It took almost 9 months to arrive here from the very beginning of the unraveling in February, to my official separation in April, to filing the paperwork for divorce, to the selling of our family home.

By order of the court, this decree brings about an ending to our 21 years of marriage. In the same breath, it also inevitably marks a beginning. I am laying rest to a version of myself and with the restoration of my maiden name, I am rebirthing another version that connects me back to who I am at my essence.

I am getting reacquainted with the Hera that I was born into this life as. In a way, with this new beginning, I’m actually coming back to the very beginning of it all. My origin story. I’m observing all the ways that I’ve evolved but I’m also pulling on those threads that run all the way back through time.

I knew that I wanted to use the energy of Samhain to honor both the death of my former self and the rebirth of my new self. A witchy weekend away with a soul sister was the perfect opportunity to pay homage to this threshold I have finally arrived at.

First, I awoke to find that my cycle started 3 days early on Samhain morning—because of course it did. My body was preparing for what was to come by starting with my own physical release. How perfect to have my cycle aligning with the energy of the turning of the wheel and the witch’s new year.

We spent the day cleansing and nourishing our bodies at the nordic spa and we spent the evening steeped in ritual and ceremony. Calling upon the auspicious and powerful energy of Samhain to guide us.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what parts of me I am letting go of. What needs to die and what is asking to be born from all of this. In preparation for my personal Samhain ritual, I wrote an entire piece in the third person which was essentially my own obituary and (re)birth announcement in one.

On the night of Samhain, I laid to rest Hera Morgan Bosley and I honored the rebirth of Hera Morgan Guthrie. I wrote out my story and all that has led me here. In that story I wrote about who I have been over the last 23 years. The sacrifices, the devotion, the loyalty.

I then contemplated on the younger version of me. The ways in which I am the same and the parts of me that I lost along the way. I wrote about who I was born to be. The essence of who I was as Hera Morgan Guthrie and the parts I hope to return to.

I also wrote about the parts of me that are unfurling. The endless possibilities that I want to open myself to. The honoring of my creative passions and the self love that I’m wrapping myself in as I move forward. I wrote about my desire to pour into my own cup as deeply as I have always done for others.

As I honor and choose myself in this new era of my life, I can feel with certainty how this act is also breaking generational wounds. I can feel the women in my bloodlines that were not able to do the same. I carry them with me as I take these steps into a new life.

Together, as we’ve done many times before, my soul sister and I created a sacred container on Samhain. We called in the directions. We called in our spirit guides, angels, and well ancestors. And I laid in front of the fire while she read aloud my obituary and my rebirth announcement.

When she was done, I burned it all in the fire.

The entire piece I wrote for this ceremony is too personal to share here, but I will share the poem that I included at the very end. It is a piece I recently came across and immediately knew it needed to be included.

Between the Venus ritual I did the weekend before and the Samhain ritual I did this weekend I am trying to find my footing and start this week with intention. I’m desperately trying to release the guilt and grief and move forward with building my life.

It’s not always easy but I’m here and I’m doing it. One day at a time. I am rewiring my brain. I’m resetting my nervous system. I’m nurturing my own self and my own needs. I am allowing my emotions to move through me and not define me.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really saying: Here is how I’m feeling and what I’m experiencing. Do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know.

I’d love to hear from you. Did you do anything special for Samhain weekend? How is your heart these days? How are you cleansing and nourishing your body, mind, and spirit these days?

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Love notes from last week

• Pulling cards from the Floral Tarot during our witchy weekend

• The last creamee dreamee of the season

• The Taurus full moon rising

From my headphones to your ears

“If I don’t go. How will I ever know. What’s on the other side.”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon. xo

The grief and the guilt seem to be intertwined. Holding both simultaneously. I may have been the one to end my marriage but it was not my actions that forced the decision. And yet, I am always holding, holding, holding the pain, the grief, the guilt for myself yes, but also it seems for everyone else as well.

Perhaps it is the foreign nature of my actions. To choose myself over the sanctity of the life we forged was a first for all of us. It was in fact uncharted territory to draw the line in the sand and stand on the other side. I wish I could sit here and say that I feel strong standing on the other side of that line. That I was holding my chin up with fervent determination, but the reality is my chin quivers with uncertainty.

Even when I know what is right and what is true. I waver. I tremble. I keen with grief. I collapse under the weight of it all.

But as I write these words, there is a small voice. One that is tucked away in the furthest reaches of my consciousness. Trepidatious yet it is present, telling me that this too is part of the process. And how important it is to give myself the gift of staying the course. To see what can transpire in a years time. And to watch with curiosity what unfolds along the way.

All my life I have been seeking something that I could not articulate. A freedom. It called to me in the vastness of the night. In the whispers of the wind. But as to be expected, what I have been seeking externally can only be found within. The freedom, safety, security that I have been searching for is a gift I can only provide to myself. And in actuality, when I look back, I have already been doing that all along.

I’ve been having an interesting symbiotic conversation with Venus this week. First, she woke me in the ambrosial hours to get my attention. It was as if she was saying to me: wake up, pay attention, this is an important week for both of us! A few days later as she drove straight into the sun for the cazimi on Friday she was conjunct with my natal Pluto and opposite my natal Venus and Moon.

During that time, while she was in the heart of the sun and making her ascent from underworld, I sat and did a personal ritual with her. On Saturday, I let the remnants of that ritual be carried away by the river. It was beautifully symbolic as it feels like I’ve been making that same journey through the dark and am just now beginning a new cycle just as Venus is.

Most poignantly, during this retrograde, she’s been traveling through my 4th house of home and family while I’ve been settling into life on my own for the first time in my life. She’s been helping me reconfigure the roles I played in my relationship and how I desire to move forward differently. So differently it feels as though I’m breaking ancestral cycles.

My life is a story that only I can write. And at the same time the story is being shaped by the life that I am living. So what will I do with this new chapter? What will be born from the ashes? I’m not entirely sure but I do know one thing: it will be found in the exploration of my creative expression.

I’m not looking to have everything figured out. I’m not someone who needs a rigid plan to move forward. I’m learning to relax in the unknown. To release the tension I’m holding. To exhale the breath I’ve been clutching to as I live my new life on my own terms.

Thank you for being here with me. I hope you can feel how my gratitude pours through these words. What a gift to have this platform to share my thoughts, feelings and experiences here. To have others read them and connect to what I spill out onto the page. I am eternally grateful whether I have 3 readers or 300.

For me, writing poetry seemingly comes in waves. It’s not something I’ve ever been good at writing because I decide I want to write it. Instead it’s always been something that just pours out of me when it chooses. Words most often find me while on a walk or driving in the car. Just a few to get me going and I’m off.

Here is a recent piece I wrote while out in nature.

Bated and Bereft

i measure my days now
by the ease in which 
I can find the rhythm of
the rise and fall of my chest

some days it flows 
effortlessly
and without thought
my exhale nourishing 
the trees in blissful symbiosis

other times i catch myself
holding. bracing.
as if i'm standing on the cliff's edge
bated and bereft
while the wind whips around me

but there is always something
to be gained
from just baring witness
to the miracle of breath
no matter how it shows up

it will always be 
proof of life
as it will inevitably be
proof of death

so let me ride this moment
here and now
lean into the rise and fall
feel it fill my lungs
and expand my soft belly
let me stay in this moment

holding both the
fullness and emptiness 
of it all

- hera morgan

All around me, autumn reminds me to let it go. To allow even the hardest edges to soften. To release the tension I’ve been holding in my body for years, decades, generations. There is healing to be uncovered, yes. But even in this state of holding, bracing, I am loved. I am enough.

And as I write these words while sitting in the coffee shop, Jeff Buckley comes through the speakers to confirm that I’m not alone. As I’ve written before, my late father often communicates with me through music. My eyes well up with tears. And in an effort to not add to my grief, laughter ensues as one of the baristas accidentally turns the volume WAY up and is unable to figure out how to turn it down for a good 30 seconds. Thank you, Dad. I see you. I feel you.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really saying: Here is how I’m feeling and what I’m experiencing. Do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know…

I’d love to hear from you. Do you know what part of your chart Venus has been traveling? How are you feeling leading up to Samhain? How will you be celebrating the turning of the wheel?

Leave a comment

Love notes from the last week

1. Yet another short poem on grief that moved through me this week

2. A few snaps from a creative morning in the coffee shop after a doctor’s appointment

3. The river that carried the remnants of my venus ritual

4. A Saturday for the books

From my headphones to your ears

“never will I give up, no, no”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon. xo

The transition from summer, a season of lush, green, fertile energy that is bursting with LIFE eventually gives way to a season of slow death and decomposition. A time where what once was vibrant and alive flashes it’s beauty once more before it falls back to the earth to be transformed.

For me, this season represents a time of immense inspiration and reflection. It’s always interesting to see what is being stirred up within me this time of year. I love to observe what kinds of words, images, art and creativity percolate during autumn.

Life moves in seasons and cycles and we bear witness to the elemental shifts as the wheel turns. Call it nostalgia or perhaps it’s inspired by the current Venus retrograde but I was looking back through some of my notes and things from my Ireland pilgrimage in March.

I had booked the trip in December before the demise of my relationship but by the time it rolled around things were rapidly declining. I went on the trip knowing that my life would never be the same in more ways than one.

The very ground beneath my feet was shifting and yet I was having this incredible pilgrimage out of the country. I pushed myself to be as present as possible in the experience which I was successful in most of the time. But I carried a weight with me on that trip. Additionally, I also gained more than I can encapsulate into words.

Traveling solo out of the country and having the experience that I did gave me the courage and the fortitude to navigate what I would inevitably return home to. It also provided me with a sacred opportunity to work with the Goddess Brigid.

At the time I went to Ireland, I had not fully realized how deeply Brigid was woven into my lineage and ancestry. I also had no way of knowing how she would become cornerstone to helping me get through one of the most heartbreaking times of my life.

I could talk forever about what Ireland, Brigid, hawthorn and the women I journeyed with did for me and perhaps someday I will, but for now, I wanted to share a poem I wrote while I was there.

When I came across it today, my eyes welled up with tears. It took me right back to that circle where my pen met that piece of paper. I remember the feeling of sharing it with the group and I remember listening with a deep reverence to what others had written.

At the time, our trip was nearing the end. Sacred bonds had been formed in that circle. And when we were tasked to write a devotional poem to Brigid all of the energy of what we had seen, what we had learned, what we had become informed and imbued these words.

We were given the instruction of it beginning with: Is mise Brid (pronounced iss mish-uh Breed) which in Irish means “I am Brigid”

Here are the words that poured out of me that afternoon in March.

Is mise Brid
I have been calling you home
but you could not hear my voice
until your feet found the soil
that your matrilineal ancestors walked.

Is mise Brid
guardian of women + warrior of the land
lay your armor down
under the the shelter of my cloak
its not the end, it's just a bend in the road

Is mise Brid
find me by the hawthorn tree
the faery gateway
protecting the passageway to the otherworld
and softening the edges of your heart

Is mise Brid
standing at the choice point
the threshold of the equinox
she whispers: "how do you wish to meet the light?"
anoint yourself in the dawns dew

Is mise Brid
if water holds the memory,
the soil holds the bones,
the air carries the spell,
and the fire transmutes it all to ash
- Hera Morgan

Since traveling to Ireland in March, Brigid has continued to support me. I will be forever grateful for the relationship I forged with her on that trip. She empowered me. She inspired me. She softened me. She protected me.

I listened to elders and wise women of the land speak of her throughout the course of our trip. Each with a different lens and story. Multifaceted as most women are.

Brigid invited me into her cloak of protection on that trip. She sheltered me and for the first time invited me to drop my armor. To curl up under the arm of her cloak and feel her fierce energy of protection surround me so I could rest my nervous system even if just for a moment.

