Black Albatross

It was more than 18 years ago now,

The day I watched your face

Turn from violet to blue to an icy white.

I stood there, holding your hoodie.

Complete shock.

This accessory smelled more like you than you.

I remember my mouth going dry from surprise and terror and fear and panic.

My ears recall the utter silence. Pin drop.

Those fibers on the black lining, rubbing.

Your body, more limp, making you look like a hanger, no longer holding up your clothes.

You’d cleaned your room. Spotless. Pledge.

No feelings, just data. Vacuum.

You and me, alone, in a clean room.

You lifeless, me dead inside. Mirrors.

I didn’t do anything. I just stood and watched. I’ve regretted that.

It was our only time alone before all the tears. I’ve regretted that too.

I remember you like you left yesterday.

Wearing socks.

I’ve stayed quiet with regret for so long.

What would I say if no one would judge?

I’d talk about the sigh of relief my chest exhaled when I saw your lips turn blue.

Knowing I could get out and not worry about you.

Chasing my dreams without thinking of the mess you’d become.

I’d tell someone that the last words that left my lips in that room was, “i couldn’t save you. I never could.”

It wasn’t I’m sorry or I love you. You were my loss, but a loss.

I’d express my anger that you left me at the worst time, without a friend. A best friend. You rejected me.

How I gave up my bunk beds because you’d slept on them with me, because I couldn’t stop seeing you hanging.

How you made me more different than I already was. Now I was the girl with a dead friend. Now I’ve watched someone die. Now I have even more issues.

Unrelatable and alone.

How you knew. You knew I had no one to help me with this. No one to turn to.

I wanted to yell at you, to call you selfish. But that wasn’t correct.

I would say I have never quite gotten the hang of being around dead bodies because you were the first. And there was nothing comforting about it.

How every time I’m around one now, how every time I even see Jesus on a cross I see your face.

How I never understood. How I don’t understand. Did you not trust me?

How sometimes, in those first few days, I slept easier knowing you were safer.

How sometimes, in those first few years, I hated you. I hated me.

Guilt. Relief. Anger. Calm.

You changed my life for the worse.

A terrible scar across my heart.
All I could show was pain or nothing.

For so long, nothing.

In a child, out an adult?

Protecting you then honoring you?

Who does that for me?

And all I seem now is selfish.

If only I felt safe enough

To say it while still alone in your room.

Perhaps then, this pain could dissipate.

The Alchemist

To the one

Who loved this body

Broken, wounded

Ravaged by where others had been

Taking on the darkness

That lived, burrowed deep inside

Drinking from this vessel

Always knowing its poison.
To the one

Who, with eyes like lasers

Gazing deep into this heart

Boring into this soul,

Coated the myelin sheath

Around faulty synapses

Corroded from trauma

From those who’d come before

Strengthening all chakras

Always knowing its depletion.
To the one

Whose uttered words

Like a sacred language

Became the guiding voice

A radiant light in the darkness

Comforting the small child inside

Desperately pleading for reassurance

Coursing through these ears

Into these veins

Filling empty spaces with compassion.
To the one

Who, now with this body nearly restored,

Has drifted away

In need of wholeness

Of detoxification of spirit

Of compassion and comfort

Of deep, healing restoration

Your essence is enough

Surrounding us both at once.
To the one

Who, with vulnerability and kindness

Taught this broken heart to mend

These broken wings to fly

These blind eyes to see

Who, with gentle wisdom

Taught a body, mind, spirit

To heal, to harness its power.

Who, with divine alchemy

And pscionic power

Revealed the magic inside.
To the one,

Whose healing touch

Still felt on this body,

Whose stare,

Still slowing this nervous breath,

Whose voice lingers in these ears,

Whose mage hand, holding mine

Still guides this soul through the dark river

Whose alchemy,

My constant companion.

Never to be alone again.

Engine Failure & Progress

Check-ins are important. When I was in 8th grade, I was part of a dynamic, legendary song and dance group called the ShowStoppers. We wore red dresses covered in sequins, heavy nylons, dancing heels, a ton of makeup, and curls. It was epic. I was the worst dancer in our troupe, and I had gotten in on my singing voice. I had never taken dance lessons, unlike the other girls. However, I learned something about dancing in my year there–when you are performing turns, it’s important to have a focal point to reference. That way, you don’t become disoriented, you stay grounded.

