SADAR IS A SPACE OF PRESENCE.
Not a method.
Not a performance.
Not a promise to become someone else.
The word sadar comes from the Indonesian language and means awareness.
Being conscious. Being present with what is. It exists as a quiet counterbalance to a world that constantly pulls us outward into speed, noise, comparison, and endless doing.
Sadar is about slowing down. About staying with what is, and allowing clarity to arise through presence.
Calm. Real. Alive.
My name is Julia.
Meditation entered my life at a very young age.
When I was thirteen, I lost my mother. At that time, I felt deeply lost and alone.
When I was introduced to meditation, I experienced something I couldn’t yet name: a sense of safety, a quiet place within, a feeling of being held.
Over the years, my practice came and went. But the longing for stillness never left. I sensed that life held something deeper, something I could feel whenever I slowed down enough to listen.
A Return to Presence
A few years ago, my life reached a breaking point.
My stepmother, whom I was deeply close to, was diagnosed with cancer. At the same time, I was overwhelmed by work and a relationship that was falling apart.
Her diagnosis reopened old wounds. Everything felt too much.
I began therapy, the relationship ended, I left my job, and eventually left Switzerland to complete a yoga teacher training in Nepal.
There, I returned to meditation, this time with understanding and guidance. I began to see that grief and gratitude can coexist. That healing doesn’t mean the absence of pain, but the ability to stay present with it.
Later, in Indonesia, I continued my journey with another training. Soon after, I received the call I had feared. My stepmother’s condition had worsened. I flew home immediately and was able to spend one last week with her before she passed away.
What followed was one of the hardest periods of my life. This time, I stayed with the pain. Again and again. It was painful. And it was healing.
Despite everything happening externally, I discovered a steady space within. Not as an escape, but as a reconnection.
Mindfulness didn’t take the pain away. But it allowed me to meet it with more honesty, kindness, depth, and unexpectedly, a lot of wonder.
Why Sadar Exists
Through these experiences, something became clear to me. Life continues, even in grief. And it is still full of joy.
Sadar grew from this knowing.
Not as a solution or an escape, but as a space to slow down and meet life as it is. Because change happens anyway once we learn to stay present.
Slowing Down and Being Alive
Slowing down does not mean stepping away from life. It doesn’t mean becoming passive or losing motivation. Slowing down allows us to act with clarity instead of reaction. With intention instead of pressure.
When we slow down, we don’t stop moving. We start moving from a clearer place.
Sadar is not about withdrawing from the world. It is about meeting it with presence, and responding from what truly matters.
How I Hold the Space
My role within Sadar is not to perform or lead from the front. I hold space.
Through mindfulness, slow and gentle movement, nervous system aware practices, and shared stillness, I create environments where people can safely return to themselves. There are moments of doubt. Moments where I question whether I know enough, or whether I’m ready to guide others. But I know this: people connect most deeply with what is real.
Sadar is not about me. But it flows through me.
As I grow, so does the space. And maybe you.
The Essence
Sadar lives in moments of spaciousness. The stillness beneath the waves. The pause between inhale and exhale. Early morning light. Silence within movement.
And it lives in everyday moments, too. Shared laughter. Quiet kindness. Honest connection. Moments where we remember that we belong. That we are held. That presence is enough.