Brigid taught me to soften my edges before I stepped back into the most traumatic and painful part of my life I’ve ever experienced. She reinforced that I would be okay no matter what. Her presence and protection helped me to understand that I would not be alone and that all I have to do is call upon her.

I’ve hesitated to write or share about some of what I experienced in Ireland as it feels so deeply personal and private. Words also don’t always feel adequate in describing profoundly spiritual and life changing experiences. These are things that must be felt to be understood.

When I came across this poem in my notebook it brought tears to my eyes. It reignited my passion for poetry. It stirred up the energy of Brigid and Ireland and brought it back to the forefront of my spirit.

I felt called to memorialize these words on my Substack. I hope you enjoyed them. Here are a few photos from my trip.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really saying: Here is how I’m feeling and what I’m experiencing. Do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know…

I’d love to hear from you. Have you ever been to Ireland? Is there a Goddess that you feel particularly connected to? How is your heart these days?

Leave a comment

Love notes from the last week

1. A few gorgeous snaps at golden hour on our evening walk

2. Moving to a new area means exploring new coffee shops

3. I found my new local egg dealer

4. Short poem about being more like the willow tree

Articles I consumed rather than doom scrolling on my phone

1. i hate my life so i started living it

2. start learning how to use the internet for more creative purposes

3. 7 Things I Started Doing to Make My Weekends Feel Longer

4. I finished the book I started last week, and am onto the second in the series: The Bond that Burns by Briar Boleyn

From my headphones to your ears

“There’s a certain kind of hurtin’ only time can heal. That’s a pretty good picture of how I feel. I’m a little bit hurt, but a lot more free,”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon. xo

There is something healing to be found in the mundane. And that’s where I find myself now. If you are new here, I’ve been chronicling my life as I end my 23 year relationship and navigate life for the first time on my own at 43. Currently, I’ve just moved into my new space and I am attempting to find a new rhythm and routine.

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I continue to let things go, organize, and refine my space which is drastically smaller than the home I’ve just moved out of after 19 years. As painful as that process has been - and there’s still more to be done - the weight that has been lifted from my shoulders is enormous.

I don’t think I quite realized how much “stuff” I had accumulated over the years. Additionally, I don’t think I realized how much that stuff was weighing me down. Things that I had not touched in years. Bins full of every school paper, artwork, story and report card from both my kids.

2026 has been the year of letting go. The fire horse has barreled into my life and burned up anything that was not meant for me. All around me, my previous life, has turned to ash. 2027 will be the year that I see what will be born from those ashes.

When wildfires happen, it reveals a new landscape and a new opportunity for things to bloom. What lies beneath the ashes are underground seed banks just waiting for the chance to bring forth life. The ash that soaks into the soil becomes a signal to the underground to bring forth new life once again.

Suddenly, the wide open space that looked like barren wasteland, transforms. The scar torn land is birthed anew with shoots of life that bring color to the great expanse. The light returns tenfold. And life goes on.

When wildfires happen, therein lies a choice. To be overcome by the fire and let it burn you or to burn with it and let it cleanse you. You can harness that energy and transmute it or you can let it destroy you.

I choose to believe the fire horse is leading me towards something entirely new. Something that could not be made possible without first completely eviscerating the current landscape.

Despite the fear, I will go willingly. I will gallop fiercely through the fire. I will let the wildness of my soul guide me through the smoke and ash. I will not be dragged. I will not lie down. I will go, because I did not go through all of this to lie in wait.

I pulled the Tower card this week. No surprise there. Creation and destruction are in fact the same energy. It can be hard to discern between the two. But as a woman, I know this energy well.

The tower energy fits right in with the year of the fire horse and the metaphor of watching what blooms after the destruction of a wildfire. This is a death cycle. This is transformation. This is the strike of lightening that pierces the sky and hits it’s target.

This is not my first time traversing personal death cycles. In fact, I published a post last year that I found myself recently revisiting on this very topic. It was actually really good for me to read right now with everything that I’m navigating. I am divinely supported and always have been. 2026 is a personal cycle of death and 2027 will be my rebirth.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really saying: Here is how I’m feeling and what I’m experiencing. Do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know…

I’d love to hear from you. There was a lot of talk about the fire horse at the beginning of the year - how has it manifested for you? As we embark on the last quarter of this year - what are you feeling?

Leave a comment

Love notes from the last week

1. A beautiful afternoon in Vermont spent Apple picking at the orchard down the road from my new place

2. Golden hour from our evening walk

3. A poem celebrating Autumn and all that it teaches us

4. My river side journaling spot from last weekend

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From my headphones to your ears

“I want to build a life that sits on solid ground. To my core making myself proud. I wanna build a life that’s bigger than me. Can’t fit all my joy in the seven seas.”

Things I read this week instead of scrolling my phone

1. 7 creative writing syllabi by famous authors

2. I just want to be creative but my energy is being used to survive

3. I started a new book this week: On Wings of Blood by Briar Boleyn

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If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon. xo

I wanted to share the good, the bad, the ugly because much to the detriment of our mental health, social media often reflects only perfectly curated lives and homes. I also wanted to document it so that I had something to look back on and reflect on for myself. I create and write to better see and understand myself. It’s how I process things.

But I’ll be honest, this has probably been one of the more difficult times in my life thus far and that’s saying a lot because I’ve been through some shit. When you’ve been doing life a certain way with a certain person for so long—the change—no matter how you feel about it, is jarring.

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For months I had been wanting to get through all the logistics, all the endless things to do so I could get to the “other side”. In fact in multiple posts and notes I was telling myself that once I’m through this hard part I’ll breathe a sense of relief and can get settled.

Now that I’m here, the finality of everything has hit me like a freight train.

I don’t feel relieved. I feel heartbroken. I feel scared. I feel a sense of dread. I feel anxious. I feel anything but relief.

I had a panic attack my first night alone in my new place and another the following day on the way to the closing. Suddenly the weight of what I had done came crashing upon me and the literal panic set in. The walls were closing in on me and I couldn’t breathe.

I’ll admit I had a couple days of feeling like: what the fuck have I done?

My decision to end my marriage was because I truly felt as though I was left with no other choice. And even though logically I know that I did what was necessary and what was right, emotionally this week left me questioning everything.

Here I am sitting in this tiny apartment, stuff piled everywhere, my animals are stressed, my son is not happy about being here, I have to share a wall with neighbors for the first time in 19 years and everything just became too much.

A huge wave of fear and terror flooded my body and mind. The change was almost too much for my body, mind, and soul to process and I just short circuited. Everything I had been preparing for and knowing was coming felt the opposite of what I had thought it would.

Life on your own for the first time at 43 is a harrowing reality. The silence is deafening. As soon as the door shut and I was alone, it broke me in a way that I was not prepared for.

The last six months have been filled with endless tasks, to-do’s, and logistics that have been probably more of a welcomed distraction than I previously realized. I’ve been processing. I’ve been grieving. I’ve been sad. But I’ve also been somewhat romanticizing in my head what my “new life” would feel like.

I feel gaslit by myself.

And while I’m legitimately only a week in, I’m absolutely shattered. I can’t stop crying. My heart is broken for what has transpired. If this is what I wanted, what I chose, why does it hurt so bad?

But I can honestly say that the way I felt at the beginning of the week is not the same as I feel at the end of my first week alone. Each day has gotten a little bit easier. I am adjusting for better or worse. Slowly but surely.

If I’ve learned anything throughout this heartbreak it’s that emotions are going to come and go. I will experience ups and downs. Nothing is forever. Sometimes it’s day by day and other times it’s moment by moment.

I am grieving my relationship, my home, my past life like a death. And even in death, life goes on. You get up each day and move forward. One foot in front of the other. Only able to focus on the immediacy of the present moment.

Moving in and having most of the week be rainy and gray certainly didn’t help my disposition. But as the weekend rolled around and the leaves started to hit their peak, I was reminded why I love it here.

Driving around this weekend I was in awe. Fall in Vermont will never get old to me. I am so grateful that this new chapter has placed me in such a beautiful part of the state. Despite the sadness, I know that I’m not here by mistake.

When everything else feels overwhelming, being out in nature, surrounded by beauty, is medicine to my broken heart. Plus my dog won’t let me wallow for too long. She is eager to hit the trails and explore. She is always pulling me forward when I feel I can’t go on.

As I sit at the end of the first full week on my own I’ve come to realize that questioning everything is just a part of this process. It’s a natural byproduct of experiencing such significant change. It’s an adjustment to a totally new reality.

I know the sharpness of what I feel right now will slowly start to dull. And I know that there really isn’t anything outside of time that will heal this kind of grief. I also know that I have to allow myself to feel it all. To let it rise within me and pour out.

It’s too heavy to stay hidden. It’s too vast to stay small. It needs space to be realized and be processed. Feelings don’t define me or my experience. They are fleeting and they will change. I’m learning to love myself through it all.

Thanks for being here on this journey with me. I am deeply appreciative of every thoughtful comment. I know I’m not alone in my experience and that is comforting during such a difficult time.

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Things I consumed this week instead of doom scrolling on my phone

1. The Oxytocin Menu: A Softer Way to Care for Your Female Nervous System

2. Nostos, the art of enchantment, and the cultivation of the mythic imagination

3. you need to crash out to lock in

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Music heals my soul. Here’s a song that I resonated with this week

“Is that rain? Or are you crying again?”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon. xo

Separating, filing for divorce, readying the home to be put on the market, navigating showings, going under contract etc…has all been moving along as though I’ve been pregnant. Knowing that all these steps I’ve been meticulously taking are leading toward something unknown and totally new at the end.

For those who have ever sold a home you know that going under contract doesn’t really mean much until you make it through all the final steps and contingencies. Which brings me to present day. I finally know for certain that this is moving forward. I have signed my lease and September will be spent moving into my new place.

All of these actions, all of these steps, have been to get me to this point, or rather, where I’ll be at the end of the month. All of a sudden it all feels very real which is making me quite emotional. Right now, I am in the birth canal. I can feel the immense pressure and pain of everything as I’m making my way down deeper. Sorting through old memories, kids art work, sports certificates and more.

It’s the acknowledgement that a huge part of my life is coming to an end. While I’ve known that all along this was coming, I think being so close to the end is bringing it all up to the surface. I’m leaving behind the safety of the womb and being birthed into a totally new life.

I’ve been writing about this feeling of rebirth and being on the precipice of a new life quite a bit already. My last post was about the hardship and beauty of metamorphosis. I also wrote about the experience of receiving what felt like a gift from my future self.

I’m holding fast to these visions and my faith in the good things coming as I embark on what will prove to be the hardest part of this journey. The physical closure and end of one life while simultaneously stepping into the beginning of another.

But as I wrote in my journal this week, I don’t simply want to grit my teeth and get through this. There is no escaping this pain, and so as hard as it is, I still want to be present for all of this.

The intense emotions that I had been feeling all week started to dissolve and give way to something else as I signed my lease and made my plans to pick up my keys. As I drove over the following night, I was emotional but in a completely different way.

The kind of tears that were falling down my cheeks were ones of pride and awe. I was talking out loud to my dad, as I often do when I’m going through shit, and kept saying: “I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it. I’m fucking scared and sad and broken but I’m doing it.”

He responded in song, as he often does, with lyrics that seemed to be plucked from within my soul. I’ll put it below.

After all that I’ve been through I finally had the courage to follow through. I finally chose myself. It’s been a hard journey to get here but I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it.

Although I was tired and sweaty, I still wanted to snap this picture to memorialize this moment. At 43 I’m starting over and moving into my very first apartment all on my own. She’s certainly not my forever home but she’s the bridge to a new life.

Although it’s only 30 minutes from where I live now, it’s completely different. I’m moving from the suburbs to the country. Mountains. Farm land. Nature. The parts of Vermont I’ve always wanted to live in. The perfect backdrop to heal and cultivate my peace. Also the perfect place to write my little heart out from ;)

This is more than just my very first apartment. It’s symbolic of so much more. Thanks for being here with me on this journey. I love you.