Focal points have helped me stay grounded and also have allowed me to assess progress in my life. It’s been 3 months of continuous meditation, 30 minutes twice a day, 3 months of intensive trauma therapy (EMDR + resourcing has sometimes taken several hours a week), 3 months of pilates and yoga, 3 months of exploring my spirituality. And, strangely, the more present I have become, the harder it was to realize that 3 months went by so quickly. I just felt present, putting one foot in front of the other, making my pirouettes without thinking. These things in life have become habitual. Self-care has become habitual.

This past week, two incidents came into my life that were able to serve as focal points, as places where I could assess progress. I have recently started a new role in Washington DC while still living in the San Francisco bay area. This has increased my travel schedule significantly and has also put me in contact with new people. My first day of work was Wednesday, where I spent the day meeting policymakers and staffers. Thursday, I was to be in an all-day meeting with 15 people who would work together to develop policy recommendations for the new presidential administration. This is the most prestigious table I would ever be around, and I was looking forward to just being at the table to listen. I knew, however, that the woman who forced me out of my last role would also be at the table. She has been a significant trigger point for me in the last 2 years, and the last time I knew I would have to see her I actually suffered a considerable panic attack at my partner’s home in front of his group of friends just anticipating having to see her. He and I nearly broke up because I overwhelmed him with my anxiety. I was unstable. When I finally did see her, I vomited, hid in a bathroom stall, and, eventually, experienced a seizure in the middle of a Chicago street…at night. This woman really overtook my senses and shut down all my responses. Naturally, I was concerned about having to be in a meeting with her, so I discussed this with my therapist, who worked with me to process my feelings toward her. While I am still working on processing her representation in my life, that session where I could process through what was left over from this woman’s abuse allowed me to make different decisions. I arrived at the meeting place 20 minutes early, got a feel for the space, and allowed myself to feel present. When she walked into the room, I noticed that I didn’t tense up at all. When she engaged me, I allowed some small talk but also put up clear boundaries, allowing myself to feel safe and present while in her presence. When she tried to undermine things I said, I felt no need to defend myself, and I allowed myself to feel comfortable with a difference in opinion. In the moment, I didn’t notice I was doing something different…but looking back, this is the first time that I could notice a completely vanished trigger. What affected me so deeply in March had no power over me at all. I could breathe into the present moment with no anxiety about the past or fear of the future. And it was so much easier than expected.

The evening after my all-day meeting, I was to take a late night flight back to San Francisco, with a short layover in Atlanta. I had to be somewhere else in California for meetings the next morning, so I was anticipating sleeping on the plane. I love sitting over the wing, at the window, especially during sunset. Getting up to cruising altitude, our cabin heard a loud “POP”, followed by a pillar of black smoke coming from behind the right wing. This wasn’t normal. As the cabin crew prepared to make an emergency landing in North Carolina due to sudden engine failure, I could hear the terror, panic, and fear in my fellow travelers. I found myself breathing deeply, feeling personally comforted that things were under control, which allowed me, in turn, to help comfort a woman for whom this was her first flight. As I landed in North Carolina and looked on my phone to see how I may be able to get another flight back before my meetings started in the morning, I reflected on the last time this event occurred. In 2011, I was part of an emergency landing outside of Palmer, Alaska, coming home from Fairbanks. It wasn’t the emergency landing that got me panicked, but the feeling that I was going to miss one too many graduate classes, not allowing me to graduate. While trying to get a new flight, I had a horrible panic attack, yelled at just about everyone, burst into tears, and called my (sleeping) boyfriend every minute on the minute, leaving him messages. I was a mess. I made it back for my class just in time, but I had a seizure the second I was finished with that class from all the drama I had created. This time, I was able to remain calm, even encourage others while they freaked out about missing their connections. I noticed I wasn’t alone–this hadn’t just happened to me. We were a stranded collective, which allowed me to stay grounded, calm, and humble. When we got shuttled back to the airport, I calmly stood in line, calling my administrative assistant to let her know I may not be at the meeting in the morning, making contingency plans. I waited at the desk and firmly asked to be put on the only flight out that evening, stating that waiting until the morning was not my preference. I got re-planed, and was able to sleep soundly on the plane, making it to my meeting in the morning a few hours away.

