Journal
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“I’ve got you,” he said, lifting my injured shoulder onto the massage table, warm pressure settling me.
“I’ve got you.”
Three words, and my body remembers safety, fear dissolves, and I find permission to lean into the unknown.
“I’ve got you.”
I have two adult children, two young women, they are not mine, they belong to themselves, I helped raise them alongside their dad and an army of friends and family who all played a role, big or small, in shaping who they’re becoming.
My ego wants to say they are mine, they belong to me, because that gives me a whole lot of fucking purpose, becoming a mum at twenty four answered my soul’s cry, why are you here.
There’s a piece of writing I’ve always loved: people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.
A reason. It’s to meet a need. To hold out a hand when you’re stumbling, to share a resource, to offer the right word at the right time. Those moments change you, even if they’re brief.
I’m here to serve you, not save you.
How did I get the two mixed up for so many years? Because I’m human, and that’s what humans do sometimes.
It’s becoming a ritual—this little chat at the desk.
What starts as a stream of thought often turns into a teaching, a personal reflection that ends up shared in class. These are the moments when I allow wisdom to flow through me—when I become a hollow bone for whoever needs it. And somehow, there’s always someone who needed it. After class, someone will come up and say, “I felt like you were speaking directly to me.” Or: “That was exactly what I needed to hear. How did you know?”
Motherhood & Relationships
I have two adult children, two young women, they are not mine, they belong to themselves, I helped raise them alongside their dad and an army of friends and family who all played a role, big or small, in shaping who they’re becoming.
My ego wants to say they are mine, they belong to me, because that gives me a whole lot of fucking purpose, becoming a mum at twenty four answered my soul’s cry, why are you here.
Conection & Self Worth
I’m a creature of rhythm at home—early mornings, clean living, tea ceremony, same coffee shop, same mat. When I travel, I do the same, landing somewhere and building a little life, then mixing it with art, friends, nature, and night life. I travel slow, living as I do at home, just in a new place.
I’m here to serve you, not save you.
How did I get the two mixed up for so many years? Because I’m human, and that’s what humans do sometimes.
It’s becoming a ritual—this little chat at the desk.
What starts as a stream of thought often turns into a teaching, a personal reflection that ends up shared in class. These are the moments when I allow wisdom to flow through me—when I become a hollow bone for whoever needs it. And somehow, there’s always someone who needed it. After class, someone will come up and say, “I felt like you were speaking directly to me.” Or: “That was exactly what I needed to hear. How did you know?”
Travel
I’m a creature of rhythm at home—early mornings, clean living, tea ceremony, same coffee shop, same mat. When I travel, I do the same, landing somewhere and building a little life, then mixing it with art, friends, nature, and night life. I travel slow, living as I do at home, just in a new place.
I’m a creature of rhythm at home—early mornings, clean living, tea ceremony, same coffee shop, same mat. When I travel, I do the same, landing somewhere and building a little life, then mixing it with art, friends, nature, and night life. I travel slow, living as I do at home, just in a new place.