When a power outage in Costa Rica kept Leslie Salmon Jones from joining our recent live session, Women Thriving Beyond Transitions: A Conversation on Power, Change, and What’s Next, she wanted to follow up with some in-depth answers to our questions.
Below is a Q&A from Leslie on liminal space, inherited scripts, doing power differently, what the body knows, and more.
The Messiness of In-Between
Q: What does “liminal space” actually feel like for the women you work with?
“When I work with women in this liminal space—especially now, with so much uncertainty in the world—I notice a deep undercurrent of sadness, grief, and often a sense of being unprepared and overwhelmed. That can show up through menopause and unexpected changes in the body, the loss of a spouse or beloved partner, or the transition from career into retirement; all of these thresholds can feel disorienting and challenging. Having recently turned 60 myself, I’m also moving through a new phase of life, so I experience this threshold personally as well as professionally.
And yet, when the liminal space is fully embraced, it can become a powerful opening—an opportunity for discovery, creativity, and even joy. What I’ve found to be most supportive during the messiness is the presence of a container, a place where the mess can be poured out, because in that mess something alchemical happens: it becomes compost, and within it are seeds of possibility. I encourage women, when possible, to slow down, take an inner inventory, practice patience, and embrace the mess rather than resist it, because it’s in the soil—in the dirt—that new seeds are nourished, rooted, and grown.
This understanding echoes the teachings of the late West African shaman Malidoma Somé, who spoke about ritual and initiation as essential spiritual technologies during major life transitions—technologies largely lost in Western culture through colonization and patriarchy. Without a container or a community to bear witness, the liminal space can feel lonely and painful; with one, it becomes fertile ground for healing, meaning, and unexpected joy.”
Q: For someone who wants to rush through the discomfort, what’s your invitation?
“For someone who wants to rush through the discomfort or fix it so it can be over, I would gently invite them to learn from nature. One of the most beautiful metaphors is birth itself—nothing new comes into the world without a gestation period. A baby needs time in the womb, just as any idea, creation, or becoming needs time to form. There are phases: gestation, contractions, the birth canal, and rebirth. Each one has its own intelligence. The invitation is to know yourself and to recognize the season you are in.
As an artist and an entrepreneur, this has been one of my most profound lessons—understanding that life moves in cycles: seasons of preparing and planning, seasons of reflection, seasons of action, and seasons of rest. The cycle repeats itself again and again. When we know our season, we can stop judging ourselves for not being somewhere else. And if you find yourself in a winter season, trust that spring, summer, and fall will come. Patience, self-compassion, and honoring the timing of your own becoming are part of the wisdom of this threshold.”
Inherited Scripts
Q: What “default scripts” around power and aging are Black women navigating?
“For me, the question of how Black women inherit stories about power and aging is complex, and I’m cautious about making broad generalizations. What we inherit is deeply shaped by environment—where we were raised, the cultures that formed us, and the communities that held us. Even within the same country, factors like class, education, and social context can shape very different experiences of power, safety, and aging.
On the surface, there’s the familiar phrase “Black don’t crack,” often shared with humor. But beneath that are more serious realities, particularly in the Western world, where systemic racism has impacted Black women’s health and well-being for generations. Stereotypes that frame Black women as endlessly “strong” can become both a source of resilience and a quiet burden, especially when vulnerability is overlooked or dismissed as we age.
There are also historical legacies of enslavement and colonization that disrupted family structures and distorted power dynamics, echoes of which still live in some families today. And yet, what I’ve witnessed—in my work and in my own life—is that aging can also bring a sense of liberation. After navigating systems not designed for us, many Black women arrive at deeper self-trust, clearer boundaries, and a more grounded sense of worth.
For me, power has ultimately been about consciousness within context. After experiencing abuses of power early in my life, I made a quiet but firm decision that no system or individual could take my inner power unless I gave it away. That choice doesn’t deny the reality of racism or patriarchy—they are real and ongoing—but it does shape how I choose to engage. And this is the story I believe we must continue to share: while we inherit scripts, and while access to agency is not equal, when we do have the privilege to exercise it, we can reclaim our sovereignty and redefine power on our own terms.”
Women Doing Power Differently
Q: When you talk about “doing power differently,” what do you mean?
“When I speak about ‘doing power differently,’ I often invite women to look at nature. Mother Earth shows us a kind of power that isn’t about domination or control, but about relationship, resilience, and flow. Water, for example, doesn’t force its way through rock—it shapes it over time, creating rivers and canyons. Water can shift form, evaporate, fall as rain, and return to nourish the land. Trees communicate and support one another through their root systems. These are intelligent, cooperative systems that sustain life.
Nature is the most powerful system we know—and it was never built on extraction or hierarchy. Even after centuries of colonization, exploitation, and harm, the Earth continues to regenerate, adapt, and sustain us. We could not live without nature, because we are nature. When we remember this, power stops being something we chase or give away, and becomes something we embody.
What I’m inviting women to consider is a return to that natural wisdom: slowing down, breathing, listening, nurturing themselves, and honoring their life force. So many of the systems we’ve been asked to succeed within are man-made and unsustainable. Nature offers another model—one rooted in interconnection, reciprocity, and collective well-being. When we reclaim that truth, we remember that we are the water, the earth, the air, the minerals—and that our power lives not in separation, but in our deep interconnection with all living beings. That, to me, is power beyond measure.”
Q: What does it look like when someone actually shifts how they relate to power?