Engine failure doesn’t happen every day. Neither does having to sit in a room on the other side of the country with the person who harassed you for 2 years. But little moments do repeat every day. Little moments are able to be your focal point–they can keep you grounded, they can act as a measuring stick. Awareness comes from allowing yourself to put space between those moments, put space where there was once noise. This is the gift the last 3 months have taught me that I haven’t really noticed: the gift of stillness. You see, crazy things happen to everyone. It’s really up to us to make it dramatic and traumatic. It’s up to us to carry around those moments as weights on our shoulders. Once you realize that you can’t control what happens to you, but you can control your reaction to it, you’re free.

“Spiritual progress is like detoxification. Things have to come up in order to be released. Once we have asked to be healed, then our unhealed places are forced to the surface.” –Marianne Williamson

Healing is an amazing feeling.





Massage Therapy & Surrender

I attend Pilates and yoga 6 times a week, not only for a workout but to set time to meditate in a community. Yoga is a powerful mindfulness activity and also binds you to those with whom you practice. After meditating for 35 minutes twice a day for nearly 3 months, I have been feeling freer and thinking that I am completely Zen. Imagine my surprise when I attended a yoga class last week where my instructor kept saying, “Blonde. Shoulders away from ears, lengthen through the spine.” All I could think was, “MY SHOULDERS ARE SO FAR AWAY FROM MY EARS!” until she came over and gently adjusted my posture, showing that, indeed, I had been holding on to something I didn’t even notice was there. It reminds me of those times when you get a massage from a massage therapist and they lift your arm or leg and state, “you can let go. Just make your limb weightless.” Usually I think I am totally giving in to their therapy, but I actually hold on just enough to feel like I’m still in control.

We’re shit at relationships. Why? Because even when we say we trust people, even when we say that we’ve let go or given in, our neocortex is screaming for us to maintain control. Maintain the status quo. Keep social construction. Feed the ego. We’re so prideful that we don’t even see that we’re not even seeing. We build magnificent safeguards in order to hold onto the semblance of control. If only we knew how free we could feel if we surrendered fully.

“Spiritually, no action is more important than surrender. Surrender is the tenderest impulse of the heart, acting out of love to give whatever the beloved wants. Surrender is being alert to exactly what is happening now, not imposing expectations from the past. Surrender is faith that the power of love can accomplish anything, even when you cannot foresee the outcome of a situation.” –Deepak Chopra

Surrender is probably the concept I struggle with the most. I want others to be vulnerable with me, but even the act of saying that I want others to be a different way means that I want to hold onto the control. At times,  I want to pray for things to happen–for an exact answer to my questions. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want someone to make his own decision or conclusion. I ask for patience and grace from others and yet I get impatient in doing the same. However, every time I let go and receive, I receive the exact thing I need at the time. The thing that will bring me the happiness for which I long. All I can do is show up, allowing others to also show up. And there is beauty in that. These micro-adjustments are so critical in our lives–allowing someone to tell us or allowing something to make us more aware of those things we struggle to release. These daily micro-adjustments that bring awareness to the places where we still hold on are critical. They bring us back to present, to what is inside of us that can be released–removing us from the impetus to seek external changes to internal problems.

May we listen before prescribing…for even as we ask, even as we pay for the massage therapist or the regular therapist, or even as we kneel down to pray, we waste our time and money when we don’t allow someone else to be the expert. May we have more space for receiving rather than holding so tightly to the things we think are best for us.

Tangled Jewelry & Intention Setting

Over Memorial Day weekend, I attended a wedding with my partner. I absolutely love to switch up the accessories I wear, so I had brought a lot of jewelry to the 5 day affair. However, when I pulled out the carrier of said pieces, all the jewelry I brought to choose from tangled together into one giant mass. What a mess…it ended up leading me to ask for help of my partner and many of his friends, one by one, to get them untangled. What a beautiful team effort by people I didn’t know well. I felt silly passing this big blob on to others to ask for help in untangling, but it was a beautiful puzzle that many people seemed to enjoy. The woman who finally did the untangling of all the pieces did so in under 10 minutes. She was a miracle worker, and yet, her success depended on the progress of others.

A standard part of yoga or meditation practice is intention setting. Deepak Chopra says that “everything that happens in the universe starts with intention,” and so should we. Intention is the seed we plant that will grow into change. Intention allows our mind to ever wander with thoughts but to have an anchor point. Mine, recently, has been the intention to give and receive love…to myself, from myself, and to others in my life. Strangely, I ended up getting stuck on forgiving myself rather than just going to a place of abundance. I got tangled up more in the process of untangling. And this happens to all of us, but what’s necessary is to turn back to our intention. To give ourselves the things we seek.