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The song from my dad

“Tracing an old pattern. Drawing the lines from where I am and from where I wanna be. Forget that old adage. The history keeps us from the world we wanna see. I am scared that I won’t get it right. But fear won’t rule my heart tonight. I can change. I can change. I can still change. I can still change.”

Beautiful moments from this week

1. The setting sun and beautiful sky after taking a long drive to clear my mind. This is right where I’ll be moving to and felt like a gift to welcome me.

2. Early morning hike in the woods. No makeup. Messy hair. Big smile. Sunshine.

3. Evening walk through the neighborhood with my dog. Listening to music and totally in my feelings and this cute little old man who has the most beautiful yard of flowers picked me a zinnia and gave it to me on our way by.

Some articles I consumed instead of doom scrolling

1. September 2026 is an Initiation

2. The 5-minute nervous system reset I do before bed every night (works better than any supplement I’ve ever tried)

3. An Introduction to Irish Faerie Folklore

4. The Father Wound in Astrology: Visibility, Validation & The Creative Spark

Notes from this week

• Beams of sun piercing through the gloomy clouds on the way home from circle Sunday evening

• Some thoughts on the guilt I’m still holding

• Chasing sun beams on our hike through the woods

• Reminiscing on my first Substack post last fall

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon. xo

If you are new here, I’m in the throws of ending a 23 year relationship, selling the home that I raised my children in for almost 19 years and starting over at 43 where I’ll be on my own for the very first time in my life.

It’s been death by a thousand cuts and the final one sealed my fate for me. It felt as if I was left with no choice but I can see now it’s taken an incredible amount of strength and courage to stay this course. To choose myself as the ultimate act of love.

The heartbreak and grieving process has been challenging terrain. But if this time in my life has taught me anything it’s been surrender. And not in way I have ever experienced before. This is bone deep surrender. This is surrender to a painful recognition that the very ground beneath my feet is shifting and all I can do is let go.

This is what I’ve set out to do. Dive head first into the void. Take the leap of faith and believe with every fiber of my being that I will be supported. That a safe landing will materialize beneath me as I drop weightlessly from the sky.

And so, yes, surrender looks a lot differently now.

It’s not as easy as just, “going with the flow.” It’s surrender to a complete metamorphosis as life breaks me down and the reality that I’ve known disintegrates. Nothing is the same. So much so that recently, I’ve been experiencing facial dysmorphia (is that a thing?) when I look in the mirror. It’s as if I cannot recognize myself in the midst of so much change.

I’m changing all the way down into the marrow of my bones.

I’m becoming someone I have yet to be in this iteration of my soul’s journey. The very essence of who I am is being dismantled and reconfigured. I’m not surprised that I don’t recognize myself as I am becoming someone I don’t yet know.

That is both exciting and unsettling depending on the day and to be honest, where I’m at in my cycle.

For the last six months I’ve had to get used to the uncomfortable reality of my life. I’ve had to be vulnerable and lean heavily on my friends and family in ways that I have previously resisted—whether consciously or unconsciously.

This has been yet another lesson in surrender for me.

The strong exterior shattered, the mask clattered to the floor and I was finally able to exhale. I surrendered to my life as it was falling apart. I relinquished control and leaned into the unknown.

I dove.

Me, the one who has always claimed to be ‘fine’ had to admit to being very much not fine. Me, the one who has always been the one that people sought out for support had to accept it from those closest to me. Me, the one who found themselves drowning in the depths, had no choice but to waive the white flag and surrender.

As uncomfortable as it has been, in some ways it has also felt good to let go of the compulsion to hold it all together. There was no hiding from this, not this time. The very fabric of the life I had stitched together for 23 years was rapidly unraveling before me.

Through the inevitable acceptance of the unraveling of my life, I was able to finally let go of that desperate need to maintain the front.

I let go and I let people in.

I allowed the tears to rise up in regular conversation rather than avoid the conversation altogether.

I let people see me.

The raw, unfiltered, unprocessed and deeply vulnerable me.

And you know what? I survived.

Witnessing myself tell my story to others has been both humbling and healing. Watching others take in all that I’ve been going through for years helped me to process things in a way I couldn’t have done on my own. It put into perspective what I’ve endured to maintain the status quo.

Although they knew bits and pieces of things, they did not know all of it. I’m watching in real time myself telling my story and allowing it to just exist as the truth out in the open.

That has been some of the beauty I’ve found in all this. Not only is my life changing, but I am changing. And that’s part of why I’m so dedicated to showing up here while I’m in this place of transition rather than waiting until I’m on the other side of it.

Through this process I am becoming a benevolent witness of who I have been and who I am now becoming. It no longer matters if that’s how I’ve done things in the past. It no longer matters if I reacted that way for most of my life because most of my life no longer exists the way in which it did before.

Nothing is the same. Everything is changing.

Birth, death, rebirth.

Again, and again, and again.

I can choose to show up differently. I can choose differently even now when I’m being broken down and pieced back together. Because what better time, right? What better time is there to choose differently for myself than when I’m actively being rebirthed into something new?

The new me feels safe in being vulnerable. The new me let’s people see all of it - not just the parts I’m okay with them seeing. The new me shows up while I’m still figuring it out.

Being vulnerable is like the connective tissue that binds and supports our bodies. It’s part of the framework for our existence. We need it.

Hardship doesn’t need to harden me.

It doesn’t define me. It is a part of what has gotten me to this moment, yes. But hardship doesn’t need to harden me when I have a soft place to land. Hardship doesn’t need to harden me when I have safe spaces to be vulnerable.

Hardship can transform me into something completely new.

Image of me, reporting to you live from inside the chrysalis as my entire being breaks down to a liquified state and prepares to emerge as something completely new.

How incredible will it be to look back and read all this a year from now? If I can remember, I’ll link back to this post as proof of what it took to get to the other side. The story of my unbecoming.

xo

A song that brought me to my knees this week

“I lost a friend, I can't fight you anymore. I'm tired of choosing you over myself. It's sad, and it hurts that it is over.”

A quote I can’t stop thinking about

“To love well, women must unlearn the belief that suffering is proof of devotion.” - Bell Hooks

Articles I consumed instead of doom scrolling

1. When Poets Write Prose by Jada De Luca

2. You are Stuck Because You are an Artist Who Isn't Creating by Recovering Overthinker

3. Ethereal Things That Make Me Feel Rich And Sensual by Alexa Rose

4. An Overview of How Faeries Were Portrayed During Different Literary Periods by: Steph Rae Moran

Notes I posted this week

• Embracing the rest my body needs

• Sunday morning coffee shop sesh

• Blueberry picking

• The first leaf of fall spotted

• Creativity in progress

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon.

I remember towards the end of 2025 looking ahead to this year knowing that July 2026 was going to be significant, but had no way of understanding then what would come to pass. There’s a lot going on in the sky that’s really been lighting up my Leo rising which sits at 6 degrees. The last two weeks have been a whirlwind in my personal life with many things coming to a pinnacle all at once.

It’s as if the planets are coming together to burn to ash past versions of me, life circumstances, relationships and pretty much anything and anyone who is not meant to be on my path moving forward. This new era of my life is being ushered in and it is not subtle nor soft. There will be my life before 2026 and my life after 2026 and in most every way possible—they will not be the same.

This is such a potent time right now. I’m doing my best not to let the stress and anxiety creep in. I’m constantly reminding myself that I have no control over anything. And so, more than ever, I just want to be present.

I want to observe the unfolding as it’s happening. I want to bare witness to the dissolution and actively participate in watching the old patterns, old triggers, old versions of myself as they shrivel up and die.

I am physically and energetically burning it all to ash and building something entirely new from the ground up.

The more and more I sit in this space, perched on the precipice of what will prove to be one of the biggest shifts in my life and my path, the more I am in awe of it. What an honor to be able to have the awareness of where I’m at and to be moving through it with eyes wide open rather than having the rug ripped out from under me and be resisting it at every turn.

That’s not to discount the stress, anxiety, grief, sadness and trauma this time has brought but just to say that I’ve accepted it all for what it is. A necessary part of the metamorphosis that is taking place.

I am also realizing the great lengths I’ve gone to in the past to avoid the uncomfortableness of where I’m currently at. I pushed feelings down, swept situations under the rug, and overall just tried to keep going one foot in front of the other to maintain a life that my nervous system could predict. Even if it wasn’t what was best or what I deserved or desired - I tried to desperately hold it all together to avoid this right here.

I didn’t want to upend everyone’s lives. The thought of the ones I love most having to feel even the slightest impact from my decisions was too heavy a burden to bear. I didn’t want to give away my beloved chickens. I didn’t want to spend a summer crying. I didn’t want to be alone and have to do things by myself. I didn’t want to figure out how to even start the paperwork.

But guess what? I did all of it and I’m still here

Because there comes a time where it becomes untenable. Making the hard decision and all that comes with it outweighs the life that is no longer sustainable or in alignment with your soul. Suddenly you realize that you’ve been holding on with white knuckles to a life that was slipping through your fingers anyway.

I don’t live my life with feelings of regret. Timing and circumstances unfold as they are meant to. And seeing the intensity of what needed to occur in my reality but also in the astrology to support me has allowed me to accept that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I choose to honor this time in my life. Treat it with the care and tenderness that it deserves. While also looking within and ahead to what I want to create with this new life. What is the version of me that I need to call forth to create this new life?

I think I met her today. This version of me I’ve been pondering for a little while now. The future version of me that has made it to the other side of all this chaos and heartbreak. This weekend she gave me a peak behind the curtain of what my days could look and feel like.

It’s as if I can feel her sitting just beneath the surface of who I am now. She’s helping me through the hard parts all the while patiently waiting for my arrival. The ease of this day was her gift to me. A glimpse to show me how good it can be—even when the stress of my days threatens to swallow me up. She’s here within me beckoning me forward.

I am now the leader of my life. My choices and decisions are mine. My body is mine. My finances are mine. My fate is mine. I choose peace. I choose a life where everything feels holy. A life spent in divine relationship with nature. A life devoted to the seen and the unseen.

Quote I’m Marinating On

“The price of authenticity is rejection.” - unknown

A Song That Moved Me

“It’s in the eyes. I can tell, you will always be danger.”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon

.

I’m constantly capturing my thoughts and feelings as I move through my reality. Sometimes I feel compelled to share and other times it’s clear that it’s just for me. Sometimes the thought of being perceived sits like a heavy weight upon my shoulders so much so that I become immobilized by it.

But it is perhaps the voices in my head that are my worst critic. I hold a deep seated insecurity around being perceived incorrectly and for my best intentions to be misconstrued. I fear I may pour my heart out and be wrongfully judged. The thought of being misunderstood makes me physically uncomfortable. I care too deeply about what others think because I want to be seen in a way that feels in alignment with what I am expressing.

I say all this as I am traversing a difficult time in my life. It’s as though can feel a million leering eyes upon me. I feel exposed and vulnerable. Some people are checking in on me with love and care. Others are simply checking out what I’m doing. Analyzing and scrutinizing my every move.

Here’s what I feel today.

I am committed to documenting my life through this season of challenge, heartache, and grief. The dissolution of my 23 year relationship. The selling the home we’ve lived in for 18 years and raised our children in. And starting over alone at 43 (in this economy) for the first time in my life. Any one of these things could bring me to my knees - and doing it all at once is at times excruciating.

I want to document this time in my life for a few reasons.

Most importantly for myself. In my last post, I wrote about the version of me that I have yet to meet. One in which I hold in my minds eye a lot. She’s me, a year from now looking back on this time and being able to so clearly see the growth and progress I’ve made along the way.

She’s the version of me that has made it to the other side of all this and she will look back at my words, my tears, my sacrifices from this time and be in awe of all that I endured and who I became, not in spite of it all, but because of it.

