It all started when…

I wasn’t wanted. My parents were told I was a boy so it softened the blow.

Until I arrived with a vagina. My mother cried and my fathers first words upon hearing I was born were, “you’ve gotta be kidding me, put it back.” 

I was born with webbed toes. Yes, for real, and no, they don’t make me swim better.

The first decision my parents made about me was whether or not to cut my joint toes into two. 

They opted out, which my toes are infinitely appreciative of; but, that felt like the very last time I was allowed to just “be” what I was without being molded, sliced, or morphed into some version of who I needed to be to gain “their” approval. 

A rebel spirit at heart, needing their approval and cutting myself down to size to gain it, made me sick. Literally. Also made me a bulimic, drug loving, escapist who got herself knocked up at eighteen which, if it didn’t save my life, at minimum, completely saved my sanity.

You know those moments in your mind that stick, for no reason, forever. 

Today I drove by a house that as a little girl, my mother and I were driving by which at the time had “It’s a girl!” balloons excitedly waving toward the passerby’s. I wondered at that ripe age, what it would be like to be such a girl in the world, to be welcomed with enthusiasm for her being.

In the midst of riding the waves of my generational inheritance of what I like to call narcissistic confusion, the world felt fake, like a big phony lie that I had to drag my feet through daily. Especially when it came to my family of origin which reverberated into larger life patterns of self sabotage.

Health came to me when I learned to receive, and to stop suckling on an empty tit metaphorically speaking. 

My body healed. It even afforded me two all natural childbirths after two cesarean sections, following a lifetime of vagal nerve induced grand mal seizures. #straightempathhere

My love/hate relationships with food, money, pain, materials, family, and the constructs of social norms triggering TF outta my issues with authority, no longer own me.

I’m in an “actual” steaming, loving, best-friendy, relationship with my soon-to-be husband. He’s a musician, I’m a writer, both grassroots. 

From being a single mom of two, to raising a family of six along side him, we’ve got a lifestyle that chooses real over the grind, even if it means we have to hustle. 

We grow our own food, co-sleep, attachment parent, juice, hunt for medicinal mushrooms, all in the practice of presence (which sometimes looks like a calm pond, and sometimes, a tornado). 

I still have my motorcycle license, but gone are the days when riding appealed to me more than the squeals of my children’s laughter. 

These days, I’m for myself, the parents excitedly celebrating their daughters arrival to the planet. I’m no longer wounded by not being wanted. And I now, gratefully, want what I have.

The journey wasn’t short, or proper, but it was…worthy.

I’m the ancient me who made the excited decision to come, to take it all on, for this now moment. To create the fuck outta this production. 

My will is back. Guided by the Holy Spirit of course.

Crazy people can and do, make one crazy. Yes, yes, you subconcisouly think normal is boring, but...what it’s not, is crazy, so let’s get you back to it. A new...normal. 

I will help you get clear on You. From then on, the past, really is history, and the future, a whole new world. Imagine…you…realized…