreements. 
To express discomfort. 
To take space without shame. 
To sense when their bodies need a pause. 
To feel free.

Freedom doesn’t appear overnight. 
It grows, slowly, when supported by steady hearts, clear rhythms, and adults willing to regulate themselves first.

At Sacred Oak, we will not walk this alone. 
We will have experts—guides who understand nervous systems, conflict, and the art of becoming a village again. 

People who will help us see, support, and meet children where they are, while helping us show up in the ways our hearts ache to.

We are not perfect. 
We are not meant to be. 
But we are willing. 
Willing to pause. 
Willing to reflect. 
Willing to take the redo. 
Willing to meet our children with reverence, even when things are messy.

And that is how a new world begins. 
Not through perfection. 
But through presence. 
Through togetherness. 
Through the simple, sacred choice to try again.