I will be forged anew from this experience and I don’t want to glaze over it. I want to memorialize it. I want to hold a funeral for my past self. I want to celebrate the woman I’m becoming. Reborn and reinvented. I want to document the disarray along with the belly laughs.

I want to remember it all.

I also feel compelled to document this time because so much of what we see on social media is curated, filtered, and performative. It’s a snapshot at the perfect angle with the perfect caption to accompany it. Which is actually the furthest thing from real life. Real life is raw and messy and undone. It is the pile of laundry just outside the frame.

So, this is me, showing up and baring my heart as it cracks wide open and works to reassemble itself.

I am human and therefore I am imperfect. Because to be alive is to experience suffering and grief. It’s all part of what we signed up for here on earth. The embodiment of it all. Life is fickle and it is fleeting. We learn the most from our challenges. We are polished and softened from hardship like the rushing river that changes the shape of rocks over time.

We only have the capacity for joy because we have experienced grief.

Which leads me to another reason I want to document this time of my life. I want to capture the joy, magic, and laughter that can be found amongst the rubble. Just because I’m going through a hard time, doesn’t mean that I can’t laugh until my stomach hurts. It doesn’t mean that I can’t have a dance party in my kitchen or have a spiritual experience in the woods.

The duality of life is what makes it worth living. Resilience is built through those pockets of joy amongst the sadness.

Throughout all of this I have felt eternally grateful for my connection to the unseen. My steadfast relationship to the divine is what fortifies my soul and helps me move forward with such conviction. It is the daily barrage of messages, signs, and confirmations that I’m on the right path.

It doesn’t make it any easier or any less sad—but it does provide me with strength. It does help me to dig deep for the courage to keep going because I know that I’m not alone. In fact, I am divinely supported.

I’ve had a number of spiritual visitors show up recently. A baby falcon I rescued that had been displaced from it’s nest teaching me about higher vision and sharpening my focus. A little tree frog that somehow climbed up my bathroom sink reminding me to honor my tears and the cleansing they bring.

Signs don’t always show up as loudly as these ones. Sometimes it’s as simple as the way the light filters through the trees at golden hour. Or a song lyric that floats through your headphones and captures your breath.

You know the truth of a spiritual sign by the way it makes you feel. It will resonate and reverberate within you.

Friday July 17th would have been my 21st wedding anniversary. I am grateful that I didn’t have to spend that night alone and instead had a magical night camping with my best friend and my dog on the river.

In addition to all the laughter, deep conversations and the comforting feeling of being in nature, I also had some very moving spiritual experiences as well. More falcon energy showed up as we watched a little family of kestrel’s hunting from the power line out on the meadow in front of our site. As dusk started to settle over us, we heard the call of barred owls echoing around us.

We woke up Saturday morning to overcast skies and some rain. It slowly tapered off and we decided to sit down at the picnic table and pull some cards. As I was shuffling, Horsetail fell out of the herbal astrology oracle deck. For as much as I’ve used these cards, I had never pulled this one nor even seen it before.

The message the card brought was spot on for what I’m going through in my life. It was beautiful to read about the blessings found in challenges and to have patience and endurance through it all. I wrote about it in my journal and continued to ponder on the meaning. I wanted to google about where to find it and learn more about it but we had no service so I figured my deep dive would have to wait. I took this photo of the card at 7:48am and tucked it back into the deck.

We decided we would take one more walk up and down the river before we packed up our site. As we were walking back this line of plants along the rivers edge caught my eye. Even amongst all the greenery, something about them was drawing me in. I said to my friend, “it kind of looks like the horsetail on the card, doesn’t it?” I took a picture and sure as shit, my iPhone identified it as horsetail. “No fucking way,” I exclaimed. And as I stopped and started to look around - we were in fact completely surrounded by it.

I took this photo of the horsetail to identify it at 8:02am.

It was as if the plant itself was reaching out to say, hey, I’m right here. The exact medicine you need is all around you. Come and find me!

While words fail to capture the feeling and experience, these kinds of moments keep happening. I feel honored to have had this plant show up for me in such a powerful way. My relationship with the natural world around me—both the seen and the unseen—is what keeps me going.

There is so much magic to be found in slowing down and paying attention. The subtle art of noticing what is reaching it’s energetic tendrils out toward you. Coaxing you into a symbiotic relationship with the divine.

Thanks for listening. Sending you all my love.

My mantra this week and perhaps all of Leo season: “Courage, carry me.” that came through my headphones while on a walk via this song:

I’m navigating what will prove to be one of the biggest transitions I’ve had thus far in my life. Ending my 23 year relationship and stepping into the beginning of an entirely new chapter as I rebuild from the ground up on my own.

My Taurus moon likes stability which is a big reason why it’s been so hard for me to get to this point. If I’m honest, I was avoiding this moment of time that I’m in right now. This uncomfortable in-between. But, I’ve often had to weather traumatic events and situations in life. I’ve gotten through by just putting one foot in front of the other. Trodding forward because what other choice is there?

I would by lying if I said that I didn’t wish I could skip past all of this. That I could somehow bypass the grief. Skip over the nights of crying myself to sleep and move past the heaviness sits upon my chest and robs me of the ability to take a deep breath.

And then of course there’s the logistics of selling the home we’ve lived in for almost 19 years which is overwhelming to say the least. But I’m fully aware that there is something waiting for me on the other side of all this. A different way of living. A more regulated nervous system. A long exhale. And most importantly, an entirely new version of myself that is just quietly standing by waiting for me to arrive.

I am at a pivotal moment in my life. I’m standing before a giant threshold that I need to cross over. Nothing stays the same after this. My life will change in a million small ways and a lot of big ways too. I’ve accepted that reality as painful and uncomfortable as it is.

I’ve spent over half my life with this person. We’ve been together since we were 19 and 20 years old. To be starting over and stepping out on my own for the very first time at 43 is full of such deeply complex and layered emotions. Ones in which I’ll be untangling for quite some time.

But the thought of staying felt like swallowing knives. To stay again and accept the the same pattern of destructive and traumatic behavior felt like such a disservice to myself I literally just could not do it. We had somehow looped around to the same place I had sworn up and down I would never be at again.

Staying no longer became an option. It would have required too much of my soul. It would have cost me too much. Because in the end, you can’t change anyone. You can’t help them if they don’t wish to help themselves. But I can save myself from experiencing those same patterns of pain again.

While I know that it’s both the inevitable and the right choice, it doesn’t make it any easier. I feel an immense amount of grief. Much like the process of losing a loved one from death, this feels very much the same.

I was looking back through some of my last posts I wrote before I left for Ireland—which I do hope to share more about at some point—and I could feel this build up in my soul toward this moment. I thought Ireland was going to change my life and in a lot of ways it did. It gave me the courage to come home and manage the difficult situation I found myself in.

Ireland (and Brigid) gave me the fortitude to stand in my truth. Truth that was being slowly revealed to me for months. Truth that unraveled false pretenses. I’d like to sit here and tell you that I feel strong in my convictions but I don’t always feel that. I’m making a choice in a situation that truly left me none.

But that’s okay. This is life. I will get through this and I will be okay. Of that I’m certain.

It’s been cathartic to name what I’m feeling. To share what I’m going through with other women who understand. To speak out loud the hard bits even while I’m still in them. To show up when I’m suffocating from the sadness. It feels important for me to document my journey toward my new life.

My heart is heavy. I’m in this thick liminal space. I’m wading knee deep in the sludge that gathers around the banks of a pond. I know I have to keep trudging through. I know that the water will get deeper before I become weightless and free. I won’t allow myself to sit in the space forever. Soon I’ll be swimming again.

I don’t know what life has in store for me but I’m slowly trying to look forward to finding out. I’m holding onto that that sliver of light shining from under the doorway as I sit in a dark room while tears streak down my cheeks. I’m seeking a slow, simple, peaceful life. I’m not looking for happiness; I’m looking for contentment. I’m not there yet, but I’m well on my way.

I’m sure I won’t have the capacity to write as much as I would like, but I also don’t want to keep putting my life on pause until I’m settled. I don’t want to hold my breath while I wade through the dense and uncomfortable aspects of life. I still want to live. I still want to express myself the only way I know how. And so as I feel called, I’ll keep coming back here.

Thanks for being here and listening. I have an incredible amount of gratitude for this space and the people I’ve met here. I also have so much love for the ones who’ve followed me here. The ones that have always supported me and my writing. I see you and I appreciate you.

I hope you are taking care of yourself. Finding time to slow down and connect with things that bring you joy. This eclipse portal is no joke. It seems like each day, especially those of us living in the US, we wake up to some new atrocity. It’s really easy to get caught up in fear and anxiety. I’ve certainly experienced that over the course of the week.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how we navigate the never ending barrage of stress, bad news, and horrific violence. I know personally when my mental health declines I turn towards self destructive habits. I find ways to numb through scrolling, eating, and bed/couch rotting.

How do we maintain our creativity and curiosity? How can we hold onto hope when the outlook is bleak? How do we stay inspired when the horizon is filled with smoke and bombs?

I don’t have the answers for how we can turn this ship around. But I do know that we will do it through connection and community. I do know that we must imagine a new way of being. We must continue to create art despite it all. We do this by returning back to the basics - tending to each other and the land.

Again, I hope you are finding ways to disconnect from the news cycle and reconnect with nature. Small intentional acts of self and community care.

Personal Reflections

Last week, I briefly touched upon the questioning looks I get when I’ve told people about my upcoming solo trip out of the country. It’s interesting to see people’s reactions. I can feel the judgement in their examination of the situation. The assumptions that there must be more to the story behind my choice.

The truth is, I’m not looking to upend my life. But I am looking for change. I’ve been driving the same roads for too long. Life isn’t bad but it’s predictable and it’s repetitive. And the monotonous actions of the external is weighing heavy on my internal. I’m longing to change course a bit. Longing to uncover more of who I am at my core. I need to shake things up so that I can see where it takes me.

In ’s book The Body is a Doorway, she says, “Many spiders practice something called ‘ballooning’ when they need to travel long distances. The spiders climb as high up as they can reach and then expose their abdomens to the sky. They release spider silk into the wind, taking advantage of electrical fields and air currents to force a lift into the air that then carries them aloft, onward for miles.”

And this so perfectly encapsulates how I feel at this threshold I’m standing on. Positioning my body to the cosmos. Arms wide open. Letting the wind carry me. Trusting that I’ll being placed down exactly where I’m meant to be.

After years of healing and unlearning, mothering and midwifing everyone else— I’m looking forward to spending time utterly alone. Something that sounds simple enough but in actuality has been quite rare. Stolen moments of quietude aren’t what I’m looking for. An hour at the coffee shop is not sufficient. A weekend away will not scratch this itch.

I desire days stacked upon days of being alone with nothing but myself and my thoughts and the land. With nothing tethering me to my current life. The freedom to step out on my own as nothing and no one but myself.

The power in the simplicity of being alone is something I’m deeply looking forward to. I’m approaching it all with an openness but also a curiosity. Intrigued by what thoughts, feelings, and emotions will come up in my time away from time. What messages I’ll get from spirit and my ancestors. What I’ll unearth about who I am and what I desire.

There are parts of me that are calling me back to Ireland. Things I can’t quite decipher yet. Connections that haven’t been fully explored. I wrote a poem a little while back after writing the below post about the bones of my past lives. And this feeling continues to hold true as I ready myself to go. The bones are singing me back home.

My ancestors are calling me back as well. Almost as if there’s a circle, a web, a spiral drawing me in. One that needs me to place my feet on the land there in order to be completed. It’s simultaneously a closure and a opening. A portal to another time firmly rooted in the present. I must go back in order to go forward.