“I can speak to this both personally and through what I’ve witnessed in others. When I was younger and first working in retail and corporate environments, I quickly became aware—though not in all cases, but in many—of systems marked by nepotism and abuses of power. I could see the game clearly, and I didn’t like how it felt. Having power held over me felt restrictive and disempowering, as if I were being placed in a box. From a young age, I made a conscious decision to step out of those systems, to work for myself, and to learn how to sustain and nourish my life by doing work I loved—cultivating my dreams in a way that felt aligned, nurturing, and sustainable.
I’ve witnessed similar shifts again and again in the women I work with. Often, the turning point comes when they begin to reclaim what brings them joy outside of the ‘shoulds’ and structures that have constrained them—whether that’s singing again, dancing again, learning a new language, reconnecting with an old friend, or simply following a spark of inspiration. When that joy and life-force energy is nurtured and given space, something changes. I’ve seen women move from feeling disconnected and disempowered into ways of living that feel sustainable, nourishing, embodied, and alive. Witnessing these returns—to joy, to vitality, to self—is one of the greatest gifts of this work.”
What the Body Knows
Q: Why does the body matter so much in conversations about transition and power?
“In colonized and patriarchal systems, we’ve been conditioned to live from the neck up—to think, analyze, and control—because that way of knowing has been most valued. But this disconnects us from the body, and the body holds immense wisdom. Our emotions, instincts, and intuition live there. Especially now, as so much collective and personal trauma is present, it’s essential that we listen to what the body is telling us.
Trauma doesn’t live only in the mind; it lives in the body—showing up as tension, illness, fatigue, or pain. When we slow down and pay attention, the body becomes a gateway to healing rather than something to override. This has been true in my own life. Learning to listen to my body transformed unexpressed pain and shame into strength and clarity, helping me move from feeling disconnected to reclaiming my power.
When we bring the body into conversations about transition and power, we reconnect with our wholeness. Through tending, releasing, and remembering our connection to nature and ourselves, we create space for presence, joy, and a more sustainable form of power. This kind of reclamation is challenging, but it’s deeply healing—and it’s never too late to begin.”
Q: For someone who feels disconnected from their body, where do they start?
“The advice I would give someone who feels disconnected from their body or hasn’t moved in a long time is to begin with patience, kindness, and self-compassion. There’s no need to rush. Small, gentle steps can slowly reopen the door to what’s possible. Our bodies knew how to trust long before we learned how to think—when we were babies, instinct guided us naturally. That intelligence never leaves us.
There is a deep wisdom already living inside the body, often operating without our conscious awareness. It has protected us, adapted for us, and carried us through every moment of our lives. In fact, the one thing that stays with us from birth until we leave this world is our body. I sometimes say: if your body wrote its own autobiography, it might tell a very different story than the one we tell from our minds. That realization alone invites curiosity and care.
When we slow down and begin to listen—to breath, sensation, intuition—we can start to build a relationship with the body rather than treating it as something to control or ignore. That kind of listening opens the door to healing, insight, and reconnection. When we trust what the body already knows, we unlock possibilities for greater ease, clarity, and a more loving relationship with ourselves.”
What We’ve Squashed to Get Here
Q: What does the dual work of personal and cultural reclamation look like in your Afro Flow Yoga practice?
“For me, personal and cultural reclamation are inseparable. When I first learned about the African slave trade and the systematic processes of dehumanization—processes that people literally had PhDs in designing—I understood how power was maintained through divide and conquer: separating people from the Earth, from their bodies, from their families, and from their cultures. These systems may appear successful, but they are not sustainable. You cannot oppress the Earth—or human beings—without consequences.
In Western culture, many of us were taught to suppress parts of ourselves in order to belong: don’t move your hips, don’t be too loud, don’t be too emotional. This repression doesn’t just limit expression; it impacts our physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health. Afro Flow Yoga is about remembering what was cut from the root—reclaiming embodied wisdom, ancestral practices, and cultural expression. When women retrieve these parts of themselves, they don’t just heal personally; they help restore connection, dignity, community, and belonging for future generations.”
What Happens in Santa Fe
Q: Finally, what will these four days at Rising Circle Ranch with you and Carla feel like?
“I often describe this experience as entering a sacred collective womb—a space where the past, present, and future are gently woven together. It’s exciting, and sometimes a little tender at first. Women arrive in many different ways: some quiet, some expressive, some unsure. Together, we create shared agreements and intentionally co-create a space where everyone can feel safe, seen, and supported.
Over the four days, held by the land, nature, and MEA’s beautiful container, layers begin to soften and fall away. Roles and expectations loosen, and women are met with acceptance, care, and deep witnessing. Through movement, reflection, rest, and shared ritual, time slows and connection deepens—honoring what has been, meeting what is, and opening space for what is becoming.
Women leave carrying what I call a medicine bag—not something you hold in your hands, but something you carry in your body, heart, and spirit. It’s a felt sense of belonging, clarity, and embodied knowing that stays with you long after you return home. That is the magic of the sacred collective womb—and we hope you’ll join us.”
If this conversation sparks something in you, you’re invited to explore it more deeply with Leslie, Carla, and our MEA team at Rising Circle Ranch in Santa Fe this May. Over four days together, we’ll bring these ideas—about power, transition, and what your “next” might be—into lived experience through conversation, movement, and time on the land. You can learn more about Women Thriving Beyond Transitions: Reimagining Power and Possibility workshop here