Over the weekend, I woke with thoughts about what it means to be brave every day. Like what am I really trying to say here? 

Ultimately, I think that it's really brave to create a life you want and sometimes it's even braver to understand and know that pieces of that vision will change and evolve as you change and evolve. 

You see, it's not easy to know thyself. It's even harder living in a world that is constantly bombarding you with images, messages, stories that are tell you who and what you're supposed to be. Some might even call it a luxury to be able to hear yourself think sometimes.

That's why it's important to spend some time on your own, to be moved by something inward and quiet, a brave resolve to dare to be a little more of who you are at the core. 

That's pretty esoteric for a Monday morning, I realize... so what does that even mean? 

It means that if you're not sure why you make the choices you make, or why you desire the things you do that...

This morning I resisted the mindfulness practice I'd committed to this week. I have a few choices for those 10 minutes, different ways to slow down, get present, and release some stress and anxiety. I wake up anxious most days, before my eyes are even open, so it's pretty helpful to get up and start the doing of the day instead of wallowing and getting sucked down into a pit of anxiety oblivion topped with a shame spiral.

So I did well at the getting up part, took the dogs out and tidied up the kitchen. Enough doing had gone by that it was time for the mindfulness choice, and I didn't want to do any of it. So I got my coffee and now I'm sitting here with you and my laptop and I'm considering the senses.

In writing, we talk about using sensory details to bring our readers into the moment. It's a good idea to describe what a character or narrator is seeing, feeling, hearing, tasting, and smelling... not all at once, but enough to bring the reader into the moment.

A mindfulness...

A few years ago I did a short stint of channeling messages through writing for a handful of clients. The work was easeful, the messages profound for their readers, and I felt good about it, but didn't quite know what to do with it.

It lay on the back burner, simmering and ready whenever I was, to tap in again. As business got busier and I focused on my book, I'd think about what channeled writing is and could do for me, for my clients, for the collective. It doesn't feel like "me" the me that is sitting here intentionally writing about this subject and talking to you.

It's definitely words and phrases and images coming through me. From where? Who really knows, but I believe in a divine presence that hovers in the space between spirit and science. I understand us all to be interconnected, energetic beings of light that are here on Earth to create, to experience a full range of emotions and experiences, and to be present in the learning from all of it. 

A few people have been...

This morning I had a profound realization as I drove to get coffee listening to some 425 Hertz healing music to soothe the after affects of last night's migraine aura. That is: when I have the space to breathe, I have a clear understanding that I'm exactly where I am supposed to be. Every time. 

When it comes to my book, I've been wanting it all to move so much faster. I've been wishing I had more time, more energy, more clarity to get it to the finish line so the long awaited publishing process could truly begin. I've been resistant to believing that I now had to wait until 2025 and even then, not sure how far into the year yet would be best. 

But then the words of someone on my publishing team echoed back to me: "You can do it fast or you can do it right."

I want to do this right. I want to make sure that the book I'm putting out in the world is the best version it could be. I want to make sure that I give it the time it needs so that it can be more successful...

What does it mean to have a diagnosis? When it comes to mental health diagnoses it can be different for everyone. Some resist the trek towards diagnosis because it can put us in a box. A label can become limiting -- for our own psyche, for the care team that helps us, for our family and friends. It can limit what we and others think we are capable of, and who wants that?

Not me.

However, when I was finally officially diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in my 30s, suddenly so many pieces of my life, my decisions, and my way of moving through the world made so much more sense. Furthermore, it allowed me to get more targeted and supportive therapy to overcome some of the biggest hurdles I'd been facing. 

The label, however, does not define me. I don't believe in its limitations. Everything in this life is on a continuum that we are constantly weaving up and through. A diagnosis can be "both/and" it can be the box we sometimes fit into and it can be the light at the end of...

I just got back from a family vacation on Lake Michigan, and I'm feeling pretty good having had four days of little to no work, abundant family time, and the soothing effects of water. 

I posted a few pics on social media of a beautiful sunset over the water and a plea to get into nature with a little video of the waves crashing the shore. But I want to be real, too. It took work to get there. Not just this time, but nearly every time.

There's the anxiety that exists before the trip, some normal level extra stressors of making sure the laundry is done and our pet-sitters have what they need. There is also the catastrophic thoughts and panic that can sometimes occur, which thankfully I've learned to manage by redirecting my thoughts and looking at the clear evidence before me.

But as everyone loaded into the car, I began to sob. I had taken a little pill to relax me for the drive -- I tend to be a more anxious passenger than driver, so I knew this would be a good idea. I was...

It calls to me, the waves of Lake Michigan

Inward and outward like the breath

Reminding me that there is spaciousness,

There is tender-heartedness and danger wrapped in one.

And that's okay, because we can hold the fear and love--together

Wrapped into the cyclical nature of all things,

Light and dark.

Breathe with me

Once and again, once and again.

Undulation and rebirth, ever more. 

I continued Cognitive Behaviorial Therapy work with Dr. T for a number of years. One day, as we mulled over the latest panic episode I’d had at school, which included a full tachycardia episode in which I needed to put my face on ice in order to bring my heart back to a normal rhythm, he asked me:

“How do you know you can handle panic feelings?”

“Because I do all the time,” I scoffed. Thinking I was just being a smartass. But this wise man sat quietly in front of me for a moment longer so that what I had just said echoed in my mind.

“Huh,” I nodded. “That’s it, isn’t it? I know I can handle feelings of panic, because I survive them ALL the time!”

He smiled, that twinkle in his eye beaming with pride.

“Huh.” I breathed again while he turned back to his desk, pen in hand, and scribbled the words I’d said on the bottom of his legal pad. He tore it off and handed it to me. I read it aloud,...

Blogs are time sensitive and my website and all its pages were down for two whole days. I didn't know it until after I had written and tried to publish my post for July 10th, ironically about showing up as we are.

Technology, some glitch in the matrix that changed the namerservers, the DNS record, things I don't really understand but make this whole darn web run caused the issue. It took multiple attempts to solve it, helpdesk, chat support bots, watching and waiting for the DNS servers to update. When I woke this morning it was back up, as if nothing had shifted.

But I had shifted. When I wrote Wednesday morning I was feeling pretty raw and rough. So when the site went down and I knew I wouldn't have the time to troubleshoot it until hours later after client sessions I had to surrender. Nothing I could do but wait.

That would be the lesson, with each support email and log in and rebooting and refreshing, I had to just wait. So instead of worrying and fretting about it...

I started to look for old writing that I could pull from for today. Waking up with a headache and a heaviness in my being, I wasn't sure I could write a blog post today.

But as the minutes past and my search came up empty, I realized that I could write about this. This moment in time where it hurts to smile because all I want to do is cry. When my hormones are surging in the days before my period so much so that everything inside and out is tender.

These are the days when I congratulate myself for taking a shower. For switching the music to something more soothing, a subtle lift in vibration rather than trying to fake the dance party. These are the moments when wisdom waits for time, when slowing is demanded, even though I have a full day of serving others in their various states of being and expansion.

We do this because it's love. It's love to breathe in deep, to acknowledge the sadness we can not name. It's love to show up as we are, here with words, out there with...