Manifestations, Miscarriages and Mindsets… Oh my πŸ™ŒπŸΌ

I had a miscarriage on my 37th birthday.

Now let me back track a second here.

I semi sorta read things about how to be an effective writer or marketer or whatever.

A lot of stuff I read says to open up a piece of work with a jaw dropping line or something to that effect.

I tend to not really listen to things that tell me what to do (shocker) and mostly travel through life with my heart at the helm with a certain knowing that my soul work will touch whom it needs to.

For whatever reason I decided to try to open this piece with flare.

Did it work?

It was either between that line or starting this piece saying I flushed my baby down the toilet on Sunday.

But I didn’t know if that would be too over the top.

So I didn’t.

But yeah.

It’s the truth.

I woke up on my 37th birthday thinking I had started my period.

Which was ironic because just that previous night Bearded Things asked me if he thought there was a chance I could be pregnant.

Was there?


Was I in denial?

Also yes.

I decided that I couldn’t really remember the last time I had a period, which were never really normal anyway, because welp: nothing about me is. πŸ™ƒ

I could feel my stomach flip in anticipation at the thought of being pregnant which I reigned back in because I didn’t want to get excited.


So I calmly noted in my head that I would pee on a stick on 1/11/19 just because I like matching numbers and things.

So when I woke up to another ruined pair of Victoria secret underoos on Sunday morning I told Bearded Things: SEE!

I told you. I wasn’t pregnant.

Or so I thought.

My cramps were being a little extra and overly dramatic compared to normal but I didn’t think much of it.

Until they became excruciating and I went to go potty and something rather large and unpleasant fell out of me.

I think I stopped breathing and simultaneously started crying because I immediately deep in my heart knew what was happening.

I ran upstairs and barely could blurt out the fact that I thought something bad was happening to my body when my husband jumped up, grabbed me and hugged me.

“What’s wrong baby???”

I told him go down and look.

I could google till I was blue in the face but nothing could really prepare me for what was about to happen to my mind, body and soul over the next few days.

I’ll spare you the worst of the gory details but it got much worse before it let up.

I’ll never forget going potty and having another big piece of whatever was growing inside me fall out and splash everywhere causing me to just start bawling.

It’s humbling when your sitting on a blood filled toilet in nothing but granny underoos and your husband is on his knees in front of you hugging you and trying to console you.

It wasn’t really how I planned on spending my day.

I could tell old patterns and ways of dealing with grief were coming up in me because I just wanted to power through all of it.

I didn’t want to cancel teaching class Monday morning or find someone to cover my long shift at the front desk.

I just wanted to be normal as fast as I possibly could.

I wanted to keep moving because I knew if I stopped the magnitude of what was actually happening would catch up to me.

I ended up trying to go to the gym.

How fucking funny is that.

(That wasn’t a real question.)

Guess what happens when your upright and your body is packed full of stuff that it wants to expel and your body is going through massive contractions to get the job done?…

It’s not pretty.

I was stuck on the toilet in the gym bathroom for an hour all together by the time it was said and done.

I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to be able to get home and it was making me panicky.

I was tired and sore as all get out and could literally feel blood gushing out of me as I was driving.

I had to process learning and accepting the fact that I was pregnant and losing a baby and all the heavy that comes with that all in one foul swoop and the it was getting the best of me.

And I hated it.

Maybe I’m not so stellar at being vulnerable?

I got in the shower at home and stood under the hot water and it felt so calming for the moment.

Until another big, hard clump fell out of me onto the shower floor.

And it about sent me over the edge.

I googled periodically during the day what happens to a woman when they miscarry.

But they left out the parts about how scared you are when you have pieces of you fall out and you’re not sure if you are going to see the formation of a fetus or what.

I really thought I was going to be safe because I didn’t know I was pregnant so I didn’t think I was going to be attached.

I’d be able to bounce right up from this.

Boy was I ever so wrong.

ENTER: The What Ifs 😞

Our brains are funny little booger’s.

When you are down and out and going through trauma that dirty little devil likes to open up all doorways to deep dark holes that are so seductive to want to go down into.


I’m tired.

I’m waiving the flag for the moment.

I have powered through the last couple days keeping my schedule and acting like it was all going to just pass by.

I’m good at trauma.

I’m particularly good at dead people.

Or so I thought.

I USED to be good because I was using food, prescription drugs and booze to numb all the things I was supposed to feel, but didn’t allow myself.

So guess whose feeling all the feels now?


This girl right here.

I’m thankful for my evolution and growth this past few years and for my broader understanding of how our brains work.

I preach incessantly to anyone who will listen and to my clients that we are NOT that voice in our head with its nonsensical, self defeating, degrading, bullshit chatter.

If this isn’t the biggest test of my resolve to believe that and understand it on a whole new level, I don’t know what is.

I’ll find myself daydreaming as I’m driving to town envisioning me and Bearded Things with him carry the baby in the car seat loading up in the camo burb to take a cruise to go look at his moo cows with happiness GLARING off of us brighter than the sun.

It makes me sad.

It aches to be more precise.

And then I get really fucking pissed and think why the fuck do we even have to go there brain?

Why even show me these scenes?

It’s not helpful.

So I shut them down.

I find myself wandering down the dark alley of questioning whether I killed this baby because I never once slowed down on my workouts.

I drank my fair share of Scratch-lattes over the past few weeks.

And if I was far enough along I smoked about an entire pack of cigarettes the day I put Snibby to sleep.

Shame…. Guilt.


ALLLLLLLLLL the goblins have started showing up for the party.

It’s been exhausting these past few days wrestling with these mongrels.

It’s been exhausting acting like I’m doing better than I am.

I’m tired of walking around with this giant fucking pillow period pad in my crotch.

I’m tired of seeing blood.

I’m tired of feeling tired.

And the craziest thing… I’m hungry as FUCK.

My body is going through a massive over haul right now.

I get it.

But life has to keep going on. Right?

I’ve done some reflecting and they say hindsight is always 20/20.

That couldn’t be truer.

I distinctly remember Bearded Things coming home one day and I had just gotten out of the shower and was naked.

Cause I like naked. I wasn’t made for clothes and restrictions. ✌🏽

And he’s a magnet to it and very observant of every inch of my being.

He was adamant that my boobs were ginormous and I remember thinking they felt different. I looked at them and could actually see blue veins in them they were so big.

Had I been pregnant since then?

I just ignored it.

I knew my pants were getting tighter over the past few weeks and I just assumed it was my new found YOLO (πŸ™ŒπŸΌβœŒπŸ½β˜€οΈ) way of being about gnoshing on entire cans of cheese dip paired with brownie mix every night that contributed to it.

I like to push the envelope between having all the cheese dip, beer and brownie mix and proving we can still have sexy abs.

Fuck it.

Truth be told, I like to push all envelopes.

I took this picture at the gym in the midst of the chaos.

I added the commentary on the photo for this blog post.

I distinctly remember half assed thinking I should probs start tracking my food better so I could actually look the part of where I help other women lose inches and get comfortable in their skin.

I thought people may start to judge me now.

Would they question my effectiveness if I couldn’t even do it myself?

How fucking ridiculous and terrible and judgmental all in one foul swoop is that?…

Was I really in denial?

I have spent every moment of my life since I was a little girl from when my sister got pregnant at a young age devoutly vowing to myself that I would never bring a child into this world until I could give it more than what my dead mom ever gave me.

I watched my sister struggle with her dead beat baby daddy and I had STRONG resolutions for myself and my future babies.

I knew I would rather die than have a child with Mr. Good.

I was VERY staunch about that.

I knew I would barely be able to survive that relationship on my own let alone adding an innocent baby to the mix.

And I KNEW I didn’t want to be one of those women who thought bringing a baby into the picture would solve things….

I regret none of those vows.

But did I attach myself so staunchly to them that I somehow manifested this outcome?

Has my psyche and soul and every cell in my body heard me be adamant about no baby for so long I caused this to happen?

More fear, self doubt….. BLAME. Guilt.

It’s heavy.

The questioning and wondering and what if’s are often unbearable.

I had to write about this to get this out of my body.

It’s therapeutic and healing for me (and oodles of others).

I’m one of those women who think they have to bear everything on their shoulders and have a hard time asking for help.

Which is odd because I LOVE helping and taking care of others.

Why is it so hard for us to ask for what we really need?

Lack of self worth???


I worked with my energy healer this morning and finally decided that the best act of self care I could do for the moment was wipe my to do list clean this afternoon.

I had to reschedule meeting with a friend and it was painstaking to ask for a reprieve.

Why Though?

I know this is a major PHD style life test and lesson.

I know in my soul this didn’t happen to me (And Bearded Things) it happened FOR me and him.

My current goals are to honor and be gracious of my beautiful body for all that it is doing for me right now.

What’s sad?

The bump is going away and now I feel eerily empty.

And alone.

This baby was definitely not meant to be at this time.

I can respect that.

I will continue to be an observer of the negative thoughts that might spiral out of control in my brain from time to time but I will NOT accept their sexy invite to go into the darkness with them.

I will allow myself to process grief and release release any lingering shame and guilt.

I actually, for real, at one point thought to myself… well at least I know I wasn’t just fat.

And then I wanted to get back to my fit sexy stomached body and move on.


I remember being pissed about how every woman on my side of the family had children before they were 19 or 20 with a niece having one at 14 with no fucking problems.

And here I am 37.

I waited until I was safe and secure in a relationship with a solid foundation of love and respect and honor and this is what I get?

It was a big ass Pity party with no kegs stands here for me.

Who does that? Who thinks shit like that?


Am I ashamed?

At least I’m honest.

Shame breeds in secrecy.

(Read that again, a million times)

What we can’t face, owns us.

