Why the break-up of a family is one of the most painful losses.
I wept on my yoga mat. Deep, heaving sobs that wouldn’t stop. The song the yoga instructor played about unraveling your ego only adding to the deluge of my tears.
I’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember.
When I was 29 I had a dream about a blonde, curly-haired girl. She was sitting at the foot of my bed, looking at me with her big crystal blue eyes. “I’m your daughter,” she said to me. I remember waking up confused. My daughter? Other than her blue eyes, she looked nothing like me.
Three years later I gave birth to a blue-eyed baby girl. It took three years for her blonde curls to grow in. In quiet moments, when she sat in the living room reading books or playing with toys, her blonde ringlets rippling around her eyes, I remembered that dream and felt a wave of comfort wash over my soul. The daughter of my dreams had become real.
My most shocking private yoga session request yet.
I have long legs.
Very long legs.
Yoga leggings fit my legs very well. Leggings are perhaps the most comfortable piece of clothing I own — but they are also the most attention-grabbing.
Over the past 15 years of teaching, I have had many eyes stare at my legs as they demo poses. I am unphased by those stares— that is until they bore through me.
Some stares stand out.
Some eyes linger a little too long.
Perhaps you know you know the linger?
The one filled with longing and lust?
Yoga stirs up all kinds of sexual energy. And for the student with lots of repressed desires— well doing a few hip openers has the potential of turning them on — a lot.
8 clearing rituals to keep your giving tank full.
Like most other empaths and HSPs, I’ve spent my whole life caring for others.
I’ve also spent my life fighting fatigue and depletion, desperate for ways to replenish my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual energy.
I’m the oldest of four siblings and the first of 13 grandchildren. Being the oldest meant I was the go-to family and neighborhood babysitter, advice-giver, and mother hen of my friend’s circle in my early and late teens and nurturer and caretaker to everyone that crossed my path.
I’m swiping left to six-pack abs and beer slinging selfies.
I want a man who tells me he is in therapy on our first date.
I spent my 20s dating the man who was too cool to work on his childhood issues. He smoked a joint or drank a beer or tried to turn me on when memories from his past haunted his psyche. This man thought disengaging from his emotions made him super strong. He was strong, even sexy when he fought off his emotions with fleeting pleasures. But eventually his rock hard ego cracked, and instead of showing me his vulnerability, he became detached and pushed me away.
It can be heart-wrenching to witness someone is dissociating from deep pain. I desperately wanted to heal this man. The more I tried to help him, the more he pushed me away. Eventually, he left for someone who cared less about his self growth and more about the pleasures of the moment. I walked away from our relationship feeling confused, used, and even emotionally abused. I grieved the emptiness I felt during our time together and the hopes I had for him to show up as his whole self. The man of my 20s left me with a gaping hole of longing for real emotional connection.
3 ways I serve my anxiety that have saved my fearful ass — every time.
I thank my lucky stars I was born an anxious, colicky mess.
No really, I do.
If you think I’m crazy for loving my anxiety, then stop reading.
No, I mean it. Stop.
If you’re cursing your own anxious nature with made-up profanities, because the regular, run-of-the-mill curse words are used up, then read on. I got you.
Soul Writer. Single Mama. Life ponderer. Nature Lover. Therapist. Introvert. HSP & Empath. Life is my playground and each day a blank canvas.