Earlier this week, I made a huge breakthrough in therapeutic treatment: I realized that I had always been referring to my trauma as one giant mass, as trauma with a capital T. It would be like referring to my big mass of jewelry as my “jewelry,” not pointing out that there were individual pieces in there that were tighter or looser in the giant mass. Not acknowledging individual progress. Once I was able to bring awareness to the many different strands of trauma in my life, several of them were able to just fall away easily. They had become so loose that I could just let them go. I, myself, could take them away from the mass I was untangling.

This gentle and seemingly minor point of awareness has let in many small areas for self love and rebuilding. Small cracks where there were once pieces of sadness, of despair, of the intense desire to be forgiven…only to realize that there was nothing I needed to be forgiven for. Those pieces of trauma, alone, just like memories of happiness, playfulness, laughter, sadness, anger, or any other time, all are beautiful just as they are. Together, with the capital T, they seem overwhelming and insurmountable, but handled separately, they are a reminder that all facets of life are there for a purpose. So often we grow impatient, trying to untangle the giant mass all at once, when, really, if we focus gently on finding the pieces that are free, the mass will untangle all on its own. One by one, piece by piece. And, letting go of the giant mass doesn’t mean you are neglecting it…for the mass we so tightly hold onto is made of all the individual strands of jewelry. Nothing added. Nothing subtracted. Just free. And there is comfort in that.

I will leave you with a magical piece of writing today by Monique M, from today’s post:

What if everything in our lives is perfect? What if all the events and circumstances that make up each of our lives are perfect, even the ones we think are mistakes? A perfect confluence of events to bring us to this point right here… this juncture at which we stand right here, right now as we’re reading this. Perfect. No matter what it looks like in the moment, whether we like it, or not; whether we hate it, or not; whether it’s humiliating, or not; whether it’s joyous, or not; whether we understand its importance, or not; whether we understand which puzzle piece it is yet, or how it fits into the bigger picture.

What if none of it is bad? A mistake? Or wrong?

Could life be peaceful if we can accept it all? In the moment? As it comes to us? As it unfolds? As it is happening? Even when the events or circumstances seem to only bring us disappointment, mayhem, anger, and upset?

What if, even through all our disappointment with life and ourselves, we really are perfect as we are? Not a perfection of all our exterior attributes, but a perfection that is our very greatness. Nothing needing to be added, or subtracted from us. Just as we are.

We are divine. Just as we are.

True perfection seems imperfect, yet it is perfectly itself. True fullness seems empty, yet it is fully present. True straightness seems crooked. True wisdom seems foolish. True art seems artless.

— Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching


A Therapeutic Journey

I’ve had a lot of experiences in my life–some good, many not so good. In fact, recently, my therapist asked me to write down all the things that had a traumatic effect on my life and the negative stories I have told myself about myself because of them. It was 3 full pages, beginning with my trauma in utero, to child abuse, medical traumas, witnessing suicide, experiencing traumatic deaths, abuse from my church, bullying, abandonment, cancer, divorce, sexual harassment at work, and much more. More than that, I have had some pretty repetitive stories I have told myself that shattered my self-esteem. I have experienced the gambit of traumatic experiences, and I am alive to talk about it. However, I had a lot of trouble working through all of it because I would feel overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what had gone on in my life. This often made me dizzy, and it definitely had me buzzing at a very anxious frequency. Because I am a medical nerd, I now have functional MRIs to show that it substantially changed the way my brain takes in information. In fact, scientists are now using machine learning to predict how different traumatic experiences will impact the areas of the brain. My parasympathetic nervous system has been underutilized for so long that calming down has been a struggle for me. My poor brain–it was only trying to protect me from some very real dangers. I was fed to the wolves more than once.

How did these things manifest? Well, I had a LOT of seizures and migraines, and I could barely hold my bladder, from as long ago as I can remember–which coincides directly with childhood traumas. I’m not interested in focusing on that, though. What I want to say is that my physical health was very much affected by my trauma-based responses. My seizures were even psychogenic in nature. I was rarely in a safe environment, and, therefore, I never actually was able to get my basic needs met as a child. That then didn’t allow me to accept love and belonging. That didn’t allow me to trust the way others were socialized to.