My hope is that anyone reading this that has ever felt guilt and shame over something that they have done or experienced or even thought, that they somehow find a way to release it from themselves.

My fellow energy workers and believers out there know shame is on the very bottom, lowest vibe feels we can be at.

It’s closest to death and bare survival.

That’s just not how we were meant to live. I know this.

As for me now?

If you’re asking if there is going to be another baby right away my answer to you would be fuck this and fuck that.

I mean that in the most loving way possible.

But I’m sitting here un-showered with a giant pad in my crotch full of blood with barely enough energy to brush my teeth today.

I know I need to work on releasing the vow I set in stone from when I was a little girl about having kids.

I do believe my mindset attributed to this.

I actually KNOW it did.

I need to rewrite that programming to invite in healthy pregnancies into my being.

I also know I have a choice here:

To grow from this or let it sink me and make me bitter and afraid.

Afraid for future miscarriages.

Afraid of being a disappointment to my husband.

It won’t be right at this precise moment but I have already decided fear has run the majority of my life up to these past few years and I won’t let it start again.

So, self care.

Honoring myself AND me needs despite my fear of who it may upset or inconvenience at the moment.

I have to learn that putting myself first isn’t a crime.

(And you need to learn this too!)

Trying to process through grief as gracefully as I can.

Leaning into my relationship with my husband because there is one thing I know above all else:

And that is there is NO ONE I would rather do life with than him.

Nothing for us has been easy up to this point.

Why would I expect this to be different.

I always loved rainbows anyway. 🌈

All my love.

Every ounce of it.


A. Kolar

What Frosty the Snowman taught me about belonging….

Well, well loves.

We meet again.

I’ve got a doozy of words sitting in my heart so I hope you’ve got some vino or your favorite Scratchtown brew by your side for this one.

I’ll be frank.

2018 has kicked my ass.

Starting right around Christmas last year I lost my job of 18 years, moved 3 hours away from both dads and what I’ve known my whole life, got engaged, got married, became a bonus mom and really put myself out there in terms of fully living my passion and soul work of helping women with their bodies, food, self love, and confidence.

I was married once before and let me tell you that one left a real bitter taste in my mouth so the fact that I embarked on this journey again left me with allllllll the crazy feels up in here 😜

I knew I was out of alignment a while ago and as part of my self care, dad, Bearded things and the committee in my brain decided that for my well-being it would be best to travel back east and regroup at least once a month.

So I did this last month with the intent to go to a cookie party I was invited to that was going to be out of my comfort zone because I didn’t know anyone.

I got to dads though…. and slept.

And slept and slept and slept.

Empaths and highly functioning introverts NEED recharge time.

I was clearly overdue.

I woke up about the time a childhood classic Frosty the Snowman came on.

I haven’t fully watched this show in years.

Decades maybe.

But zoning out on dads couch watching Frosty with him while he engaged in some IPAs while I enjoyed simply being was everything for me in that moment.

I don’t know if I have lived in the trunk of a car my whole life and all the previous years watching this program or what, but that night watching Frosty with dad… something struck a chord big time with me.

Maybe it’s because the story line resonated so loudly with me and the juncture where I am currently in my life.

I never felt more validated in those scenes watching that movie.

Have you ever really thought about the magnitude of it???

Think about it.

Something beautiful and amazing and unique is born and instead of being celebrated it was told right out of the gates by its parents to hide its uniqueness.

It was conditioned into Rudy to hide what makes him, HIM…. and assimilate to be like the others.

And the others?

They are a bunch of judgmental pricks to TBH.

Which according to the cool kids TBH means “to be honest” in case you weren’t up to speed with that.

Mmmmkay 😌

So finally when the brilliance of who Rudolph really is comes out (because if we don’t drug and numb ourselves, it will πŸ™ŒπŸΌ) he was shunned by his peers.

Shunned by the group that he was told to try to hide himself and fit in with.

He was told to fit into a group that made fun of him and shamed who he was at his core.

It made me uncomfortable for a minute about him being ostracized. Which meant it triggered something in my little psyche.

My empathic heart ached a little bit inside.

But not just for Rudolph the cartoon but for all of us (yes me included) Rudolph’s in the real world.

My brain was exploding. 🀯🀯🀯

It was crazy that I was reacting so strongly to this time of watching this same show for the millionth time???

You know how the story goes.

When he finally decided to run away he found other misfits which was great.

There were only a few of them. They were far out numbered and they stuck together for a little while until Rudolph let a conditioned belief of him causing his fellow misfits to be unsafe and he snuck away in the night.

He believed that his parents didn’t want him because how the father told him to cover up his nose (uniqueness).

And this hit hard for me.

It’s like I was watching a little version of my life played out in front of me so I could see it from a different perspective.

I get it.

I’ve been an outlier and an outsider my ENTIRE LIFE.

I’ve never fully felt like I fit in anywhere.

And up until these past few (liberating) years I felt like there was something wrong with me.

I didn’t have a group in high school because I couldn’t stand the fucking nonsense of the cheerleaders all acting like they are all best friends and getting year book pics together all cutesy and having sleep overs.

But the minute a small number of them weren’t around they were trashed and shit talked about.

This happened in all the groups basically.

I couldn’t wrap my head around the dynamic.

I felt a constant push/pull.

It was exhausting.

The little girl in me who so desperately wanted to belong SOMEWHERE, because I certainly didn’t belong at home, wanted a tribe.

But then the deeply intuitive, empathic, soul that I am who literally YEARNS for authentic connection…. kept me at arms distance from getting sucked into the abyss of any group like that.

High school was just the beginning.

Work groups…. ugggg.

Kissing ass to the boss to gain upper hands and willingly selling themselves to the devil…

I couldn’t.

It was like I picked and chose whose energy I could feel safe around, which was very few, and I felt like something was so very wrong with me.

Why couldn’t I enjoy being around everyone?

It was such a mind fuck all those years thinking and feeling that I didn’t belong.

Something must be broken with me was the story line I bought about myself.

It got worse when it came to family and boundaries.

And then, have you ever been someone’s second marriage?

Let me tell you what a treat that is.

Coming into a family as the newbie when the first wife had her hooks still in cohoots with the other sister in laws coupled with my already low self esteem and confidence was a doozy.

I was constantly feeling ostracized and that young, newly married version of me wanted to belong SO BADLY… that I couldn’t tell you the hurt I felt.

I couldn’t tell you the shame I felt for not being able to fit in.

Comparison game?

Oh you bet you. I wondered what #1 had that I didn’t possess.

It was a recipe for a deep dark dive down a rabbit hole no one wants to go in.

I never once back then stopped to think about who I was trying to fit in with, with those members of that family.

They were characters that I’d never even give second thoughts to now.

But oh did I want to belong.

I have felt Rudolphed (I just made that word up πŸ€—) more times in my life than not.

After so many instances in my life of wondering what was wrong with me why I couldn’t fit in where it seemed so seamless for others to… I started to change who I was.

I started acting more like those who I wanted to fit in with.

And you know how yucky that felt?

To live a lie?

To be inauthentic to who I truly was?

I didn’t just hide a bright red nose…. I hid a lot more of me than that.

And it hurt.

It was because the pressure of constantly being an outsider had gotten so great for me.

It was because I hadn’t had rock bottom and learned how to build myself up from the inside out yet that caused me to wobble on who I was.

I’m a firm, FIRM believer that life gives us tests.

It tests us on the same subjects to see if we have grown and learned the things we need to learn to get to the next level of where we are going.

Have you ever felt like you’ve fallen for the same guy over and over…

Yup. Life tests πŸ™ŒπŸΌ

This year has tested me.

It’s almost laughable how the same situations have presented themselves once again.

The characters are different but the plot is the EXACT SAME.


You know what’s different this time around?


And you know what’s going to be different this time around?

I won’t spend an ounce of my time and energy wondering if there is something wrong with me for not fitting in or being accepted.

I give all my thanks to Rudolph 😜

Not in a dick head, hardened heart kind of way though.

In a manner that assesses the situation for what it is…..

Someone else’s inability to see our worth does NOT diminish ours.

Unless we let it.

Although this real life Rudolph stuff isn’t pleasant and I wish 2018 would quit with the hard knock lessons….

I do feel transformed.

I do feel more humbly confident in the fact that sometimes, this ride does get lonely.

But I’m good enough friends with myself now that I’d rather spend time alone than with poor company or poor energy.

This is a lot for me to say given where I have come from.

We don’t have to settle.

None of us do.

But how many of us get caught up in the monotony of these dynamics.

We are afraid to rock the boat.

We are afraid to respect ourselves and our energy enough to steer clear of people and things, regardless if they are work or family groups, that do not positively serve us.

Just to belong.

You know how the show ends.

Rudolph ends up saving the day.

His uniqueness saved the entire thing.

I really want to impress that upon all of us.

He had soooo many opportunities to harden himself and disassociate from and disown himself for his differences.

Like many of us do in real life!

When shit gets hard or lonely…. or the pressure to fit in or feel like we belong gets to be too much we can also be tempted to hide or disown parts of ourselves.

And essentially lose the essence of who we are.

If anything this has stirred up in me is that we need to hold on….. and just when we think it’s about to be too much to break…

We will have a break through.

I believe every single one of us is here for a special and important reason.

We were made just how we were for a specific purpose.

We are complete and whole and imperfectly, perfect, as is.

Even if most days that feels more like a curse.

Just like Rudolph.

He had to go through some shit to find out what his purpose was.

Call me childish or naive, but I believe that is how we can all be.

So my sweet outliers…. my friends who have this deep feeling of not belonging…

Know that you very much DO belong.

By not assimilating you end up belonging to YOU (and God πŸ™ŒπŸΌ) and that my friend is what matters most.

