Judith DeLoizer

There is a certain kind of presence in life that is so rare, so magical and so warm, that trying to describe it in words feels as impossible as trying to capture the rainbow. Judith DeLozier, or Judy, as I have always known her, is one such continued presence in my life. Her very being is so therapeutic; conversations with her are so deep and just warm. Many times even before she speaks, something inside me softens, stretches, and finds its breath again. Her one-liners are so light yet mighty profound; they are infused with decades of wisdom and settle quietly inside you, like drops of ink that slowly bloom into patterns long after they touch the page.

Her work unfolds gradually. At first, it feels so effortless, almost weightless. But then, one day, perhaps under the heat of a high-stake conversation or in the midst of life's unexpected pressures, something from that earlier interaction with her rises to the surface: a phrase, a concept, an exercise. And there it is alive, vibrant, useful. That is Judy.

She carries the rare gift of sponsorship, the ability to see you not just for who you are, but for all that you are capable of becoming, even the parts you may have forgotten, and then she'd hold a loving, unwavering space for that unfolding. Beyond her brilliance in NLP, Judy is a lifelong lover of the great teachers, mystics, and shamans of the world. A student of comparative religion, anthropology, and the ocean itself, she lives the presuppositions of NLP not as technique, but as breath. She has modeled parts of her life as a diver, a dancer, and a seeker, moving through life with overwhelming compassion and deep connection.

I remember once, in a class, she asked a participant during an activity, “Tell me, what do you do in your organization?” The woman replied proudly, “I’m the problem-solver. When a crisis hits, there’s nothing I can’t handle.” It was clear she was expressing her value and capability within the context of her work profile, and through that, her identity rooted in solving problems. Judy, smiling empathetically, asked, “And what do you do, or who do you become, when there’s no problem to solve?” So light, so effortless, and yet it landed like a thunderclap. Beneath that simple question was a profound presupposition: Are you creating problems in order to feel seen and needed? In just that one sentence, Judy created the possibility of an alternative reality, a reframe of autonomy, and new choice points, that too just within reach.

I had known Judy for many years before I finally met her in person in Moscow. When that day arrived, it felt as though time and distance melted away. I was awestruck. After all those years of conversations, stories, and reverence passed down from my own teacher, Dick McHugh, who spoke of her with such respect and admiration, there she was, right in front of me. My teacher. My magus.

When I hugged her and she hugged me back, it wasn’t just a greeting; it was my sacred space, my deepest anchor. A moment that continues to live within me, along with the memory of walking with her in the maple gardens, sharing breakfasts, wandering through winding city lanes, lingering in cafés, and laughing beneath the spires of the Kremlin. It was joyful. I was walking with a giant.

One evening in Moscow, she asked if I’d like to have breakfast with her the next morning. I said yes in a blink of an eye. It would be my first shared meal with her, at the Vega Hotel near Partizanskaya. After we ate, I reached for the bill, wanting to pay. She smiled and said, “I’m pretty sure I invited you only to breakfast, and not to pay for it, so you, my friend, don’t get to pay.” hahah ! I insisted. She wouldn’t let me. That was Judy: gracious, playful, and full of heart.

It was a translated class in Moscow, and yet she traveled effortlessly through the language, not just the spoken word, but the space between words. In those in-between moments, her message was always clear: we are each unique, and we all have something to offer. In her exact words: “Bring more of yourself to this world; this world needs more of you.” From that day forward, our journeys intertwined across continents. From Russia to the States, from maple gardens to redwood forests, through long walks, deep learning, and irrepressible laughter, she became my teacher, my magus, and my miracle.

In one workshop, when I was preparing to introduce her to the group, I asked Judy what she’d like me to say in the introduction. She laughed and said, “Call me anything queen, princess, goddess!” Her eyes sparkled with humor and humility. Not from a place of vanity, never, but from that sacred knowing that titles and labels don’t define us. Judy lives beyond labels.

She is an author and a founding contributor to the very roots of NLP. She was there on the timeline of NLP even before the term NLP, was coined (Bandler & Grinder, 1975; Grinder, DeLozier, & Bandler, 1980). She often shared how John Grinder gave her the manuscripts of Structure of Magic when they were still in draft form, before the field had crystallized into an identity.

Judy's contributions are nothing short of extraordinary. Together with John Grinder, she co-created New Code NLP, a fresh, more holistic evolution of the field that honored balance, high-performance states, and the subtle power of unconscious competence (Collingwood & Collingwood, 2001). During this period, she and Grinder also co-founded Grinder & DeLozier Associates, a training company dedicated to advancing and teaching New Code NLP principles.

Her earlier work spans collaborations with Richard Bandler, Steve Andreas, Robert Dilts, and Stephen Gilligan. She trained directly with Milton Erickson, absorbing lessons in language, hypnosis, and healing from the very source of modern therapeutic hypnosis. Her relationships with Gregory Bateson and Mary Catherine Bateson deepened her understanding of systems thinking and the ecology of mind. But Judy never confined herself to techniques or traditions; she wove these strands into something alive, something uniquely her own.