Since age 12, I have been seeing a therapist. First, therapists from LDS Family Services, then I was admitted at 15 to an inpatient facility for suicidal ideation and attempt. Upon discharge, I started seeing a psychiatrist and was heavily medicated. I was told I would have to “manage my hormonal imbalance” the rest of my life. I was a bit of a pill popper to numb the pain, so that sounded fine with me–at least my habit was regulated and paid for by insurance. On and off, I saw some cognitive behavioral therapists after that. And then I met Christie. I was a grad student at Portland State University, and I thought something was wrong with me because I had lost my libido. This opened up the world for me to understand the mind-body connection. At the time, I was married, but, because my husband was a pretty serious addict, I rarely trusted him, perpetuating the environment I had experienced as a child, and, therefore removing any chance of intimacy. Christie helped me navigate through a divorce, not my intimacy issues, for 16 sessions…and then the insurance ran out. That’s called “Solution-Focused Therapy,” and it doesn’t work for someone with prolonged trauma or a chronic mental illness.

After that time, Shelley came into my life. It took me 3 years to even feel comfortable enough with Shelley to even tell her I had been raped at 12 years old, let alone all the other things I had witnessed. But she helped me feel safe at the moment and managed my day to day trauma, which was helpful for me to understand that I could trust someone with my secrets. That I wouldn’t be judged or lied to. In the end, however, Shelley kept secrets from me and ended up very abruptly moving, without me being able to process it. I had been abandoned again. I think after that, though, I learned that I could have a therapist be a facilitator of me navigating through my trauma.

And then I met Sarah. Sarah has a very special place in my heart, as she taught me the neuroscience behind complex post traumatic stress disorder. She taught me to check in with my body. She taught a healthy partner of mine how to be a supportive partner, despite him having trouble relating to my experiences. She taught me how to have coping skills for the first time. Before Sarah, I didn’t go a week without intense suicidal ideation, without feeling like I was experiencing too much, feeling too much. Sarah taught me that it’s okay and even healthy to be angry, that suicidal ideation doesn’t mean I want to die but, rather, something has to die, and she taught me how to begin the journey out of codependency. I spent 4 years with Sarah, and it’s because of her I have become strong enough to create boundaries, to remove people from my life, to add people back in, to challenge my own perceptions…to GET ANGRY…to fall madly and deeply in love. She taught me what emotions were like and how to move through the spectrum of emotions. Not only did she stabilize my day to day interactions, but she encouraged me to dig in and face my faulty perceptions head-on. She helped me navigate a terrible break-up from the partner she worked with to support me, she helped me through the new traumas occurring, and she held my hand through the scary places I had to navigate. Then, I moved to San Francisco. In my last month of sessions with Sarah, she strongly encouraged me to find a therapist trained in a specific modality…not because Family Systems Therapy and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy weren’t working for me, but because I was finally ready to let go of those traumas and experience a new life.

On February 9, 2016, I met Linda, a renown therapist in San Francisco and an expert in the modality Sarah urged me to undergo. We worked intensely together from the start, but because I had such a complex case of PTSD, there were so many things that had to be set up prior to actually starting the practice of this modality. On May 24, 2016, nearly 3 months after establishing our relationship, I started a processing technique called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR). Linda is absolutely not Sarah–she’s a blunt New Yorker who shuts me down when I self-victimize. She balks at my cognitive distortions, and she exposes me to myself. To put it bluntly, she doesn’t take my shit. At first, and some days, I hate it…and her. But she’s an expert in EMDR, with over 25 years experience in a modality that only started about 35 years ago. And not only did Sarah recommend the modality, but there are an overwhelming amount of systematic reviews on the modality saying it’s the most effective for actually healing the brain from those pesky wiring problems that complex PTSD suffers from. EMDR is a way to re-wire and replace faulty wiring in our nervous system, and Linda is my electrician. I may not like the way she approaches me, but she’s the best electrician around–she gets the job done. I spend a grueling 4 hours a week with Linda, processing piece by piece the ugly parts of my life. I intensely focus on painful memories in order to fully grieve them. I cry ugly cries and fume with anger (though that is still painfully difficult for me). I am guided through intense feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, suicidal ideation, pain, sadness, fear, panic, numbness, and discomfort. And, what’s worse, when I get home from EMDR, I am completely beat–like I have run a marathon with no finish line in sight. And, at times, I have to go home and grieve all alone for hours or even days. Sometimes, I think, “What have I gotten myself into? Is this worth it?” And this process has pushed people away from me because I have struggled to predict the way my emotions come out sideways. These emotions hurt unsuspecting victims, they have burdened and terrified friends and lovers, they have caused me to doubt my strength and my readiness to let go of the painful parts of my past. But, one foot in front of the other, every session, every week, I am still slogging through. And in between, I am self-soothing and re-parenting myself and re-experiencing life. And, though tired, I feel absolutely authentic and vulnerable and…CONTENT.