It’s not always easy…. but so very worth it.

Big love here.


A. Kolar

Dead moms and jealousy…

I thought I’d fire this bad boy up here as it’s been a while.

My Facebook group has basically turned into my blog because I know I need to revamp this space but that doesn’t sound fun to me.

I’m a huge fan of not doing things that suck 😜

Peep my Facebook group here:

I know in my head what I want this to look like and be, it’s just that I literally have less than zero clue how to run WordPress.

At any rate, here I am.

I love writing.

Which is crazy because I hated it all through school.

Or maybe it was just school I hated in general πŸ€”πŸ˜

Writing is incredibly therapeutic for me and one of the biggest acts of self care and tools for growth and reflection I have at my finger tips.

I could tell a big jam sesh was coming because a spark of inspo will enter my brain seemingly out of nowhere.

I do have an inkling it’s from none other than the divine though. ✌🏽

The seed was planted at my girlfriends moms funeral earlier this week and was solidified when I came across this picture in my time hop history.

This is a get to know the deep side of me piece. So fasten up.

This is my mother law and snibby when she was sick after being on life support for the SECOND time in mere months.

I say IS my mother in law because if I had my way her ass would still be in her earthly body loving on me like she had.

(Warning extreme frankness ahead)

I’ll try to put this to you softly so that I don’t spook any of you but I fucking hated my real mom.

Like loathed to the Nth degree.

I couldn’t stand her demeanor, her behavior, how she pitted us kids against each other by talking shit, how she forsaked EACH of her kids one by one for my stepdad.

I hated her for the dreamy mother daughter bond I so yearned for but never had because she was incapable of loving her kids.

She was so busy chasing the love for herself that she never really got growing up from her father since he was trucking all the time.

(That last tidbit was care of her mother when she was on her death bed and decided to unload copious amounts of funk and info about dead mom to me).

Dead mom (who wasn’t dead then) and I were on a destructive path of hatred turning to physical abuse until she FINALLY let me go live with my dad.

She taught me that while she didn’t want me, she didn’t want anyone else to have me either.

Which then I went off and married a guy that shared that same sentiment.

She never let me see my dad growing up because she’s one of those shitty ass moms who play games with their children in custody bullshit.


I will go to the end of the earth defending why the mother ISNT always the best choice for children to be raised with.

I’m a product of that.

While I was at my girlfriends moms funeral earlier this week the priest said something that has stuck with me.

He had a beautiful presentation about my friends mom but he said something to the tune that when a mother of the family dies the foundation has been crushed and basically everyone suffers and nothing is the same.

And I sat there like numb.

For the life of me I could not comprehend those words. 🀯

When dead mom died I could breath.

I felt like a big ass set of prison walls around me and my heart had crumbled and I felt alive and free.

I couldn’t help but think, why didn’t I get to feel like how the priest was describing at that funeral, when my own dead mom died?

The way he said it was like a passage of some sort. Something everyone gets to experience…

Even days before dead mom unexpectedly bled to the death on the floor of her house, she was STILL up to her same bullshit.

I began distancing myself from her because even in her state she was still as toxic as ever.

You’d think getting a death sentence and being told you weren’t going to see your next birthday (she had metastatic lung cancer) would maybe change a person a little…


True to herself all the way to the end.

So I hated her even when she died.

Until I realized that the hatred was only poisoning ME and not doing anything to her.

I wasn’t trying to feel sorry for myself at that funeral about how my friend probably DOES feel like a piece of her is gone with her mother’s passing.

But I had to wonder what God was thinking when he scripted this life for me that I would be void of motherly love.

I know it’s a situation that didn’t happen TO me, but it happened FOR me.

I can’t wait to connect the pieces one day to figure out the “why” of this.

What dead mom did teach me from a young age was that I could NOT trust females.

Anyone else have that programming?

Maybe not from your mom but in general?

Can I get a hell ya?

If I couldn’t trust the one women in my life that I should have even able to… no one else was getting trusted either.

And let me tell you. Once I established that belief system life gave me plenty of evidence in other snaky women why that was true.

On the flip side of this, during my first marriage when I hadn’t talked to my own real dead mom for 3 years, my mother in law swooped in a took me under her wing and treated me like I was her own child.

Aside from my grandma she was the only maternal support and affection I had.

But that was short lived because she died.

Wayyyyyy to sudden and way before her time.

And that one stung.

She made me bad at dead people.

My coping skills were zilch.

So I did the best thing I could to survive and numb the pain.

I started taking my Mr. Goods ambien. 🀭

On accident.

Which then turned into a very methodical on purpose every single night until I finally went and got my own script from a dr. That (lucky me) was known for burning holes in his prescription tablet.

I liked to believe we had a pretty symbiotic relationship. He wrote scripts and I shoved pills in my face.

Life was dandy.

Or not.

Probably not a good sign when someone takes ambien at 630pm at night to avoid life.

Just saying.

Thankfully after gaining oodles of weight because one of the side effects is literally eating everything under the sun, I knew I had to cut the shit out.

I felt gross and was completely convoluted about the state of affairs of my own life.

Ive always been pretty adventurous and really nonjudgmental.

But when I realized that I was using prescription drugs as an escape rather than to do get better…

I had to change.

So I went cold turkey.

And never looked back. There’s plenty of things I’d almost be tempted to go back and do, but ambien is not one of them.

It’s too easy and seductive to avoid and not deal with real life.

I get overwhelmed and sometimes numbing was the only way to get relief.

Silent prayer for all those out there that do have secret behaviors no one knows about to cope.

My heart holds nonjudgmental space for you.

So. No more numbing for me.

Yippee skippy.

The lesson I learned after mother in law died though, was that the second you lean in and trust and love someone, the rug will get yanked out from under you.

I realize looking back how I had some pretty toxic belief systems about women and jealousy/ bitterness that I needed to heal.

I can’t allow myself to be jealous of other women when they have these big mothers day spreads on social media about how their moms are their rocks and mentors and have been there for them etc.

And I can’t feel sorry for myself like when the other day my friend who owns a jewelry store wanted to get her future daughter in law a spa day to “welcome her to the family”.

While I was granted with 1 mother in law that was special like that, I am afraid 2 is just not in my cards.

Do you know how hard it is sometimes to look out and see other people having things that you want?

Especially when this trips the trigger of that little girl still living inside me that had to grow up with massive lack of self esteem or confidence because she was unsure why her own mother didn’t love her?

Maybe there are some crucial lessons here though?

Like how to be happy for others without turning into a victim and feeling sorry for myself?

Or how I have had to learn to build up my own sense of self, and self worth and confidence?

And how I learned the hard way at a young age if we attach any of those things to anything external of us it’s playing a dangerous game and giving up our power?

I know the latter will help me in coaching all the beautiful women I will work with in my lifetime to learn how to be sovereign and build themselves up from the inside out. 🀘🏾🀘🏾🀘🏾

Maybe that’s the big nugget.

It will always bring me solace to be able to use my pain for growth of myself and those around me.

Like I said earlier I can’t wait till all the pieces come together and it makes more sense why things had to be the way they did.

I know we’ve all been dealt a different set of cards.

Some of you may relate to this and others may not.

My love for us is all the same.

We have to do the best we can with what we have.

Some days are just better than others.

But there is always a silver lining and ALWAYS, always a lesson.

If we could just train ourselves to look for the golden nugget.

Big love here.


A follow up to being judged and triggered…

I’m pretty sure it’s a Newton’s law about how an object at rests, stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion.

I am also pretty sure I am too lazy to look that up, so we will just go with it. πŸ™ƒ

I hadn’t written for a lonnnnnnnng ass time. In this sanctuary of the interweb at least.

I write profusely on my fitness blog in my Facebook group My No Bullshit Fit life. Go peep that baby out. I’m pretty proud how my heart is displayed on those pages.

I put off writing sometimes on here because it takes a lot of time because I put a a shit ton of energy into reflecting on what I wish to say and how I keep my heart open for words to flow from it.

It takes me longer than the average bear to simply sign a card because I legit take the time to pour feeling into it.

Something triggered me pretty fiercely and radically the other day that caused me to dust this baby off, set the pen down on it and have a bad ass jam sesh with words.

And just like that the object was set in motion so here I am, again. πŸ€—

I have had time to digest the situation that went down the other day when the shallow minded, “church going” peeps decided to side swipe me, judge my being and demeanor and continue to stand on my throat until I seemingly crawled back into their shitty ass box apparently everyone needs to live in according to them.

You can take a peep at that other blog to bring you to speed on the deets but the cliff notes were something along the lines that me and my business was going to fail because of who and what I am.

It doesn’t feel good to be judged.


But what feels worse is knowing that I have fought my entire life to feel confident and comfortable in my skin regardless if it looks NOTHING like anyone else, and being told that’s going to be my demise.

And then worse yet, is having a few bible thumping peeps judge and say that basically everything I fight for for me, and for those around me needs to be burned at the stake and we all need to assimilate.

Like sheeple.

I will not lie to you.

Never have and won’t start now.

I reacted.

STRONGLY to this incident.

I’m talking “fuck this place and all these people, I don’t belong here, let’s do the long distance marriage thing because I want to flutter in an environment where people can walk around free to be outrageously themselves, with purple hair, dread locks, no bras, bare feet and fuck words out the ass…. and simply be accepted” type of reaction.


My knee jerk was to close up shop and wall up again.

But after a bit of time and a (massive) amount of cooling off, I was able to view the situation in a much brighter light.

This was a lesson and a gift.

I’d rather have puppies and diamonds, but hey life lessons, if used properly, are much more valuable. πŸ™ƒ

When I wanted to cut those peeps and wage war on them I wasn’t seeing clearly.

