Then came the breathwork, led by Rebecca Moore. Fists pumping, lungs heaving, sound spilling out. She was inciting anger in us through somatic release, and I felt agitation and tears rise. We lay down on satin sheets and were told to make guttural, ugly noises while rhythmically slapping ourselves on the ground. 26 naked bodies writhing and groaning in a church. It was messy, surreal, cathartic. I wished I could have watched us from above — a creature made of many parts, mouths open, bodies heaving. When we finally opened our eyes again, we locked gazes and silently told each other: I see you.