I’ve been reading Spiral of Memory and Belonging by Frank MacEowen (thanks for the recommendation ) and in it he talks about the spiral journey that we take in our lives as souls. Many people move through life in a way of avoidance. Unwilling to travel into the depths and darkness of their soul - it’s actually imperative that we do. If we don’t take this journey in our life, we will take it in our death.

We aren’t here to work, to produce, to save for retirement. We’ve built a culture around our achievements and productivity. We are here to LIVE. Fully. To participate in the spectrum of the human experience. Which by the way includes hardship. Suffering is an inevitable part of our journey as humans. It’s directly linked to our humanity as a species. Traversing the depths of suffering, of grief, and of hardship is a requirement and none of us get out of here without feeling all of it.

Ultimately, suffering is what helps us to recognize and appreciate the beauty of the human experience. We would not know grief without love. We would not know pain without joy. And therein lies the crux of what it is to be human. To oscillate across the spectrum of emotions. The stronger our roots and our ability to anchor into our soul—which is the part of us that transcends this specific lifetime—the better able we are to handle the troubled waters that inevitably find us.

It’s not always about the healing. We have the most to gain from the breakdown. From the metamorphosis of unbecoming.

Ireland has layers for me. Like parts of an onion. The experience is multi-faceted. And there will be those who will never understand why I’m doing what I’m doing, including some that are closest to me, but it’s not for them. It’s for me. It’s for my soul. It’s for my past lives. It’s for my ancestors.

I’ll leave you with a quote that I came back around to as I was flipping through my commonplace journal this week. It beautifully captures the essence of Irish culture and the parts that I’m so drawn to.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really asking: do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know.

I’d love to hear from you. How are you navigating this dragon portal in between eclipses? How are you taking care of yourself? How are you finding time for art and creativity?

Leave a comment

In My Headphones

“Rest your body my love / beside the ocean waves / Let your breathing tides / Come in and wash away / Hear the song whispering / Upon the name of the wind / Hear the voice of the ancient ones / Who swim ever within”

Thank You

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love and blessings from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy.

Greetings, Dear Ones.

Phew, it’s been an intense week to say the least. So many of us are feeling depleted and exhausted after the New Moon in Aquarius Eclipse. Add on top of that the monumental and historic Neptune/Saturn conjunction and it’s no wonder things are feeling heavy and dense. When larger scale collective shifts happen, we feel it more intensely and that energy has to move through our physical bodies. It takes a moment to acclimate the changes in frequency.

I hope you have been finding ways to take care of yourself. To move with gentleness and ease. And to give yourself grace when you are unable to show up to your life in the ways in which you would like. Some weeks call for rest. They need integration and introspection. This has certainly been one of those weeks for me. How about you?

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Intentional Daily Devotion

I have hope for a better future because I recognize the good all around me. And that is what I hold on to. Because what do we have if we don’t have hope? It doesn’t mean that we turn away from the bad. But while we are fighting back against that which we know is wrong - we must acknowledge the good when we see it. We must grab hold of beauty and amplify it.

When our community rallies together to help out a neighbor who lost their home in a fire. When we start a meal train for a new mother. When we hold the door open for the person behind us. When we make eye contact and smile with a stranger. When the sun rises and the light shines like diamonds on the lake. When your cup of coffee comes out perfect on a cold winter day.

We get to define what good looks like. We get to expand the beauty we see in hopes that it will continue to magnify and ripple outward. We get to vote for our future with our imagination, dreams, and desires.

Small, daily, intentional acts make a difference. Devotion to something outside of yourself. Attentiveness to beauty and magic. This is the way forward in a world that’s gone off track. Return to the basics. Return to the land and to each other.

The only way out is through. Things must be revealed so that we can move through them. So that we can course correct. It must be first witnessed collectively before it can be changed. The evil that is being revealed is not new, it’s just being called into consciousness. It’s being brought forward so that it can no longer stay hidden - if it ever really was. The horrors that humans have done to fellow humans trace back to the beginning of time. But perhaps it’s time to dream a new way of being. Time to become who we wish to see out in the world.

I also think these times are a mirror which may be hard to reconcile for some. But in truth, it’s all a reflection. The depravity that has been hidden in the shadows. We all have darkness within. We are all capable of using our hands for harm but therein lies the choice we all have as humans. Who do we wish to be? Who are we in partnership with others and the world around us?

The richness of life is found in how we show up for ourselves and each other. Each present moment holds within it the possibility to make those choices. The more we make choices that are in alignment with our highest good, the deeper the grooves become - like river over rock. What are you choosing? How are you showing up?

Personal Musings

As I publish this post, I’m just17 days away from what I know in my bones will be a transformational life experience. My trip to Ireland is the first intentional step outside of confines of motherhood and matrimony and all of life’s obligations. A perimenopausal reacquainting with myself, if you will. Being a young mother means that at 42 I have spent literally half of my life thus far fully engrossed in all of it. And 22 years later, I’m taking a moment to break free of it all.

While motherhood is not something you ever leave once you enter it - there are phases. The trenches of the early years, the busy-ness of the school aged years and sports, and then the slow dance of emerging adult-hood as they begin to gain their independence and venture out into the world.

Each phase demanding something different from us. As I’ve entered this later phase of motherhood - time has shifted. I’m no longer needed in the ways in which I’ve become accustomed. I now have an expanse of time for myself. I’ve reached the stage that I used to pine for while deep in the trenches.

Now, I have so much alone time I almost don’t know what to do with it all. I am faced with unlimited choices about who I am and how I wish to live my life. And with that expanse of time and options, it inevitably brings some existential questions bubbling to the surface.

I want to go to Ireland not as a mother, or a wife. Not as a sister, or a daughter, or a coworker. I don’t want to go there with any labels or notions about who I am. I feel it is imperative that I peel away all of the identities, all the masks, all the obligations, and all the expectations that I have built or that have been placed upon me.

I want to cleanse myself of every opinion of who people think I am. Every fear and insecurity or limiting belief that I have internalized. I want to let go of all the versions of who I have lived along the way. I want to step onto that plane fully free and unencumbered. Laid bare like a newborn baby. Stripped of everything I thought made me who I am so that I might reconnect with the furthest reaches of my soul. The caverns and crevices long lost.

So much of my upcoming trip remains unknown until I get there. However, I’m also taking these steps toward the unknown with intention. I’m going into it with heart wide open ready for all it will take me.

I’ve been thinking about all the decisions, indecisions, twists and turns that it took to get me here to this place. All the lives I did not live because of the choices that led me here. All the versions of me that have yet to express themselves.

There is something beautiful in the mystery of life. In the great surrender. I feel as if I’m floating on top of the surface of a large body of water. Allowing it to move me in ways that I can’t see from where I currently am.

That’s the energy I’m holding. A feeling of soft acceptance. Of trust. That life is carrying me in ways that I could never dream of. All I have to do is show up. And I know that if I spend too much time staring at screens or absorbing others thoughts, ideas, and content - I might miss the soft nudges and quiet whispers.

As I sit here at this crossroad, this threshold, I’m fully committed to my path in this lifetime. I’ve put in my time, I’ve cared for everyone around me and will continue to do so but I also need to live for me. To take steps towards the things that are calling to me. Ireland is that first big step.

The key is to stay committed. To choose myself even amongst the opposition I am inevitably faced with. I have to stand steady in my decision even as I watch the flicker of surprise that cascades across others faces when I tell them my plans. The slight tilt of their head as they repeat back, you are going alone? Yes.

The undertone is often one of judgement. How selfish. Surely a trip of this magnitude should be spent with my husband or family.

Alone is what I am craving and what I need. Others may not comprehend the deep desire for a solo trip out of the country. And that’s okay. I’m not interested in explaining the call of my soul to those committed to misunderstanding.

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The feeling in my body is one of a stark need for independence and freedom. I’m not looking to burn my life down. In fact, this trip will likely be what prevents me from doing just that. For two weeks I will answer to no one but myself. I won’t have animals to care for. I won’t have a house to clean or laundry to fold. I’ll be free from my job and all life’s obligations.

This isn’t a vacation; it’s a spiritual pilgrimage to reconnect with my soul.

As the wheel of my own life turns, I’m asking myself: who am I becoming in this next chapter? What am I leaving behind? What parts of me are unfurling now? What desires are rippling to the surface? What calls to me? What turns me away?

Life is a ticking clock. And I’m reclaiming the grains of sand slipping through the hourglass in order to connect more deeply with life. With all iterations of my soul: past, present, future. For two weeks, life stands still allowing me the quietude to answer the questions stirring within. What a privilege and an honor to be able to gift this to myself. One that I don’t take for granted. I’m excited to bring you all along with me on this soul excavating journey.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really asking: do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know.

I’d love to hear from you. How are you faring after the intensity of the eclipse? Do you know what house it was illuminating in your chart? Have you ever done a big solo travel trip? Have you taken any spiritual pilgrimages?

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In My Headphones

“Remind me I’m a free man / Freer than I’ve been / It’s something I’m feeling / I’m wonderfully breathing.”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you soon.

Welcome, friends. I’m still growing and finding my way on this platform. If you are here with me, please know that a like, comment, or a restack, goes a very long way. Engaging with my work helps others to find it too. I appreciate you deeply. Thank you for reading.

Personal Update

I’ve been a bit disengaged from this space. Popping in and out, but if I’m honest, mostly out. In mid-January I had surgery to remove some skin cancer from my nose. It was my 4th surgery of this kind. It ended up being a lot more intense than I had anticipated or experienced in the past. I guess being that it was the 3rd one I’ve had on my nose there was not much they could do to stitch me back up normally. So I had to get what’s called a forehead flap surgery. Essentially, they took from my forehead to reconstruct my nose. This also entailed having a tube sewn into my face to keep the blood supply intact from my forehead to nourish and establish new blood supply on my nose.

It was a lot.

I wasn’t really mentally prepared for all that it turned out to be. The surgery was extremely intense. If you can imagine, I was awake and fully present for every moment of the hours and hours it took to complete. Sure I was numbed up but when people are cutting into your face, there’s no escaping the trauma of it all. It was also day one of my cycle so all in all just a rough day. As soon as I walked out to my husband’s truck, I burst into tears.

In that first surgery I had at least 40+ stitches on my face. Then I had to have a second procedure to remove the tube which resulted in more stitches. I finally just had my last round of stitches removed on Monday.

While my face is finally free of bandages, which is great, I’m now left with the after math of very visible and very large wounds. They tell me it is healing beautifully and that the scars will mellow out over time but it’s been hard to look in the mirror. Some days are admittedly emotional. Everything feels tender both inside and out. Certainly there are bigger and more important things happening in the world right now and yet these feelings are valid too.

I’ve spent the last few weeks just allowing it all. The pain. The healing. The emotions. I’ve been reading and journaling a lot. I’ve also been doom scrolling and watching trashy reality tv. Slowing down to a literal snails pace. But this past week as I move through my cycle again, I’m feeling a bit more like myself. I’m crawling out of my cocoon and wanting to connect and engage with the world again.

Last week, I tagged along on a work trip with my husband to Florida so that I could pop over and spend the weekend with my mom and my grandmother. It was nice to get away; escape the cold temps and change up the scenery.

In the heaviness of everything, I’ve been thinking a lot about the legacy of grandmothers. About the wisdom of our elders, and the elders that came before them. All that they’ve seen, experienced, and accomplished. What they’ve lived to see and what they think of it all. I’ve been swimming in nostalgia.

It’s still hard to see myself as a grandmother because I’m so young. I don’t quite fit the normal requirements. I seem to have accumulated the titles of both mother and grandmother to be bestowed upon me much earlier than I had anticipated. Although since I was young I always wanted gray hair. It was as if my old soul was longing to return to a version of myself I remember. I deeply admired my grandmothers and great grandmother all of which I was lucky enough to spend a lot of time with when I was young.