They are not the bad guy…. ish.

I’ll NEVER be fond of fake, judgmental church peeps, but that’s another blog for another day.

These people were merely a vehicle for a wound to surface in me and be addressed.

I speak often about internal work, growth and transformation.

This is what it looks like.

They triggered in me a deep wound where in old life I previously did drugs or ate or did any number of unhealthy things to numb what I SHOULD have allowed myself to gracefully feel, so that I could heal it wayyyyyyyy back then.

But here it is now.

I’m certain I am not the only one guilty of turning into a chameleon in our lives to try and change to people please or be loved because we are so afraid to simply be ourselves and risk not being loved for it.

I can trace my wound back to having a mother that would rather focus her energy elsewhere than love her kids and foster an environment where they grew up confident that they were loved, nurtured, protected and ACCEPTED.

So enter about 33 + years of my life being so fucking unsure about myself I didn’t know what I stood for.

Nothing seemed right because I knew at a deeper level I wasn’t allowing myself to be who I truly am.

I am unique.

As fuck.


But somewhere along the way we lose that.

We quiet ourselves down and make ourselves small to make those around us who are actually the insecure ones, more comfortable.

Well #fuckthat.

It can happen to us in school. Cause let’s be honest that can be a battle ground for some of us.


Groups of shallow minded girls excluding other girls, making fun of them, judging them… because they pile together with numbers which seem like power.

They make the odd girls feel left out and uncertain about themselves and so the slow and methodical breakdown begins.

Then usually when we have had enough of living a life that’s not congruent to who we are, sometimes tripped off by some traumatizing rock bottom, we re-emerge ready to try to be our true, authentic selves.


Like a rebirth.

But it’s not without trials and tribulations.

Because bullies and shallow minded people that are busy pointing fingers at others instead of looking into their own mirrors, just grow up to be adult sized bullies.

Each time we re-emerge we have the opportunity to be stronger and more sovereign about who we are so that we are more unshakable than in previous versions of ourselves.

So what does this all mean?

It means we need to go back to the root of the wound and rip that fucker out. Because it’s causing some residual damage.

Obviously because I was triggered so terribly the other day.

I know what mine is.

Clear as day.

But I need to look at it with a new perspective and a different lens.

(Acknowledgement, accept, release)

It WASN’T that I was unloveable as a child that dead mom tossed me away like a used sock.

It was simply that she was on a journey to find love for her own wounds and reasons buried within her.

It was never about me or anything I lacked.

Spoiler alert🚨: you will begin to see a common theme of this.

When I would get made fun of and ridiculed in school because I wore blue eyeliner (I stole it because we were poor) and somehow that made me a slut πŸ€”πŸ€”

Which I’ll never quite grasp that, but oh well.

The big group of girls throwing stones all looked alike, dressed alike and I’m fairly certain wanted to make sure they all thought alike. Because I didn’t assimilate, and they had power in numbers, it made ME feel less than and not acceptable for who I was.

But I know that to the depths of my being it was all of THEM that were simply afraid of being who they truly, uniquely were.

So they ganged up.

It was never about me or anything I lacked.

It was about their insecurities.

The list could go on but you get the point.

Altering the lens which we look back and view our life is both transformative and conducive to healing.

Reframing these instances releases the negative, heavy emotional weight from it so that we can pour empowering words and truths into those spaces.

Here’s where it IS about us:

Once we rip out these old wounds from their roots, we need to deal with the here and now.

Am I going to be able to protect myself from monsters out in this world 24/7?

Is Bearded Things always going to be there to protect me like he’s vowed?

Fuck no.

Because each time there’s been an attack he’s not been around.

That’s because to a certain extent WE have to be the ones to stand in our truth when things get hot and make us question everything about ourselves.

I read an amazing book by our sister Brene Brown where talks about braving the wild.

I didn’t fully understand it when I was reading it because I hadn’t gotten to actually step foot in it and live it in real life yet at the time.

But it talks about the path of coming home to our authentic selves and how it can be lonely at times.

And how that loneliness and fear of abandonment and rejection for being authentic can drive some of us back into the line of sheep living as people.

I get it now.

More than ever.

I can honestly say now that I’d rather live alone and authentic than spend one minute of my day vying for the approval of people that don’t appreciate individuality, zest, brilliance, vibrancy or the uniqueness in life that each one of us beautiful souls brings to the table.

This experience has been an invitation for me to make a choice.

To choose toning it down a notch for others or sovereignly picking me, and knowing that if I do I’ll be braving some fucking wild.

I proudly picked me.

Because here I am.


Profusely using the word fuck and NOT failing at life.

Actually, I’m attracting more beloved peeps that need the light (and cuss words) that I have to offer this world.

There are no mistakes.

God made us to be who we are as we were when HE created us… NOT who society or traumas can sometimes cause us to become.

I want you to pick you too.

In all things.

And I want so badly for us all to be able to take these types of situations and see and use them for what they are…

They are simply polishing us up to be able to stand out more fully, blingy, and sparkly than we ever have before.

I want to shift the dynamic and gain the type of power in numbers that I feel I have been fighting against my whole life.

But I want power in positive, uplifting, supportive, empowering vibes.

The kind where we see another sister get maimed for being herself and we run to the comfort of her so that she is able to get back in her feet faster.

Because I don’t want to lose myself or anyone else to assimilation and conformity.

Each of us has too fucking much to offer this world to help make it sensational and incredible to deny ourselves and others of our zest.

In all my authentic truth and solidarity….


A. Kolar.

On being who you truly are…

I’m dusting off the old pen and taking it to paper tonight because I have about 87 thousand blog posts rattling around in my heart wanting to come alive.

I write to share my perspective on life and the things that happen to me because I am a firm believer that life is always, always trying to teach us something and our task is to pick the lesson out and evolve from it.

It’s part of our transformation and evolution.

We can use the things, whether they be good or bad to help polish us into more brilliant versions of ourselves.

Something happened to me last night that upset me pretty badly.

I was having a FANTASTIC day.

I was excited because Bearded Things was coming home from work out of town and we were gonna go snag a beer at my fave spot.

Alot of amazing things have been happening in my life in terms of growth, inspiration, transformation, stepping into my true self and growing confidence whilst I do.

I had literally just told my husband that I was officially going to name this opening chapter of my life “Unapologetic”.

Because that’s how I have been living.

More and more unapologetic by each decision I make and I cannot even begin to tell you how amazing and liberating and sparkly it feels.

I was unapologetic about how I wanted to dress, look and feel at my wedding.

It looked like a cross between a boho drag queen and it was so fucking perfect and me that I loved every second and can’t stop looking at pictures from that day.

I have been unapologetic about the people I choose to be around and have in my life as I know much about energy and have taken a new stance on protecting and preserving mine.

I’ve been unapologetic about the shenanigans and bullshit I choose to deal with from peeps from old life that try and invite me to drama.

But mostly I have been unapologetic about being me, through and through.

I’ve been embracing my roughness laced with my empathic softness.

I’m learning by the day to love and accept all parts of me and offer this version to everyone, boldly, and no longer water my self down.

I’ve know my whole life I was not normal.

I never fit in a group, EVER.

And still don’t.

I’m extremely passionate and sensitive and can be a powerhouse of energy which means I can be a lot to process.

I have been unapologetically accepting me for who I truly am with all my (quirky) uniqueness.

I am fiercely unapologetic about inspiring others to do the same for themselves.

I now try and make each decision for me and not what I think others might want me to do or what I “should” do and it is so damn liberating.

And it feels so fucking delicious.

But as with life all the sudden you’re fluttering along perfectly fine and then you get tested.

There’s that saying new level, new devil and boy oh boy does that ever carry massive truth.

I was minding my own business last night with Bearded things when a couple came over to our table to chat.

Everything was going fine but then Bearded things walked off to go call his boys.

The conversation turned incredibly sour when the man started telling me how unprofessional it is that I cuss and that people that cuss a lot are actually really insecure and have a lot to hide.

I’m literally sitting there like 😳

This drastic turn blind sided me.

He went on to say that I will fail in my business and I will drive people away and that he’s seen it in a trucking business because of my vulgarity.

Doing my best to not feel like I needed to defend myself but be polite at the same time I told him I appreciated his input but that I’m not going to water myself down and not be authentic because the tribe and clients I want to call in or that I want to be attracted to me should be of the same calibur.

I went on to say that I’m not going to pretend I’m something that I’m not because I believe in raw authenticity and all the peeps that I attract 100% say that’s a top thing they appreciate from me.

He wouldn’t let up and continued to stand on my throat literally telling me that he was sorry but I’m wrong and I’m going to fail.

AND then proceeded to go on a tirade about the crassness of this country and broached the topic AGAIN about how I’m ultimately pushing business away.

His partner chimes in and said that she’s never even heard those words growing up and how they are a church family and pretty much right then and there I stopped being able to hear them.

Bearded things finally came back to the table and they promptly left.

And I was visibly upset.


I had to go to the bathroom and let the tears flow because I literally could not wrap my head around what had just happened.

I’d met this person ONE other time in my life.

I thought I collected myself and came out to tell my husband what happened.

I ended up getting upset again I had to go to the bathroom and chill out and fan my face to get the redness and puffiness from my eyes to go down so I didn’t look like an ass in the public place.

Why he chose me to pin point and drop his load of venom on I didn’t truly understand, yet.

I wanted to tell him to go thump his fucking bible somewhere else and that good for them that they grew up not even hearing the word fuck.

Cause you want to know what I grew with?

A mother who abandoned her children one by one and left me wondering years well into my adulthood what was so wrong with me that I was so unloveable that my own mother didn’t even want me.