Many people who see me now, after 6 weeks in reprocessing, have stated that I am different–that I’m glowing, that I seem happier and healthier. That it’s like I had this huge change overnight. And I thought so too–after 3 sessions, I felt more free and childlike than I ever have in my life. After 6 sessions, I felt safe enough to wander my neighborhood alone, to meet people, to go to movies and dinner and drinks alone or with new friends. After 8 sessions, I began asking for help, thanking people, and making amends. I have let go of wounds I thought were so deep that they’d never be healed. I’ve begun to stop questioning my worth and start living my life without wondering what others think about it. I’ve become sharper and more effective in the workplace and more vulnerable and authentic with friends and family. I’ve felt the pain of the past but also the present moment, and I have openly grieved. I feel renewed. Even Linda has observed a striking difference, and last week, after a particularly painful session, she stopped me simply to tell me that she is so amazed at my strength, at my bravery. It was, perhaps, the greatest compliment I have ever received.

But to those who have not walked through this full journey with me, which is the majority of individuals in my life, this transformation from larva to butterfly, from cocooned and restricted individual to the free bird I appear to be now, seems like it simply couldn’t be possible. Like it just can’t be real or lasting. I thought that too–that the other shoe would drop and I would be right back to anxiety attacks and feeling unsafe, to seizures and migraines and instability. I thought that too. But then my mother simply stated to me, “Blonde, you have been working on being at this point for 20 years. You have worked so hard at this! And now, you’re ready to let the past go! This isn’t something new–look at how far you’ve come. I’m so happy for you.” This most definitely replaced that last greatest compliment I have ever received. And she’s so right–I have wanted to be in the place where I can love myself fully, where I can be present, where I can love others, where I can accept help and also give it, where I can not feel broken, for so long…and I had subscribed to the belief that I would always be wounded. My favorite Third Eye Blind sing, Wounded, says, “Back down the bully to the back of the bus/’Cause it’s time for them to be scared of us/’Till you’re yelling, how we living cause you got the ball/Then you rock on baby, rock on, you rock on, on and on”. That’s the stage I’m in now-this bullied girl is bullied no more by those things I have shouldered for far too long. I thought I was trapped in this cocoon, only to realize that the cocoon was preparing me to fly.

By the end of the year, Linda wants to graduate me. She is helping me see that once we let go of the hold our past has on us, we don’t need to subscribe to the same triggers. The same line of thinking. Deepak Chopra says, “Instead of thinking outside of the box, get rid of the box.” I had a partner who once told me I was good at “seeing the angles”. The problem is that I never was able to see the angles that didn’t need to be there. I struggled with low self-esteem and always asked for reassurance. This was a difficult issue for us, as I just felt so lost in my footing as I started removing the layers of my cocoon. Now, while that footing isn’t always sure, I am sure of the new path. Chopra also states, “The best way to get rid of the pain is to feel the pain. And when you feel the pain and go beyond it, you’ll see there’s a very intense love that is wanting to awaken itself.” More than I could imagine, that intense love is breaking through, and, boy is it vibrant! I cannot wait to pour my love into work, my family, my friends and their children, myself, and into someone else with whom I can begin a therapeutic journey all our own-hand in hand, with cartwheels and laughter and quiet moments galore.

Thank you for being a part of my therapeutic journey. For allowing me to share in my vulnerability. For being a place where I can process, where I can evaluate all the angles. Where I can reinvent and show up every time authentically. I am excited to share the brilliance in my time as a new butterfly-my metamorphosis-knowing it will not always be easy, but it will be authentic. For those experiencing heartache and heartbreak: don’t give up–you’re nearly through.



PS. It’s ok to ask for help.