I think about the life I’m living today and the type of ancestor I want to become. How I want to be remembered and the mark I want to leave behind. As I look out to the landscape of the current climate of the world, and specifically, the US—it’s more important than ever to be mindful of how I’m showing up.

I recently learned during my trip to Ireland this March, it will take me right through the town where my maternal great great (and great great great) grandmothers lived. Since I’m on retreat and the agenda is already mapped out for me, this feels quite special. My Nana never got a chance to meet them. They immigrated here and died just before she was born. She also never traveled to Ireland in her lifetime. I asked her if she wanted me to take something of hers there. So that I can leave a piece of her on the land where her grandmother and great grandmother’s walked the earth. What an honor that will be.

And I got to spend time with my last living grandmother this past weekend in Florida. It’s always a blessing to be in her presence. To spend precious time with her fully knowing that some day I’ll look back with a longing and deep for these simple every day moments together.

With Grandmothers on my heart this past week, my mind was swirling with memories and nostalgia. My paternal grandmother, Shirley, passed in 2001 but I wrote this poem for her. I’m happy to share her with you all.

A POEM FOR SHIRLEY

The years of life are fast and fleeting
leading me back in time
Conjuring up memories
through recollections of the past
Once as I gazed upon her
during a game of Yahtzee
I asked if I could touch her face 
we both smiled as I caressed her cheek
I remember being surprised 
at how soft her skin felt beneath my hand
now I am tracing parts of myself 
back to her
summoning the spirit 
of who she was
in a time long past
she threads through my minds eye
with her sharp tongue and stern statements
shoes off by the door
no wet bathing suits in the house
sometimes harsh with her words
but always generous with her laughter
she was both fierce and fallible
and highly competitive
weathered hands that shuffled cards 
rolled dice and lit cigarettes
ice cold drinks and smoke 
that hung heavy in the room
her chair at the head of the table
telephone on the wall
always within arms reach
the ultimate orator
of both gossip and morse code
a retired waitress
a natural storyteller
always with something to say
loud greetings as people shuffled
through the door
that stayed unlocked
welcoming anyone who wandered in
where the black eye susan's
trailed down the hill 
to the garden gnomes that stood
protecting the perimeter
my grandmothers hands
made masterpieces
igniting her inner artist
Maine became her muse
her framed oil paintings 
hung proudly on the walls
her ceramic shop 
just down the dirt road
I only ever saw her as an artist
but often think about her journey 
to arrive there in her later years
she honed her craft
and found her niche
she became the loon lady
with hand crafted 
and hand painted ceramic loons 
her best friend Mary 
steady at her side
they worked together
to pour the moulds and 
paint each one
ever meticulous with every 
white stripe and white dot
fulfilling orders and her dreams
she inspired me
and still does
she rarely swam 
even though her house
sat perched upon the lake
but once in a blue moon
a heat wave would draw her in
while the grandkids all cheered 
as she swam out to the raft
I long to return to those times
of thanksgiving talent shows
and early mornings catching fish
long walks to Jim Bob's store
late nights around the fire
times when we were rich
in spirit and belonging
where the family all gathered
before the strings of life
pulled us in different directions
before their deaths changed everything
the once strong family tapestry
slowly started to unravel
bonds became shattered
frayed edges and egos
resentment rippling outward
but there was a time
when Shirley sat smoking cigarettes at the table
telling animated stories about the neighbor next door
while Dave read books and 
tinkered with electronics out in his shack
and Big Nana walked her dog Bootsie 
down the dirt road after lunch
there was a simple sort of magic
that pulled us all there
the promise of a good time
our home away from home
we were all drawn
like moth to a flame
flocked together 
on Moose Pond
in Maine.

- Hera Morgan

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really asking: do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know.

I’d love to hear from you. What memories do you have of your grandmothers? How has your heart been lately?

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In My Headphones

“I want to go to Maine”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next soon. xo

I’ve been feeling incredibly heavy the past few weeks. Things seem to be escalating at alarming rates in the states. Whenever I feel this way I know I need to move through it creatively.

The only way I know how to write is directly from my soul. It’s not performative. I don’t write for the algorithm. I’m not looking for likes. It’s as vital to me as the air I breathe. Times like these it feels as if I don’t write I will surely die from this heavy weight sitting on my chest.

I write from the heart, yes, but mostly I write to make sense of things. I write to process and move through my emotions and my experiences. The last few weeks have been hard to witness. Although it’s nothing new it doesn’t’ change the intensity of the times we are living in. I could feel my body holding stress and tension. This spoken word poem is my way of moving through the anger, sadness, and grief I feel as a human being right now.

Demonstrate, Dismantle, and Disrupt

This poem is meant to be listened to. It came through as a spoken word poem. I’ve put the poem below in writing so you can read along as you listen.

the revolution will not be televised 
but state sanctioned violence will be broadcast 24/7
across our cell phone screens and fyp's
a litany of lies fed from podium stands
emblazoned with fascist slogans 
saying the quiet parts out loud now
overtly orating blatant falsehoods to spin the narrative
but the tale being told has roots and rot as old as time
homegrown hatred and confederate violence
america has always been this way
but now the veil is lifted; the curtain pulled back
to reveal the evolution of our founding forefathers
fast forward to where we are today
just cause for questioning skin color
no longer hidden behind erroneous traffic stops
radical racism undisguised and plain to see
monsters in masks prowling the streets
demanding papers to prove you are allowed 
on this side of the line
on this side of HIS story
reciting racist rhetoric paraded as patriotism
bloated on their slice of the american pie
they cut our healthcare and ban our books
taking tax dollars to fund fervent and forceful tactics
liberation is lost at the hands of greedy white men
but rise up and face their wrath
play by their rules and they will undoubtedly change them
peaceful protests pave the streets with bodies and bullet holes
tear gas and pepper spray waging war on watchful observers 
guns drawn on women wielding whistles
pretend police carrying out presidential policies
just following orders
just doing their job
peddling propaganda 
untrained and incomprehensible
but a pocket full of cash and military grade weaponry in hand
"protecting their culture" from imaginary lines drawn in the sand
but if there's one thing I know for certain
they always underestimate the power of the people
the care and compassion we hold for our communities
the lengths we would go for our neighbors
everyday people opening their doors
businesses becoming a shelter from the cold
we overcome fear by standing in solidarity
organizing and joining together
we are not alone in our pursuit and our petitions
against a tyrannical regime
we the people get to determine our fate
we the people are living history now
our collective choices will reverberate for generations to come
so speak out, strike, write letters, make art
organize donations and raise money
protect your neighbors and create community
demonstrate, dismantle, and disrupt
do what you can because the time is now
- Hera Morgan

Things I Read This Week Instead of Doom Scrolling

1. At Winter’s Edge: Brigid and the Hearth by

2. The Revolution Will Be Plutonic by

3. The Most Dangerous Lie Women Believe is That Self-Sacrifice is Love by

4. Stop Looking for the Light: Listen to the Dark by

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In My Headphones

“Just remember this: you don’t walk alone”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next week. xo

Hello sweet friend. I’m slowly finding my way back to my creative practices after recovering from a surgery that didn’t quite go as originally planned. Coupled with my monthly cycle, it all through me for a loop. A long pause of rest and recovery became non-negotiable. I stepped away from everything in order to care for myself.

For a brief moment, I observed my thoughts begin to spiral about how I had lost the momentum I was building in this space. Quickly I reminded myself that I’m on this platform for the joy it brings me to nourish my creative practices. I’m not here for the outcome or the validation. I’m holding that in my heart as I write this post today.

I learned a new word recently:

PRONOIA: It is the positive counterpart to paranoia. It’s a state of mind where one feels the world or the universe is conspiring to help them, rather than harm them. Seeing the benevolence and opportunity in events and believing others wish them well, often leading to increased trust and a positive outlook. It was originally coined by Fred H. Goldner in 1982 and is rooted in the Greek word for foresight, a spiritual belief in universal support.

I truly resonate with this, deep in my spirit it rings true. This perfectly describes how I have always lived my life. It encompasses my spiritual beliefs and the notion that I am co-creating with the universe, the cosmic mother, the Goddess, the unseen.

As a child, I was often told I lived in a fantasy world. Truthfully, I’ve been told that many times as an adult as well—usually meant as a slight, but I wear it proudly. I’m not a pragmatic person by nature. I’m an idealist through and through.

Let me be clear, my search for beauty and magic in the mundane of daily life is not some kind of spiritual bypassing. In fact it’s been during difficult and traumatic times of my life that I’ve felt the most connected to spirit. Communication was loud and persistent when I was not seeking it out but merely trying to get through each day. Spirit was telling me that I was simply in a cycle of death and that if I could hold on, I would be reborn.

It’s not about denying that awful things are happening right now it’s about finding truth and meaning amidst it all. It’s a trust and belief that this too shall pass and the only way out is through. And so when I look out to the current hellscape that is the United States, I can clearly see that we are in a cycle of death. We are rooting out the rot and decay. It’s painful and ugly but also imperative for our survival.

I also know that we vote for our future with our imagination. While we are fighting back against the tyranny, we must be dreaming up an entirely new way of being. This is resistance. At a time when they are banking on our division, we must build community. At a time where they seek to make daily life so difficult all we can do is endure, we must find time for art.

A daily worship to beauty and magic is not escapism it is a sacred act of rebellion and a means of surviving these dark times we are in. It is the thread of hope. The tiny fractal of light that we can grab hold of to help propel us forward.

As I’ve deepened my studies of divination and the esoteric, I leaned into the belief that the unseen, the universe, great spirit—known of a thousand names, the Goddess, the planets and the stars are conspiring for my best and highest good. My trust in something greater than me has always guided me. I’ve been through some shit in this lifetime. Things that had me questioning everything but spirit always showed up to quell my fears. Whispering, “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.” At these low points of my existence, I leaned into that reassurance with my entire being. Mind, body, and soul.

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Pronoia, also allows me to fully surrender. I relinquish control and my limited perception of life’s circumstances with an understanding that all of what happens is part of my earthly experience. There is no need to analyze or judge it. Good, bad, or indifferent - it just IS what it is. All of it becomes a beautiful concoction that is poured into the cauldron that is me in this lifetime.

I walk through life most days in awe of the signs and messages I get on the daily. The more open and receptive I am to the magic that exists all around, the more it shows up. I hold a staunch belief that all things are sacred. An understanding that spirit speaks through so many things. If you are too busy, too stressed, too distracted you might miss the call. Friend, it’s important that you don’t miss the call.

Yesterday, while gathering with my friend, I pulled the heron card. It brought me back to a few years ago when I was bombarded by the heron. They were popping up in book I was reading, they were flying overhead, or standing in the strangest places. I even saw one in the dead of winter. During that time, I remember I bought a tea set off Facebook marketplace only to find when I opened the box, the cups had a small heron on the side that weren’t shown in the photos. These are signs from spirit. Bread crumbs leading me to an ever deeper meaning and message that I needed to heed. You know how I know? Because I can feel it. It might not seem like much to others, but I don’t need validation from anyone else, I know it’s real by the way that it feels.

Another one from yesterday that made me laugh out loud. I’m traveling to Ireland in March and admittedly having a little anxiety about navigating the city alone before the retreat starts. I was looking up one of the hotels I’ll be staying at to see what is within walking distance. The first thing I see right by the hotel is HERA restaurant. My jaw dropped and then I laughed. This felt like a funny sign from spirit letting reassuring me that all will be fine.

I’m happy to have stumbled on the word pronoia this past week, even if it’s not a widely recognized word, I will happily claim it as one of my core ideologies from this moment forward.

As always, I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really asking: do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know.

What do you feel when you read the definition of pronoia? What signs and messages have you been getting from spirit lately?

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In My Headphones

“Dreamers. They never learn. They never learn.”

*bringing this back because public pressure on Spotify forced them to remove the ICE ads they were playing on the platform.