I knew how to call 911 at a young age because two people that shouldn’t have been drinking together matched with their passion and tenacity often ended up in domestic fights that I had to watch.

I saw and experienced things no young little girl should ever have to.


Hiding things?

You fucking bet, mother fucker.

Ive been insecure my whole life because I’d been discarded like an old sock by my mother and had that imprinted in me to be the norm so I went on to marry an abusive narcissist that did a number on my soul and did the same shit.


I have been to hell and back and how I’m even upright is beyond me.

So hiding things?

Damn fucking straight.

I’m hiding the hurts and scars on my soul from the traumas I have endured my entire life.

So while your playing in church pews on you’re high and mighty white horse not hearing the word fuck I was battling things that were much too large for my shoulders causing me to often break.

There are no excuses for how that person behaved last night.

It triggered me BIG time.

I was ready to tell anyone and everything associated with them or around them to fuck the fuck off because I have been fighting tooth and nail to become the person I am today in all my brilliance and uniqueness and this shallow minded person wanted to cram me in some stupid fucking box so I would fit in around Ord, NE.

Here’s my thoughts about that:

It’s been hard enough moving here and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Even harder having someone that needs to look in their own mirror go before me and make certain they could paint a shitty picture about me to others when I got here.

It’s an even harder task trying to be authentic while our own inner critics are speaking to us derogatorily and trying to beat us down internally.

I slept on this incident and have had some time to reflect on what my thoughts on this are.

This is what I have come up with.

This was a test.

I’d been on a high of being this out of her closet full version of me that’s loud and big spirited and a free fluttery warrior for others to join me in saying fuck what society or anyone else says we should be or do, let’s just be US.


Peel off the bullshit and breath the truth of who we are.

So I should have known something like this would happen.

It’s like God or the Universe wants us to put our money where our mouth is.

This dickhead was the biggest version of a “Oh really, can you REALLY be you in the face of someone standing on your neck telling you what a failure you’re going to be because of how authentic you are?” test I have ever seen.

I would be lying to you if in those moments after they walked away from my table that I didn’t start questioning EVERYTHING about who and how I was in mere nanoseconds.

I was questioning if I even wanted to be associated with anything to do with where those people were.

In short I wanted to go back into a shell and hide.

The place I finally have crept out of to be where I am today.

And well, fuck that.

I know some of you reading this will go just shake it off and don’t let it bother you.

But I’m not you and that’s not how I work.

I was gifted (or cursed πŸ€”) with feeling.



I’m empathic by nature which means I literally feel so sensitively that I can feel what others feel and everything is on steroids in terms of sensitivity to me.

It’s why I can’t do groups.

It’s overwhelming to me.

This incident affected me big time.

My choices were to let it sink me and make me second guess myself and change who or how I was…

Or GROW from it and step forward even more fully and boldly and truly accept that I am NOT for everyone.

And I could give less than zero fucks about being accepted by people like that anyway.

And that right there is a HUGE victory for me as an ex people pleaser.

I changed so much trying to get dead mom and Mr. Good to love me that by the end of that I didn’t even know who I was.

I know who I am and what I stand for now and since I have been proclaiming that So loudly lately God had to give me a massive exam.

Um, thanks, NO thanks. πŸ€”

I had alway previously believed that I was never good enough.

Before I sit and write I always pray for guidance and that I am able leave us with a message and a positive impact.

My message is two fold.

One is when we make any kind of changes in life whether it be a health change like losing weight or an internal change like learning to love ourselves enough to start letting our unique flag fly high, there will always be tests and bumps and turns in the road.

They are out there because we are about to move up to the next level in whatever it is we are embarking on.

This incident and how badly it affected me has shown me that I AM so on the verge of another transformation and this just affirms it.

If you have a set back or some crazy shit that tempts you to go back in a shell or go back to old ways, don’t.

Stand there and weather the storm because you are SOOOO close to the good stuff!

The other message is so near and dear to my heart because I have lost me before.

Big time.

At the lowest part of my low and rock bottom I didn’t even have a fucking clue who the person was that was staring back at me in the mirror.

I didn’t have a clue what I was, what I was passionate about or what I even liked because I had spent 34 years trying to mold myself into what I thought others would love me as.

And it never worked.


It destroyed me in the processes

But it’s a different story now.

I know what it is I stand for.

I know what impact I want to have on those around me.

I know what I want my legacy to be.

And a large part of all of that is allowing myself the grace to be me and be seen as me, rough edges and fuck words and all.

And I want you all to feel free and safe to do that as well.

As for those people that try and shove us into boxes because our uniqueness and freeness makes them uncomfortable…

Fuck em.

Thank them for the cosmic pop quiz that they are and let’s continue to fight for each other so that we can all feel safe to be us free of judgment.

From our own selves and others.

Big love tonight.


What my relationship with Bearded Things has taught me about my ego…

Have you ever gotten so pissed off at your significant other that you wanted to brutally destroy them and demolish any shred of the relationship left and do a heel click in the air upon leaving the scene???


Me neither. πŸ™ƒ

Ok I fibbed (lied my ass off).

From the onset of my relationship I told BT (Bearded Things) that a huge part of my life is writing.

I want to heal and bare my soul to help not only myself but others too.

I also told him when my hair gets healthy enough I want to do ombrΓ© purple in it and that I want to be able to show up in this next leg of my life more ME than I ever have and not give a fuck what shallow, judgmental people have to say or think about it.

Andddddddd if at any time none of that is kosher with him we’d peacefully part ways because I already buried a version of myself in the past trying to change to fit someone else’s mold and lost myself entirely.

I don’t write to air dirty laundry.

I write because it’s insightful, Healing and (hopefully) inspiring because we are all stumbling around down here trying our hardest to do this thing called life.

No one gets better if we walk around posting God memes on Facebook acting like our lives are perfect.

Cause #fuckfake.


Your cruising along just fine in life and all the sudden your hit with a curveball and it knocks you off your rocker.

This happened between me and BT.

We allllllllll come into relationships with baggage and traumas and wounds.

The idea would be that the relationship is a safe place to heal and work through them and grow from them…


We both have some residual ouches from our past that can be triggered and when they are, boy oh boy look out.

Sparing the specific details of what happened we both were triggered.

Something happened that took him back to a painful place and caused him to protect himself by walling up.

I have some triggers myself about being shunned and I will fight till my death to protect myself from perceived threats like that and being hurt like that again.

So I retaliated by getting defensive and we both walled up and cut off the oxygen supply to the flow of love.

I’ve never seen two stubborn bohunks as us.

I had let the anger and residual pain from my own hurts to gain MASSIVE, massive momentum.

I was hurt and I wanted to destroy him.

I saw this and it made me giggle.

But it’s the truth isn’t it?

So I spent the next day and a half with my guns drawn and ready to rip out his jugular until the dust started settling and I could see a little clearer.

The pain inside me started to wane and I started to fill the spaces back in with feelings of yearning for connection and love again.

I know enough by now to know that we are innately made of love, to be love, to have love and to radiate love.

It’s our God given right.

But things happen over our lifetimes that cause us to build walls to protect us from things we have been hurt before from.

It’s a slow deterioration from love to the hardness that happens over time but its eminent.

Our ego starts stepping in and takes on the duty of trying to protect us from anything we have once been hurt from before.

It tries to do good and help us but often times, much like this fight, it can actually hold us back and keep us stuck.

It’s what keeps partners at standstill’s when no one wants to make the move to forgive and let go.

We want to hold on to our ouches with a death grip because we think that’s the way to salvation and protection.

Spoiler alert: It’s so fucking NOT.

I will preach this to the day I flutter off and leave my humanly body, but EVERYTHING is a teacher or a mirror.

After the dust settled we both returned to each other vulnerable and ready to learn more about what happened.

It’s really about me trying to respect and be compassionate for his inner hurts and about me trying to not build another wall up and become stone cold to him.

And it’s NOT easy.

It’s not easy to say “wow you just really hurt me and triggered some trauma shit from my past BUT I can see how you were also triggered and we both didn’t mean to hurt one another”…

This image speaks VOLUMES to the effect of this point.

I fucking love this IMMENSELY.

It’s an exquisite depiction of the tug of war we went through earlier this week.

The inner children are yearning for connection and love but the external (Ego) takes over and wants to protect us and disconnects us from love and who we are at our core.

My strong reaction to what happened this week showed ME just how strong my ego is.

It’s showing me areas that I need to heal.

The situation was just an illumination for me to discover this.

I am grateful for this.

Most the time when we have a severe reaction it’s NEVER about them.

It’s more like a gift to be able to turn inward and reflect, apply some self love salve and heal something that’s ready to be healed.

If we do not do this we will perpetually be on the hamster wheel.

We will repeat the same things and no matter how many different partners we have it will always come down the same shit.

We can choose go to the vault and see our darkness so that it can transform or we can sit around blaming others and acting like victims.

And. Never. Change.

It’s no fun to fight.

I’ll be the first to tell you I can get nasty with the best of them.

It’s not something I am proud of but much rather the result of epic amounts of pain from a young age and having to vehemently protect myself from it as a little girl.

I’m passionate and fierce as fuck.

I know this about myself.

But I’d love to direct that energy into positive, loving ways of being.

The best things about this relationship I have now is that we both are soooooo beyond willing to go deep and learn and grow and it’s been pretty conducive to major transformation for both of us.

My mindset now is to learn how to calm and soothe my ego more effectively and rewrite the story that I have had replaying in my heart about being shunned and abandoned.

I’m NOT that little girl anymore.

I’ve grown and Im learning by the day (and by the fight) how to come home more to me in a light of compassion and growth.

Will there be more fights?

I hope so.

And I hope that we both get better at seeing and using them as a tool to learn, come back to love more quickly, evolve, hold each other more compassionately and love harder than we have ever before.