In the broader NLP community, during the early 1980s when conflict struck,especially during the legal disputes and personal divisions between Richard Bandler and John Grinder, Judy did not waver. It was, as Michael Hall aptly said, a lawsuit that nearly killed NLP (Hall, 2009). But Judy did not let it take her off course. She chose the path of wholeness. She continued teaching, evolving, bridging gaps, and creating possibilities. She remained, as always, in service to the field, focusing on skills and working on self.

I have seen her in action across the world,in China, in Russia, in the United States, in Mexico,sometimes on grand stages, other times sitting in quiet circles. Wherever she is, she is Judy: witty, wise, deeply respectful, and always fully present. She meets you where you are and gently invites you toward who you are becoming.

One afternoon, as she drove me to the wharf in Santa Cruz, we talked about the early days of NLP and how the world has changed from then till now. She shared a bit about her childhood; it was post-World War II times in America. Her conversations were always laced with gentle humor and the rich perspective of someone who has lived, watched, and listened. Later, as we left Gilda’s from the wharf the drizzle picked up, I found myself rushing, worried about the leather of my shoes. Judy, walking with grace, noticed and simply said, “Where there is water, there is life.” I slowed down. Her words always do that. They bring me back to myself.

Among her countless quotable moments, a few remain etched in my memory: “If your presence cannot heal, don’t even try words.” “If you want to change your pasta, change your linguine.” “Life is out to get you,” she said with that playful smile that transforms fear into wonder. In another interaction, she added to that by saying, “Life is out to get you, In wonderful ways and not-so-wonderful ways.”

In one of the shared spaces, where she was to address the class, I had suggested Judy repeat a beautiful exercise she had used previously with another batch. She smiled but went on to conduct a completely different one. Later, I asked her why ;) . She gently responded, “The field called for something else,” and added, “A respectful relationship is one where opposing ideas can be shared with ease, without fear, and without the need to wear masks.” That one line opened something vast in me. It reminded me that equanimity in relationships is not just a goal; it’s a way of being.

During a conversation on literature and psychology, we laughed about the chaotic weather in San Francisco. I told her how it was foggy at 10 a.m., raining by noon, boiling hot by 2 p.m., and cold again by 4 p.m. Without skipping a beat, she smiled, recalling Mark Twain and said, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” That was Judy, layered, literate, and always able to say the most with the least.

I remember this one moment in China; its one of those Judy moments you don’t forget. There was a woman in the training who hadn’t felt joy in years, she shared - and it appeared extremely congruent as she shared on the floor. On the surface, everything looked fine; career, marriage, family everything; but her eyes had gone quiet. Empty. Numb. And before Judy did anything, she simply looked at her and said, “You don’t have to feel anything you’re not ready for. I’m just going to be here with you.” That’s how she started. No pushing. Just presence. She didn’t begin with traditional techniques. She told a story. Moved her body. Sang softly. Let silence do the inviting. Through metaphor, dance, and deep voicework, Judy met the part of this woman that had been frozen for years. And slowly, the thaw began. Not all at once - just a shift. A breath. A tear. A hint of color returning to her face.That’s the work. Not fixing pain, but sitting beside it. Judy knew that numbness isn’t nothing- it’s a threshold. A sacred veil. And if you meet it with enough patience, ritual, and kindness, it becomes a doorway to the forgotten Self.

She could speak to five generations of your family in one sentence. But she held the system with love, even the part that hurt you.

To witness Judy work was to witness a kind of remembering; a return to something older than technique and deeper than language. She invited people not just to change, but to come home to themselves. In a field often dominated by models and maps, techniques and processes, Judy was the terrain; raw, alive, and sacred. She held space not to direct, but to listen; not to impose, but to uncover what had always been there. Her presence reminded us that healing is not performance; it is permission. Permission to grieve, to laugh, to forget, to remember. And always, to return to the body as a wise companion, not a broken thing to be fixed. Judy taught us that transformation is not a conquest, but a courtship; with breath, with story, with the mystery of being human. Her legacy isn’t just in what she taught, but in how she loved. And that love continues to ripple, quietly, powerfully, through us all.

To be around Judy is to experience a kind of remembering; a return to something deeper than words and wiser than theory. She doesn’t just teach NLP; she embodies it. In a world often racing for mastery, Judy invites us to slow down, to listen to the body, and to honor what arises. Her work is not a performance, but a presence. She brings soul into structure, breath into breakthrough, and the sacred into the everyday. What she offers is not just knowledge, but transmission; a living current of the feminine in its most grounded, generous form. Her sessions are rituals of reconnection: to self, to others, to lineage, to the Earth. And the beauty is, she’s still here. Still guiding, still learning, still offering her full-hearted presence. Not a legacy left behind; but a living stream we can still drink from, as long as we have the courage to come as we are. She is a giant. And I am forever grateful to the times she let me walk beside her, and sometimes, just so blessed, to be standing on her shoulders. And it is with love, longing, and infinite gratitude that I say, thank you, Judy.

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