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next week. xo

She was a wife, a mother, and a poet. She had just dropped her six year old son off at school and she was murdered at point blank range by an ICE officer Jonathan Ross. I’ve seen all the angles. I’ve heard the wails of her wife as she sat covered in blood on the sidewalk while no one comforted her. I’ve heard the pleas of a physician begging to administer aid. I’ve heard what he called her after he shot her as her lifeless body drove the vehicle forward and crashed into parked cars.

Unfortunately, she joins a long list of names who have died at the hands of the police and/or ICE. This is state sanctioned violence funded by our tax dollars. And it’s important we continue to say their names: Renee Nicole Good, Breonna Taylor, Sandra Bland, George Floyd, Elijah McClain, Michael Brown and so many more. Too many more.

I don’t know where to put this grief I hold. So yesterday I lit a candle in her name, I transcribed one of her award-winning poems into my commonplace journal and I cried. I don’t know what else to say. Although it’s bleak, and hard to muster during times like these, I will not allow them to take my last shred of hope for a better future. I will continue to dream of a better world for my children and the generations that follow.

It’s hard to transition from such heaviness and stark truths but I’m going to do my best because Renee was a writer and a poet and I fully believe she would want us to keep creating. Because even after tragedy, the sun will rise again in the east. A new day will dawn with the promise of hope and possibility that things don’t have to be like this. We vote for our future with our imaginations.

My most popular post thus far on my Substack journey is about the masks that begin to crack and fall away at mid-life. It’s something I think about a lot. I am continuously trying to untangle myself from the roles I serve and the ways in which I’ve been someone I am not so that I may be more palatable to others around me. And this bone deep desire to follow the call of my spirit and see where it takes me.

Astrologers will point to your Uranus opposition as being the key driving force. Others may look toward the palpable changes that accompany perimenopause. For many, as our children grow older and begin to flee the nest, suddenly the very ground beneath our feet shifts.

As the bell curve of motherhood begins it’s decent (it never truly ends, we’ve just made it past it’s peak) and we slowly begin to deviate from the center, we reach a place in life where we are faced with ourselves. Perhaps for the first time—or at minimum in a completely new way.

We take stock of our choices, our decisions, and everything in between that has got us to where we are now. Time and space begins to open up and we must reconcile who we have become with who we really are underneath it all.

When you are finally alone you discern that you can’t possibly spend time with yourself if you aren’t being truly authentic to who you are beneath who you were told to be. You can no longer maintain the performance when it’s just you staring back in the front row.

So much of girlhood and womanhood is performative in nature. We are taught what it means to care for everyone else. How to please. We learn to be fully functioning and independent as young as possible. We become acutely aware of how to read a room or a person’s energy for our own survival. We know when we must shrink or expand in relation to any given situation. We naturally fall into the role of caretaker, mother, or wife as though we were trained from birth (because we were).

In those roles, we quickly learn that life orbits around everyone else’s needs being met and maybe, just maybe, if you are efficient enough or are lucky enough to have a little support here and there— you can carve out some time just for you.

More often though those are stolen moments. Found in the early mornings or late nights. We become good at being self-sacrificial because we are often not given a choice anyway and so it becomes second nature. The heavy lift and the emotional fortitude of showing up for everyone and everything while juggling work, children, family, friends, deadlines, school projects, animals, and household chores. We become otherworldly and wholly out of body.

And so it’s no surprise that the transition out of the trenches of motherhood takes some profound adjusting. It’s no surprise that we are almost uncomfortable with reclaiming our time, our priorities, and our bodies. It’s no surprise that we seek to endlessly fill our time and hands to stay busy because it’s autonomic at this point not to stay in constant motion.

Amongst the readjustment of mid-life it slowly becomes easier to say how you feel. To let go of the way that others see you and stand starkly in your own homecoming. You might pick up a hobby or two, make more time for friends, plan solo trips.

Share Letters from Thirteen Witch Lane

But before you lean into the good stuff, you must first deal with the uncomfortable pieces. The parts of you that were imposed at such a young age that it has practically fused to the bone structure of your body. All the ways in which you were told to be, act, dress, conform and contort.

When you strip it all away—who are you really? Who are you as in individual on your own journey through life? What do you desire to do with the second half?

Sometimes you’ve held onto these roles and these performances for so long you are unsure how to separate yourself from them. But there comes a point where it’s physically impossible to continue to live life inauthentically. There are things calling to your spirit. Messages in the wind. Something is seeking you. And it’s your job to unearth it. To follow the breadcrumbs wherever they might lead you.

And this is where the fissures begin. The cracks in the armor. And suddenly it’s as if you are crawling around on your hands and knees in a dark room searching for remnants of yourself. You are looking for a safe place to land. A place to moor your weary soul as you rebuild yourself from the inside out.

Looking back, you’ve done this before. There are so many iterations and past versions of you. This new rendering that you are becoming will eventually dissolve into something else. And that’s the beauty, isn’t it—the impermanence of it all? That we can bend and bow, die and be reborn, dig in and flow freely. Nothing is forever. Everything transforms.

At midlife it just all feels a little more heightened than years past. The performance becomes constricting. The masks make it hard to breathe. The shedding becomes a required part of survival. Midlife is a threshold. It’s a doorway we must cross with the recognition that the second half of life, if we are lucky enough to live it, must be done on our own terms.

And so if you are feeling this way, just know, you are not alone. I’d love to hear how you are navigating it all. And if you have been through this, perhaps you can drop some of your lived experience in the comments. What helped you traverse the unknown paths that led you back home to yourself?

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If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next week, xo.

The internet has been very overwhelming and overstimulating as of late. The end of year hype has felt very performative and full of recycled ideas and discussion. There are so many voices of authority on the energy, the astrology, what to expect for 2026 and how to manifest your wildest dreams in the upcoming year. I feel bloated from the opinions of others.

Why are we consistently farming out what should be our own very personal, very intuitive practices and consuming someone else’s watered down version?

External input will seek to place you in a box. It will tell you what you should be doing, how you should be feeling, and what you should be practicing. It’s constricting and limiting. When there is a constant barrage of content coming at you, it can be hard to tune it out in order to perceive your own feelings on a topic. You are overloaded with so many other points of view that you lose sight of your own.

We are drowning in the noise of others in the form of scrolling and content.

You are your own authority. You are made up of a beautiful amalgamation of past life knowledge and wisdom woven with your current lived experiences. It’s astonishing when you stop to think about all that makes you, you. How complex and layered you are. How you grew up, your musical influences, your hopes, dreams and desires.

All those inputs, all those layers that you are made up from are precisely why your intuition should shine loudest. It should surpass the external noise but it’s become such a normalized part of our modern human experience, we don’t even recognize the ways in which we are siphoning away our power and authority. Mindless scrolling and consumption of never ending content, marketing and advertising, and the thoughts, ideas and opinions of others is slowly killing us. At minimum it’s dulling us down.

The word discernment has been coming up a lot for me this week. As I move into my mid-life I can recognize that I’m no longer able to live life in this mindless way. Maybe you feel the same? In addition to a desire to live a more analog life, I want to be more conscious of what I’m consuming; more discerning of what I am taking in.

Winter is often a time to slow down, but maybe the planets are aligning for you in a different way and you are feeling energized—that’s great! Perhaps you want to set some goals and map out your year ahead—lean into that. Maybe you’ve made a vision board for the last 3 years but this year you don’t feel that same call to do it again, perfect.

Discernment allows you to listen to the ways in which you are being gently pulled and nudged. And when those signs, messages, and bread crumbs lead you down a path that seems to be going in the opposite direction of everyone else—this is when you must dig in. This is when you must honor what you are feeling and intuiting. Do what feels right for you regardless of whether Mercury is retrograde.

Don’t let the external noise speak louder than your inner voice and compass because it will never lead you astray—and if it does—that is probably the journey you are being asked to go on anyway.

In 2026 I’m craving softness. Scrolling the internet is such an aggressive of way receiving information. It wasn’t until I created some distance from it that I really noticed the damage it has done to not only my attention span but my nervous system. The addiction to scrolling is real.

My mantra as of late, and something I hope to carry throughout 2026, is conscious consumption.

In in this digital age of information and endless consumption we have stopped seeking out information that we choose to consume, and instead we have normalized scrolling and consuming content at random based on what the algorithm has determined we want to see. It’s actually bizarre when you stop and think about it. And when I look back at how much time I spent on Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok in the past - the sheer volume of content I was consuming on a given day is alarming.

Constant scrolling and mindless consumption is a big part of what drowns out our own thoughts and intuition. This is one of the most crucial things I’m leaving behind in 2025. I’m taking control over my time and my inputs. Replacing scrolling with conscious consumption.

For me, that looks like building a personal curriculum. I will consume ideas, books, magazines, articles and do research on topics of my choosing. I will read, study, and do assignments. No more mindless scrolling. Intentional and conscious consumption of knowledge.

My curriculum will be based in art and writing with a focus on women artists, authors, creatives, poets and thought leaders.

The world is a disorienting place. We have trained ourselves to be so hyper focused on a negative news cycle or the never ending for you page, it can be hard to break free from that. I continue to believe that art, creativity, our relationship with nature and our loved ones is the only fuel we need to keep going in a world on fire.

Living My Way to the Answers

I came upon this quote a few months ago, but it’s been resurfacing for me this week.

This is something else I’m hoping to weave into my practices. Slowing down not just in my actions but the obsession of instant gratification and answers. I don’t want a word of the year, I want a question. Maybe more than one. And through the act of slowing down to drop into what my questions are, perhaps 2026 will help me live my way to the answers.

So hey, maybe you want a word of the year - maybe you don’t. Maybe you like to make new years resolutions, maybe you don’t. Maybe you want to build a mood board for the season, not the year. Cool.

No matter what you are feeling, being repelled by, picking up or putting down—it’s right and what you are feeling is your higher self communicating with you. Follow that thread. Take steps toward what is seeking you out and watch how spirit responds.

As always, take what resonates, and leave the rest.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really asking: do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know. I’d love to hear from you.

What did this post bring up for you? What are you hoping to consciously consume this year? What books, quotes, ideas have been seeking you out?

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If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next week, xo.

Winter is beckoning for a slowness. Time ripe with possibility if you allow it. What is calling to you? Are you able to tune out all that is vying for your attention and tune in long enough to hear it? Are there topics, books, movies, deities that are reaching for you?

What are you planning to explore in the dark of this season as it unfolds before you?

This time of year everyone is telling you something. How to feel and what the energy holds. There are predictions for the year ahead. Ten ways to manifest your wildest dreams in 2026. Someone is posting their intuitive downloads for the collective.

Perhaps this year is about unplugging from the noise of others.

Lately, I’ve been feeling oversaturated and overstimulated. I’ve been thinking about what I want to use these weeks of winter for. The topics I want to intentionally consume rather than the ones I randomly stumble upon while mindlessly scrolling through others content.

It seems the biggest trend this year is about living a more analog life. Unplugged from screens. With this trend, we’ll surely begin to see more people telling you the best way to achieve that. We will see products designed to help you unplug. More things we don’t need when the reality is much more simple.

Go outside. Live life off your devices. Meet up with friends. Cherish your relationships. Care for the land and the animals. Simplify.

A.I. stands for artificial intelligence but what I’m seeking is an ancient intelligence. Something that lives deep within me. Something that screens can’t reach. Something that can’t be photographed and posted. Myths, goddesses, deities, folklore.

I’m also seeking my own ancient intelligence. The accumulation of all my past lives and experiences. The wisdom and knowing that is unique to only me. The origin of me. My highest self and my deepest intuitive premonitions.

Scrolling won’t get my closer to my soul knowing. Reading someone else’s energetic predictions won’t help make more aligned decisions. This journey through life is my own. For me, 2026 is about following the call of my soul. Meandering paths that I’m being asked to walk. Pulling on threads until I find the source of genesis.