Life is so yummy isn’t it?

Big love.


I wonder what it would be like to miss my dead mom…

I have a love/ really fucking annoyed at/ hate relationship with Facebook.

I LOVE soooooo many aspects of it.

Connecting with and loving on my peeps that are not near me.

Getting snippets into the lives of those I care about.

Halloween is one of my very favoritest (made up word) times in the Facebook world because I LOVE ALLLLLL you silly moms putting those ridiculously cute costumes on your babies and children! 🀩😍🌟

My oh my! Those joyful, feel good vibes are nourishing for the soul.

As we all know Mother’s Day was last weekend.

I LOVE the positive energy flow of people pouring their heart and soul out in dedications to their mother’s whether their moms were still in this earthly plane or not.

I love good vibes in general.

All my mom peeps are dead.

So it’s almost an anti-climactic day for me.

I mostly celebrate my girlfriends that I know who are mothers that inspire me and I honor the day that way.

This year was a little different than previous.

I noticed some change in me as the days crept up to Mother’s Day…

I found myself reflecting on what it would be like to miss my dead mom.

If you’ve read my pieces you know that I used to fucking hate her guts.

Oops. 🀭

Too much for you??!

Imagine being me and feeling that way about her.

I have a different twist and view on most things than others and I staunchly believe in eliminating toxic peoples, places and things from our lives.

I also believe that the title “family” can also mean it’s just a license to treat those closest to us like dicks.

Anyone with me on this?

The guilt tripping, shame mongering and flat out manipulating to get us to do things their way or invite so and so here and there because we “should” etc etc πŸ™„

I had to remove her from my life.

It was not a choice I made easily because it was not the popular choice.

If I had a nickel for every-time someone told me I would be regretful one day or that I should make up with her I’d be rich.

It was really the first opportunity to stand up for myself in my life regardless of other peoples strong opinions on it.

This year a few days before Mother’s Day Bearded Things took me on a 4 wheeler ride during sunset.

I’m not sure what hit my feelers but I asked out loud, to whom I am not sure, what it would be like to miss my mom.

I don’t know if I had a moment of grieving for something? I couldn’t place my thumb on it.

Part of me was a little jealous maybe that all these other peoples had beautiful things to say about their mothers.

How they were so inspiring and thoughtful and supportive and how life has been hard without them (if they had passed in).

I didn’t get gifted with that experience.

I don’t like to go down the path of feeling sorry for myself or trying to take away from what another person DOES have with their mother so I reflected more deeply over the next few days to see what was emerging.

I found myself wondering who I’d be if I didn’t have my past with my mother.

I came to the conclusion that I would be NOTHING like who I am today.

And I finally love this version of me so it was an easy bargain to make and accept.

It took me a while to dig further to see that my mother actually did teach me a lot.

She taught me what I do NOT want to be like in terms of my children.

I had to learn a lot of hard lessons over my lifetime because I spent most of my energy trying to gain her love and approval to no avail.

I went on to manifest more relationships of the same flavor.

I’m realizing that her lack of love to me was a mirror for me showing me that I (all of us actually) need to give ourselves the love we so desperately seek from others.

Life’s been a massive transformation over these last few years.

Such as with this situation with my mom I am learning that the most traumatic or deep wounds are where the most opportunity for growth and expansion lies.

I could spend my time wishing my past could have been different.

I could waste my time feeling sorry for myself or letting it weigh me down with shame and remorse.

But I don’t want those heavy feels.

Letting go of how we think life “should” look like and be is crucial for our sanity.

Acceptance of what IS, is also a key element to our wellbeing.

Those two items are not easy to tackle.

Each year I get a reminder of this.

I saw this meme earlier and it hit me in the feels.


For a fleeting moment I felt anger or resentment and felt sorry for myself that I didn’t have one of those magical unicorn mothers that I could feel this way about.

But then it dawned on me that our thoughts create our reality.

And even though I can’t (and don’t want to) change the circumstances I could change how I viewed it.

She is an angel.

In her own right.

She taught me what not to do.

And she taught me to learn to ALWAYS, always source love from inside or else we will always wander this earth looking for it in all the wrong places.

Those are angel worthy lessons.

It might not be what others experience.

But it’s mine.

And I can accept that for what it is.

I did start a tradition last year for my own Mother’s Day tradition to plant a tree or something good for the world and love the fuck out of it.

This is my baby from last year. It has a beautiful flower bud on it that I could jump out of my skin in excitement about!

It’s beautiful and it’s reminds me to cherish the ability to pluck the silver lining out of a shitty circumstance and accept the things we cannot change.

Enter: The serenity prayer.

This is my new love from this year. It makes me happy.

So do bare feet.

I love all you mothers out there.

I hope you love you, too.

I know each day that clicks on my relationship with my mother heals a little more as I open my heart and see through a lens of compassion. (πŸ‘ˆπŸΎ Tough AF).

I also believe that the more I heal the relationship with her, the more I heal my relationship with me.

Big love.Xoxo

Authenticity, Originality Insecurities…. Oh My!

I’ve been sitting around with so many words in my heart and soul it’s time to put the pen to paper.


This subject has been sitting (pretty fucking) ill with me for a while and I have simply been unable to shake it.

So that’s where journaling and blogging come in for my healing prescription and therapy.

Lucky you. πŸ™ƒ

If any of you have followed my work and writing you may have the slightest inclination that my life history has been riddled with self-confidence, self-esteem, and major insecurity issues.

These were birthed from being tossed aside like an old sock constantly over the duration of my life beginning when I was a little girl.

For me what that taught me from a young age is the brutiful (Yes 😌 that’s a word) habit of people pleasing and trying so desperately to change myself to be something, ANYTHING other than what I was, was chipping away at the core of my being each and every time I sacrificed my truth for being accepted.

It was always engrained in my poor heart that what I was, wasn’t good enough.

If I was good enough, then I would have been loved and accepted and at least someone’s top 948383737 pick.

It was from this that I started into my juvenile years completely unsure of who or what I was or what I stood for.

I was so turned upside down by then and as time clicked on it only grew worse.

The older I got the more difficult it became to figure out how to fit in.

High School???…

Good lord.

It had my head spinning watching groups of females say they were all best friends but then watching them vehemently and viciously backstab their own brethren.

I fucking hated it.

All I knew at that point was that I didn’t fit in and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to.

But that left me so severely unsure of myself going into adulthood that I can look back and see how I morphed into whatever group was around me for the time being.

I always felt like I didn’t belong though.

I always knew it deep down.

And instead of accept the fact that I am a unique and one of a kind spiritual, fluttery being…. I shoved my true, TRUE self in a box never to be seen again because it was easier to try and morph to what was around me to feel pseudo-acceptance rather than swallow the bitter pill of not being loved and accepted for my truth.

I tasted enough of not being loved and accepted growing up.

I will spare the details of the disaster that was my marriage because while it was not a pretty sight, it afforded me the most INCREDIBLE transformation I could have dreamed of and more.

So fast forward a few years of coming into my own, doing some major ass internal work, finding out what makes my soul tick and diving head first into a relationship with God and supplementing it with copious amounts of energy Healing…

Here I am πŸ™‚

I’ve started to live my dream.

I’ve gained confidence to step out of my comfort zone and really find my passions.

I have felt the tables turn on being able to be authentically me while still moving forward despite that small fear that I may be too much for some still residing in my heart.

Ive begun living bold and pretty (peacefully) unapologetic about the things I choose to do and most specifically the people and energy I choose to surround my heart with.

I’m gaining more and more confidence to really allow my true essence to shine through in what I do and how I speak and write even if it does involve profuse use of the word “fuck”. πŸ™ƒ

I’m doin me harder and more fully and boldly than I ever have and I have fought pretty fucking hard (there’s that “F” word again ☺️) to get where I am.

This transformation has come with some turbulence but the feeling of living my true, authentic self FAR outweighs the downsides.

But here’s the thing that’s currently catching me that I was having troubles making some sense out of.

I have spent my whole ENTIRE life overcoming my own demons, my own darkness, my own traumas and my own bullshit to be where I am today.

But now it’s hard when I see I am being duplicated.

And not in a slightly unnoticeable, it could be a coincidence kinda way either.

But in a way that causes me to flinch in a little bit of defensive fucking fury over.

I’ve tried to talk myself up, down, around and every which way backwards about this.

I also know that what I focus on will gain momentum and although I try with all my law of attraction loving, spirit heart I could not help but feel major resistance to this.

I don’t know if it’s because I am so protective of my newfound being and that I have fought tooth and nail to become this version of me that when someone just steps in and replicates what’s taken me years to emerge as and be, it hits a nerve.

A major, MAJOR part of my transformation and something I value as highly as fluttering and freedom is authenticity.

It was being scarred in the drama bullshit that was high school and fake relationships at work and a these pseudo-sisterhood fake relationship building sales bullshit that inundates our every day life that I am ADAMANT… adamant, adamant, ADAMANT about truth.

And depth.

In each of us and in our relationships.

But I’m ubber adamant about hey fucker… I fought long and hard to be me and finally show up to be me, why don’t you just not be me.

Mmmmmkay 😌

Why don’t you be you the one you were before you started to emulate my words and actions.

But 😣

Because I know that whenever something is brought up in me that elicits this big of a feeler it’s time to go into the vault and find which old wound has been reopened.

I did.

And here’s what I found.

The feeling I am having by being replicated triggers a major ass insecurity in me of a timeless pattern in my life of being replaced by a newer make and model.

It’s been repeated in a vicious cycle since the onset of my life.

