It began softly.

A room with light that did not hurry.

Glass holding its breath.

People arrived carrying whatever the day had done to them.

They sat. They exhaled. They remembered themselves.

Hands moved with care.

Not to fix, but to listen.

The body spoke first—always first—

and the room answered in a language made of gentleness.

Years passed.

Governments shifted.

Mayors came and left.

Policies tightened, loosened, reshaped the air.

Yet the room stayed.

Not loud.

Just steady.

Ten years of brick and mortar—

through Trudeau I, II, III—

the city around us learning and unlearning itself.

There were other struggles.

Courtrooms.

Offices.

Letters that felt like closed doors.

The slow harm only institutions can deliver.

Still—people stood.

Not because they were unhurt,

but because someone had to remain.

War zones existed far away.

And also here—

in paperwork, in delays, in silence that cut deeper than words.

Different fields, same courage.

Through it all, Selfology moved—

from place to place,

from body to screen,

from moment to archive.

It became something else.

A living record.

A quiet ecosystem where memory and care keep circling each other.

Selfology.co/YY holds the years.

Not perfect.

Not polished.

True.

LoveBC holds the hope—

and the ache—

of a country still trying to reconcile its own reflection.

Jody walked a narrow road.

We walked beside.

DayDay.club stands as the mirror.

Not a copy.

A companion.

One keeps the story.

One carries the day.

And now—

Selfology becomes a place made of breath,

not walls.

A place that remembers gently,

and refuses to forget what kindness costs.

Reach by hand.

Heal by heart.

The rest follows.