And here’s the magic, when I’m grounded, centered and aligned—when I’m following my truth—it impacts all around me in ways I might never even come to know. How many interactions both big and small hold a deeper meaning for someone who I’ve encountered?

My words, my art, my actions could be just the catalyst someone needs. It could spark something in someone else that sets them forward on a path. It could bring them back to their own inner knowing.

This is the great orchestra of life. The reverberation of our aligned actions rippling outward not just into the cosmos but the very fabric of our reality here on earth. These are the symphony of moments harmonizing at just the right key and making magical undulations. Ones that I may never know the impact of but that are felt far and wide.

I say this not from a place of ego but from a place of profound alignment.

When I am resisting what I know to be true. When I am allowing situations to dictate my emotions. When I am disconnected from what truly matters, I’m not serving myself or anyone I may come into contact with. My frequency matters not just for me but for all those I’m making music with. What is the song that I’m playing? Is it something beautiful or is it grating notes that are horrendously off key?

In these days of in between before the new calendar year starts, I’m feeling called to pull even more inward. To allow myself to flow freely and dream often. To grab ahold of this life and it’s offerings. To quiet myself enough to hear the whispers blowing in on the harsh cold wind.

I am journaling by candlelight. I am listening to soft music. I am formless before the new year takes form. While I am someone who believes that the new year begins with the Spring Equinox, I’m not adverse to the collective energetic shift of the calendar year. It’s here and as challenging as 2025 was, I’m welcoming the turning of this page.

Over these next few days, I’m deepening into what I want this season of winter to hold for me. I’m going to Ireland over the spring equinox so I’m diving into Celtic wisdom through various books. Exploring ancient wisdom and following the threads of my ancestors. How about you? How are you spending these days of in between? What do you want to explore in this dark season of winter?

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If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next week. xo

In My Headphones

“We will cocoon with the season / We will sing without reason / And emerge with widened wings.”

Conscious Consumption

Here are a few posts that I consumed this week that moved me in some way, shape, or form.

1. Carl Jung: Practice Non-Doing to Develop Yourself Psychologically by

2. new years is a lie by

3. Why People are Turning Back to Animism by

I’m writing the bulk of this post on the new moon and will likely finish it and send it out on the solstice. I’m reflecting on 2025 and thinking about what I want to call back into the light.

The darkest moon just before the darkest day of the year. We are at a pivotal point of the year. The wheel is turning yet again. These cross-quarter days are central to our internal orientation and relationship to the natural world.

My cycle came 5 days early last month to bleed with the new moon in Scorpio and 3 days late this month to bleed with the new moon in Sagittarius. My body doesn’t often try so desperately to sync up with the moon so I’m taking note of what arrives in the darkness.

Life’s blood, rich with nutrients, spills out of me. A new cycle begins again. The wheel is turning; the calendar year is ending. What am I making space for? What am I carrying with me into this new season? As the light spills into the dark corners of the room, what is it illuminating?

I wrote a post a few weeks ago about the masks that begin to fall away as you get to mid-life. In that post, I talked about how I applied to attend a women’s retreat in Ireland. At that point, I was still waiting to hear if I had been accepted. I now have a little less than 12 weeks, one season, before I’ll be flying out on that journey to the emerald isle. It feels potent to have from the winter solstice to just before the spring equinox to prepare myself for this monumental trip.

I want to shed everything and anything that I don’t need to carry. I want to spend this winter releasing as much as possible so I can feel light when I travel in the spring.

The last 22 years of my life have been spent engrossed in motherhood and marriage and all that comes with that. It defined me and consumed me before I even knew who I was. Over the last few years, I was holding a lot of grief over the end of my children’s childhood. I questioned myself. I wondered if I had done enough. I held a deep sadness that’s still close to the surface even now.

I’ve tried to make peace with those churning emotions so that I can embrace this new chapter. This transitional period from motherhood to something else - what that is I’m not sure. But I know for certain, I’ve reached a new chapter. A new way of being and relating to myself and those around me. For me, this trip to Ireland is more than just some solo travel. It’s a holy expedition of the soul.

This is what I’m embodying for my trip in March. Aloneness. After 22 years of attachment, for the first time, I will be alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my body. Alone with my soul. Sacred time to excavate the depths of who I am in this lifetime. Who I am as an individual and where this life is leading me.

A reclaiming. A reckoning. A rebirth.

I’ve nurtured and cared for everyone. I’ve been the steady rock. The lighthouse guiding others back from the depths. And I know that I will continue to do this and that is precisely why it’s so important for me to take this time. Motherhood doesn’t stop when your children move out or have children of their own. I will always be a caretaker for all beings within my radius. I am just opening up more space to not be defined by that.

After 22 years of being a mother, I am mothering myself with this trip. Giving myself the gift of what I need and desire. Taking something for me without guilt or shame. And I am ushering myself across a new threshold in the process.

This trip will coincide with not only the spring equinox, but also my 43rd birthday. A true rebirth in every sense of the word. A lot of people in my life don’t really understand why I’m doing what I’m doing - and that’s okay. It’s not for them. It is unabashedly and wholly for me.

As I sit here at the winter solstice, I am preparing for Ireland at the spring equinox. As I keep looking toward the horizon, and the turning of the wheel, I see that shortly after the summer solstice, Jupiter will move into Leo and the nodes will also shift into Leo/Aquarius. As a Leo rising, this represents another monumental shift.

While I’m not one to jump on the new year hype, I can feel that 2026 is bringing change. I read that it is the year of the fire horse and also a numerology year one. I found that to be resonant as I had been pinning these ethereal images of horses on Pinterest for the last few months and unsure why. Below is the first one I pinned that I printed out this weekend so I could work on a vision board. And when I read that this was the year of the fire horse, this image began to make sense.

I’m not sure if it’s everything I’ve been traversing the past few years or if you feel it too but I can feel tides turning in the next year. Things are shifting into place. As I sit here on the Winter Solstice, one ritual I plan to do is to write down 13 wishes for the new year. One for each of the 12 months and one extra. Each day I’ll burn and release one wish without looking at the folded up piece of paper trusting that the universe and the unseen will support me. When I get to the last one, the 13th wish, this will be the one that I need to tend to throughout the year. The one that I’ll hold and support myself in bringing it to fruition.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really asking: do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know.

I’d love to hear from you. Are you setting any intentions during the solstice? What are you calling back in as the light slowly returns? How are you feeling about 2026? Do you have any solstice rituals that you’ll be doing?

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In My Headphones

“Calling for my demons now to let me go / I need something, give me something wonderful. / I believe. She won’t take me somewhere I’m not supposed to be.”

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next week. xo

When things cross your path numerous times it should make you perk up. Take notice. Pay attention. Spirit is trying to communicate with you. Something is vying for your attention. Are you listening?

This Rumi poem came across my path twice in a matter of three days. I had read it before, probably pinned it on Pinterest many moons ago, but for some reason it hit me differently this week.

The first time I saw it, I wrote it down in my commonplace journal and then wouldn’t you know it, it crossed my path a second time in the book I’m re-reading: The Mist Filled Path by Frank MacEowen. When things like this happen, I always take heed. I say thank you, spirit. I make sure the unseen knows I am listening.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
- Jalal-ud-din Rumi

I think this hit me so hard because I was asleep for a little while. I let life, relationships, and caring for everyone except me overwhelm me to the point where I lost my center of gravity. I stopped creating. At the time, I felt ‘blocked’ but really I was asleep. It felt as though I was underwater. Unable to move fast. Floating in a Neptunian sea; vast and yet directionless.

When life got hard over the last few years, my creativity all but dried up. As I sit on the other side of that period of my life, I’ve learned just how important creation is to my soul. Without it, I became depressed and apathetic. I lacked clarity and vibrancy. I numbed out in various ways. That time taught me a lot. I know that life is not always easy, and I know that I will encounter difficult things again. But I also now know that I must continue to create despite it all.

No matter how small or insignificant, or if I publicly post about it or not. Art and creativity is the only thing that makes sense to my soul. And when I allow it to slowly slip away, I lack purpose and meaning. I become indifferent. And that is not who I am at my core.

This chapter of my life is about reorienting, restructuring, reestablishing my relationship to my art. Life is for living and a life well lived is a source of inspiration for creativity. I can’t create if I’m not living—and if I’m not creating I’m also not living.

Reading that poem by Rumi, I have made a vow to myself that I won’t go back to sleep. I trust that spirit is never guiding me astray. I believe that the universe is conspiring for my greatest good. I know that miracles happen all the time. And I may not understand why I might be faced with challenges but I accept that I’m always exactly where I’m meant to be. I will push myself to find beauty even when life is hard. As I said last week, hope is hard fought but necessary.

Another spirit led journey from this past fall was with Sylvia Plath. There was a period of a few months where she was almost haunting me. Her work and her words were permeating my existence on a such a frequent basis that I had to sit up and take note. I felt a deep connection with the way she wrote and expressed herself. I recognized myself in her words. Admittedly, I knew very little about her and as I began to uncover not just her words but her story, she touched my heart even deeper.

Sometimes this world is not made for sensitive creatives. She shared from the depths - a true Scorpio sun and mercury. She wrote from the parts of herself that were not celebrated or welcomed by the outside world but ones that so many of us can relate to.

This was not the first quote that came across my consciousness but it was the one that helped me understand why she was reaching out to me. I have felt this and I’ve never been able to accurately or succinctly explain this to others. I’m also not entirely sure this is a universal experience. Having children at a young age, I’ve sort of lived my life in reverse. But I’ve always felt this presence from spirit weighing on me to create. Now, now, now.

When I think about someone like Sylvia, someone who had a lot of her work published posthumously. That is an incredibly complex thing to ponder. As an artist, your job is to create but once you’ve done that, it’s no longer yours. Your art takes on it’s own energy and frequency. It finds resonance with those who need it with time being a completely irrelevant factor.

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. Any why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.” - The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Thanks to the unseen nudges of the universe, or maybe even Sylvia herself, I have found solace in her words. That deep yearning and connection that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about this fickle life. And while I am often someone who always can find the positive and appreciates the beauty in life, I can also get lost in the sadness and grief that accompanies it. And I think Sylvia felt that too.

Life is beautiful but it’s also horrific. It’s unpredictable and its altogether too short. There will never be enough time to honor and appreciate all there is, and that is enough to produce a wellspring of grief. Layer upon that the fact that we destroying our planet and all that inhabit it in the name of greed and those feelings can quickly make way toward overwhelm.

And what are we to do with that? How do we balance the beauty and the suffering? I don’t have the answers but I continuously come back to creation. We make art from it. We share it outwardly without knowledge or understanding of where it may travel to. What hearts may connect with it. And we must conjure up pockets of peace and contentment for ourselves and each other. In our homes and our community spaces.

This gives me a vision of a mother hen, ushering in weary travelers under her wing. Come, stay a while. I will keep you warm. Safe spaces for tender hearts. That is what I’m focusing on for 2026.

I want my Substack to be a conversation and not for the sake of engagement but for the sake of connection. When I post, I’m really asking: do you ever feel this way too? And I genuinely want to know.

I’d love to hear from you. What does this post conjure up for you? What are the signs and messages you’ve been receiving from spirit?

Leave a comment

In My Headphones

“That’s life / If we had more time / We could live forever.”

Things I consumed this week instead of doom scrolling on my phone

1. Co-Creating by Dian Killian, PH.D.

2. What does it mean to have a room of one’s own? featured in The Open Letters | by Paige Reddington

3. Decolonial time and reclaiming flow as a birthright, ft. Ixchel Lunar

If you’ve made it this far, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. I know how many things are desperately grasping for your attention on any given day. The fact that you are here with me means a lot. I deeply appreciate your presence and readership. Please know, I’m sending you love from my little corner of the world. I hope you are taking care of yourself and finding time to do the things that bring you joy. Talk to you next week.