I was tossed aside when dead mom (who wasn’t dead then πŸ™ƒ) found my stepdad and subsequently sorta forgot she had kids πŸ€”

Or maybe we got in the way of her finally finding what her poor soul had been longing for for her entire life is a better way to put it.

And because dead mom was one of those AMAZING (πŸ‘ˆπŸΎflagrant lie) moms that liked to play games with split custody and never let me see my Dad, I grew up feeling like he found something better than me. Too.

If you know old life you know the truth about the demise of me being Wife #2.

Down to the being replaced at the job I was at for 18 years. (HUGE huge huge blessing so no worries πŸ˜‰).

But the pattern is there in black and white, branded into my soul.

I also know we are presented with the same lessons (UNlucky us 😣) until we learn what it is we are supposed to learn from it and grow THROUGH it.

So what does this all mean?

It means to me that being replicated triggers the age old wound of fear of being replaced and chosen for something better thus making me feel like a worthless, failure and crippling my self-esteem, self-confidence and how I subsequently view and value myself.

I have had this swirling in my heart space for far too many years and I am MORE than ready to heal and release this.

This is a childhood wound.

When this feeling comes up it’s basically that little girl that first got her soul trampled on and destroyed trying to remind me of how that feels and to try and prepare me for getting hurt again.

But that’s the thing about our psyches and our vaults (the place where old ouches are stored).

I’m not that little girl anymore.

I’ve grown sooooo very much.

I’ve healed so much.

We don’t have to keep listening to those old stories about ourselves.

I have learned that people pleasing isn’t in fact beneficial to anyone. In fact it’s a huge ass abomination of our very soul.

I’ve learned that I will be too much for some people and not enough for others and that’s MORE than ok.

Like super duper ok.

Over this last few years I have learned to love myself how I so desperately sought to be loved by others and how crucial this is to ALLLLLLL of our existence.

Self-love isn’t just some nifty thing to hashtag and post memes about.

It’s the real fucking deal.

So after I fluttered around in the vault and got down to the root of the big issue I am able to walk away with these truths:

It might still irk me to see my originality be duplicated. But not in the same disgust, fear and other lower vibrational feels as it did before.

I am no longer afraid of someone else being a better version of me. Because I know if they were busy worrying about being the best version of them in a confident manner they wouldn’t be emulating others.

I know this because I too, was guilty of that in the past.

It won’t cause me to fear that I am going to flashback to that 5 year old constantly getting tossed aside by her mother and having someone or something better picked over her.

Because no matter how hard anyone tries they can never truly be us.

And that’s our real super power.

I will live every single day of the rest of my life intrigued by how what seems to be a “them” issue, never really is.

It might SEEM like they are the ones that need to change and be fixed but it’s never about them.

It’s always about what they are triggering in US that needs to be acknowledged, accepted and released.

And man, that’s hard fucking work.

It was so much easier getting pissed about being imitated than it was to dig in my own darkness and wounds.

I know one thing for sure life was sure a lot more simple before I took on this big ass spiritual journey.

But I will tell you that life has been much more brilliant and fulfilling since I started to REALLY learn about, love and accept me.

All parts of me.

I shine the light tonight and forever to invite all others to do the same.

Massive (self) love and acceptance.


a. Danielle

How waitressing has shown me some old wounds…

I haven’t been wordy for a while.

Well that’s a lie. Ive been wordy cause that’s who I am on a cellular level 😜

I just haven’t officially worded in blog form lately.

So here goes:

Something rattled my little heart the other day and it’s through writing I am able to journal and heal.

I waitressed at my girlfriends bar the other night. I can count on one hand how many times I have ever waitressed and they have ALL been at her place.

Most the times it’s been slanging beers at peeps for poker runs so it wasn’t all that intricate.

I have less than zero experience in the food serving, waitressing arena. So I’m probably admittedly, not the greatest.

As with most new things people try they are probably going to stumble around until they get their bearings and then get better with experience.

I wasn’t doing too terrible in my own eyes. But for some reason I can’t let go of overhearing a girl at a table I was getting an order from make a snark ass comment about me.

I had taken one families order from that table and this other girl was there with her daughter. I was going to get her order in a second after I yelled out to the guys in charge of grilling how many burgers we would be needing so they could get their food faster by giving them a heads up.

But Miss Snarky said something to another girl at the table to the effect of “OH You probably over did it for her (me) she can’t handle that much (order taking)”….

It was busy in there and whatever. I was able to ignore it. Until I wasn’t. Of course, because it ate on me.

It’s sitting heavy with me for several reasons. The first is I have less than zero experience waitressing. That was probs my first time doing it with food involved.

I could never imagine mocking someone for working out for the first time and not having a clue what they were doin even though I am skilled and have years of experience in that arena.

So it sits heavy on me when people mock others.

Second, I wanted to tell her maybe the fact that I get overwhelmed and stressed out is because I have a huge fear of fucking up someone else’s things or business for them.

And that stemmed from being a little girl probably the age 6 with my step dad. I was in the garage with him when he was doing some carpentry work. I accidentally nudged his trim he was cutting and made him mess up and the next thing I know he’s exploded, cussing and throwing the wood all around the garage and it terrified me.

That was the beginning of years and years worth of being told I was stupid for not knowing how to do something when I have never been shown. I have IMMENSE anxiety of trying new things because of those old traumatic experiences.

To another person it might not seem like a big deal. But to me and my intricate making it is.

The immensity at which my stepdad blew up that day made my little 6 year old shoulders fear that I was going to get him fired, we weren’t going to be able to afford rent and we were going to be homeless.

I was never told that things were going to be alright.

For my sensitive heart it’s hard for me to understand in a time where things are already hard enough in life why another person would willfully and recklessly wish to undermine another with a complete absence of any compassion.

Unfortunately, that comment about my waitressing isn’t the first slew of toxic garbage to come out of her mouth towards me.

But it’s getting old.

I’m not even going to lie to you. I may be spiritual and woo as fuck, but that little 6 year old hurt girl in me wants to rip this miserable person a new asshole.

It makes me envision myself telling her about herself and unleashing the fury on her.

I reflected over how her comments take me back to an unpleasant place in my heart about my life growing up.

It also made me realize the power of our words.

It also made me realize the power of my defensiveness. It’s no fun hearing critical things about yourself especially if it’s in an arena that’s a major sensitivity landmine.

It took me a while from evolving from where I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself to really sitting back and asking myself if I really believed what she said about me to be truth?

I laughed then because I realized that while I might not be the worlds greatest waitress, God has given me numerous other gifts that far outweigh trying to please a seemingly miserable, shallow female with a cheeseburger.

I was gifted with a intuition and a passion for helping heal others from not only their own self imposed suffering BUT from pseudo-bullying just like that poor girl was doing to me with her hate spewing.

It became comical to me that while she was mocking ME for my lackluster skill in an area I have zero experience in, that I am actually fully capable of helping to illuminate pathways of healing in others from shit people like her cause.

No I’m not a fucking waitress.

So what now though?

I see her EVERY. DAMN. TIME. I am at my friends place.

If I have words with her she will make the situation more miserable than her mere presence already does.

I know hate cannot drive out hate.

And I also know that hurting people, hurt people. She’s miserable inside. Clearly unhappy.

The best thing I can come up to fight back is to send her love.

But let’s be real… it’s hard. REAL fucking hard to send someone love when they do nothing but terrorize you.

So this will be an exercise in being human for me.

Will I fail??! OHHH I’m German, Irish, Bohunk and was gifted with the shortest fuse on earth only after Gramps and dead mom once it’s been lit ☺️

I really imagine saying things to her like this:

So while it may look like the lights are on but no ones home. I actually have LOTS goin on. It’s just that most those things should probably stay nestled safely in my brain. πŸ™ƒπŸ™‚

I feel better writing about it and reading this myself I know that I am not that 6 year old girl anymore. I realize my defensiveness stems from those old experiences. I don’t need to retaliate in defensiveness.

Even though miss snarkypants is unpleasant it has shown me areas in myself that I need to come to with more compassion about myself. It’s shown me contrast of how NOT to be towards others.

It’s also showing me that while it’s fun to future fake scenes of me clawing her peepers out, that it’s actually more crucial to be even more light for others so that they don’t have to feel less than and can grow with confidence in any new endeavors they try.

It reminds me that there will always be opposition, cruelty and recklessness but to keep showing up with more light.

And finally it reminds me the importance of compassion.

To ourselves and others. Even when it’s hard….

ESPECIALLY when it’s hard.

With all my absolute love and light.


a. Danielle

How my own self-love journey allowed me to heal from hating Dead Mom…

When I think about it I realize that I have spent the majority of my life vehemently hating my (now dead) mom.

It’s been a hot minute since I have sat down and let words come to life. I think it’s time to give credit where credit is due.

I need to talk about my relationship with Dead mom.

My little soul has done this lovely thing where it’s locked up things in a vault and gives me occasional access to memories.

I have zero memories of a loving nature that have to do with my dead mom.

From as far back as I can remember my Grandma Betty (aka Neen) raised most of us kids. She was the source of any maternal love I ever received as a child.

Dead mom was absent physically and emotionally.

I spent weeks at friends houses growing up. I pretended in my soul I think that I was always part of their families.

It was a coping/numbing mechanism for me to disassociate from her, before I got into the real drugs and numbing in adolescence.

I read something in a book the other day and completely related to it.

“Dear God, I love my family but I wonder if you tried out anyone else before you sent me to them.”

I’m not even really sure why my Dead mom procreated. I was certain that she was incapable of feeling.

But I was wrong.

She was just incapable of feeling towards us kids.

I had older siblings that eventually went and lived with their dad and our Grandma Betty.

But I was the (un)lucky pawn in her game of life to play house and act like a happy family with my stepdad.

Their relationship was….


Tenacious and passionate and all things inappropriate for raising a child.

