I came for one session and stayed for myself.

Forty-one years old. Two kids. A career I'd built from scratch. By every external measure, I was doing well. By every internal measure, I was hollow.

I came to the Born Again Zone because a friend dragged me. I planned to sit politely, not participate, and leave after an hour.

What actually happened was that I spent the first twenty minutes in silence by a window, watching other people gently release things they'd been carrying. And something about witnessing that — the permission in the room, the safety of it — made me realize how much I was holding.

I cried for about fifteen minutes. Quietly. Nobody made a big deal of it. Someone just put a hand on my shoulder for a moment and kept going.

I left feeling lighter than I had in a decade. Like I'd put down a backpack I'd forgotten I was wearing.