As I reflect back I am able to see the reason she did some of the things that did. It was her very own personal search for love and acceptance.

But she was looking in all the wrong places.

All of our enlightened, spiritual teachers, God and everyone instructs us to turn within to find home, love, acceptance and wisdom.

I’m afraid in her case, even she was afraid to look within for fear of what was lurking in that domain.

It was from a very early age that it became apparent that us kids were not a priority. I also learned really young that I was going to be shoved aside when the next best thing came along.

I went on to be in relationships that mimicked that same lack of love, lack of feeling valued or worthy, and getting abandoned, tossed aside and replaced.

Growing up she never let me see my real dad. That did a number on me also. It felt like even he didn’t want me.

There must be something wrong with me if my own birth mother didn’t love me and always had something better to do and my dad didn’t want to spend time with me.

I learned later he didn’t have much say.

There’s a special place in hell for women who play custody games with their children and exes.

I am a product of where kids being in their mothers custody was NOT in the best interest of the child.

I’m a firm believer that there needs to be better balance in that arena. I see it everyday and it makes me ill.

Mother’s with an inability to love, but just play the part are so incredibly damaging to a child’s soul.

The tumultuous relationship that was her marriage taught me how to be alone and feel safe that way. I never wanted to be near them and their hostile love environment.

From the moment I got home from school till the absolute last possible second I was out on my little dirt bike with my German Shepard out in the country where we lived and I didn’t need people.

The ones I did have left me feeling deflated and disappointed so I learned to be my own best friend young.

I was always so embarrassed or scared to have friends over because I never knew what fight would ensue or what type of crazy train Dead mom would be on.

So I pretty much isolated myself.

My first love was basketball and pretty much the only connection I had with my stepdad. That was the only thing I really had to love.

Both him and dead mom were on a journey to find love no matter who was forsaken for the cause.

But even then Dead mom always made me feel like a burden or nuisance having to go to games.

Which was where the seed was born for me to feel like burden and nuisance in adulthood as well.

I used to dread having to ask for help or favors because of this. It was much later in life that I learned there is a whole world of peoples out there that actually have feelings and love helping others out.

That was simply not what I was used to.

Things really went south when my oldest niece was born. Until then I was the baby of the family.

I knew I could get love from Grandma Betty. And she was my only source of it.

I recall my niece spending a shit ton of time with us. It makes me cringe to say this or even write it out loud but I watched as my dead mom would parade my baby niece around in her little carrier with my stepdad as she acted like my niece was their child.

And I was tossed aside like a used sock.

I was 12 when my niece was born and that was a turning point for me.

I hate to even admit this but I hated my niece. She was so readily getting the love and affection that I yearned so terribly for.

It made me wonder even further what was wrong with me.

It built a system of belief that I was unworthy of love or positive attention.

So what does one do when that happens to them? Well, in my case I started going to find love and affection in other places.

And it didn’t necessarily mean a person. I dove face first into experimenting with Booze first, then every drug I could get my adolescent little hands on.

By the time the whole faking my nieces as their own baby thing came along I was engulfed in full fledged seething, tenacious hatred to the women I had to call mom.

I hated the joy she had in her face when she would be handling my niece with my stepdad in the living room while I was virtually unseen.

Looking back I realized that my poor body, heart and soul were riddled with so much hate it should have made me ill.

I started going down hill in a big way. I ended up quitting basketball for drugs.

I was completely disgusted and disrespectful to dead mom because I couldn’t stand the sight of her.

We fought terrible.

Sometimes the fights would end violently.


Even typing this I feel some of that latent burn.

I ended up getting kicked out when I was almost 17 I think. She came home from going out to eat with my stepdad and caught me and some friends who drove over playing a drinking game I learned from watching HER and her friend play one time.

You use an ice tray and try and get a quarter in a hole in the tray. The further away you got the quarter in you got to give away that many drinks from the ice cube tray but you had to use a small straw to suck the booze out.

She caught us and I think she seen the cut off straw and thought we were doing blow (cocaine). Which we weren’t.

That time anyway. Besides I didn’t need a straw I was plenty good without the use of training wheel type devices.

We got in a huge ass fight and my stepdad had to peel us apart. I bolted.

I ran and hid. I eventually snuck back into the basement when they didn’t know. I overheard her call my dad and told him to come get me.

I knew help was on the way.

When he showed up I came flying out of the basement grabbed some stuff and we took off.

Ironically enough, he was living with a girlfriend and she didn’t want anything to do with me.

Shocker. Another woman letting me down. This would begin the fledgling seed for feeling that women were unsupportive, unreliable, Crazy and a bunch of other heinous things.

So we had to live with my uncle for a bit until Dad moved from Fremont to Elkhorn so I could continue school.

I’ll never forget the Monday going back to school after that eventful weekend. We had those standardized tests and I went to sign in and gave them the last name I had been using since Dead mom and stepdad got married.

The teacher pulled me aside and said I had to go talk to the school counselor.

Apparently, I was not legally adopted and my name was never legally my stepdads last name.

Dead mom in all her craziness would just randomly change our last names to whomever she was married to at the time.

I later found out that she did this same bullshit to my siblings.

The guidance counselor told me that dead mom called that morning and informed them that my last name was to be changed to my dads real last name. But gave me no heads up about that.

I was fucking MORTIFIED. And the nails in the coffin were sealed of me ever having any sort of respect or anything for her ever again.

I fucking loathed her with every ounce of my being.

For the first few weeks of living with Dad I pretty much was a reckless teen. But the most amazing thing happened when I realized that I didn’t have to run and hide or numb and drug myself because the environment and the person I was with gave me security, belonging, acceptance.

For the first time I was actually being seen. I changed dramatically. I never lived with Dead mom again.

Our relationship would muster on as I transitioned into adulthood. She was still so fucked up, Crazy, and untrustworthy.

The final straw came when she didn’t come to my super small wedding.

I got the scissors out and snipped away at that relationship. It was for my highest good to rid myself and my life of her toxic energy.

I didn’t speak to her from 2007 until 2011 until I found out she was gonna die.

Turns out energetically that if you harbor a bunch of bullshit in your soul like she did it will manifest in the form of illness. And she got a doozy.

Stage 4 metastatic lung cancer killed her in just under 6 months.

Y’all know I’m about as woo as they come so yes, I most definitely believe that she brought that disease on that took her to meet her maker because all off that harmful energy she put out her entire life.

Smoking contributed, yes. But being a menace like that will have consequences.

So what does my own self-love journey have anything to do with being able to look at dead mom through a more compassionate lens?

Because in my own spiritual journey I know that we seek love and acceptance. But what we are generally never taught until we fuck up royally a bunch, is that we must learn to love and accept ourselves first and foremost.

We are never taught to really be our own best friend. We look to external sources to fill spaces in us that our own selves need to be filling in healthful, uplifting, soul-filling, empowering ways.

I recall Grandma Betty (dead moms mom) telling me when Dead mom was dying that she had deep regrets when it came to mom.

She mentioned that mom was never meant to have siblings. She had a younger sister that rocked her world when she was born.

She was replaced… Sound familiar? Ya. Because that’s exactly what she did to me.

Grandma told me Dead mom really spiraled when grandpa was gone all the time trucking. She went looking for love in a bunch of wrong places.

She loved her daddy.

Got married young. Got pregnant young.

It was all a part of her quest for love and belonging.

I will give credit where credit is due.

She loved my stepdad more than a person possibly could, and then some. His first wife wanted him back after he started dating my mom allegedly from stories I have heard. I distinctly recall fights going on between the two women.

Which is ubber funny because now my stepdad is back dating his first wife and she does my hair.

Sorry (notsorry) Dead mom πŸ™ƒ

But that’s the power of forgiveness and not holding grudges.

Watching my stepdad struggle to this day with Dead mom being dead makes me sort of yearn for someone to love me like that.

He knew her craziness and the mess of stuff we uncovered when she died and STILL loves her unconditionally.

That’s all this was for her. A journey to and for love. For her it didn’t matter that innocent bystanders were forsaken.

Namely, me.

But looking backwards with this light helps me ease the burden and be able to forgive.

Holding hatred for her is like me drinking poison and expecting her to die. OH wait, she is dead πŸ€£πŸ™ƒ

It serves no one. Plus knowing what I know now about energy and emotions and all things woo, I don’t want those lower vibrational feels roaming around in my heart or soul.

Also, looking back at this helps me see where my path to love was going. It helped direct me and get me looking in the right places. But not after spending 33 years looking in all the wrong ones.

I forgive her for everything because had I not gone through some of that shit I wouldn’t have the strong feelings I do now in regards to kids.

I know to teach and inspire and impress upon EVERYONE the importance of learning to source love and acceptance internally.

That means every part of us inside. The things we keep locked up and hidden in shame and regret. The scars. All of it deserves our own love and acceptance.

Anything we rely on that is external can be taken away. But when we are sovereign inside ourselves we are able to manage that.

I am able to extend a bit of gratitude towards her now. Her journey to love overlapped with my journey to coming home to me. The person I was before all this stuff happened to me.

It was through my self-love journey that my relationships outside of me started being transformed. Even with dead peeps.

As I celebrated my 36 birthday I dedicate this year to being more me than I have ever been.

Maybe that means divulging more of my deepest darkests void of fear of judgement from others. Maybe it means standing alone more than before because the priority of being authentic and unapologetically me supersedes the need to simply belong now.

I’m not sure of many things but I know this, when we are able to view others and their behaviors as their own journey to find themselves and to be loved it makes it much more easy to be forgiving and compassionate. I’m not always perfect at this but I’m moving in the right direction.

Enough for now.

Every ounce of my being… ❣️

a. Danielle