Workshops and Monthly Packages


I invite you to join me for an expansive workshop on Sunday, June 25th at 1pm CST.

‘Write to Change Your World’ is an Intuitive Journaling Workshop.

What is Intuitive Journaling?
Intuitive Journaling will help you clear your past, heal in order to expand and open the channels of writing and creation for YOU – even if you are not a writer. Learn how heart-based journaling will help you answer questions, overcome challenges, and experience deeper certainty from a soul level, and help you learn to recognize and work with your own inner creator.

What do you want or need more information about? Is there an area of your life that you could use more clarity in, or more guidance from the Universe? Where in your life do you need healing or to move away from energies and situations that no longer serve you? This workshop is for anyone who desires a deeper connection to their intuition and connection to their soul.

This is a LIVE web class. Upon registration, you’ll receive an email with instructions for signing into the class.

Registration is easy at: Eventbrite



Monthly Packages

Signing up is easy – click here!


Starting Over

The accident happened on a sunny morning in September of 2009. I was forced to start over. I was forced to start over on a Tuesday. I had gotten up earlier than usual that morning. I was working as a freelance costume designer, and I was feeling behind on the project. I awoke nervous and anxious. I rushed through my morning routine and out the door, barely pausing long enough to hug my husband.

In 2009, before I was forced to start over, rushing through life was the norm. My mother came to visit me that year and compared my daily schedule to a fire drill.  I was a busy freelance costume designer in a small market; the flailing captain of my one-woman company. This September Tuesday was no different. My head was full of unfinished alterations, actor personalities, and budget concerns.

I want to spare the details of the accident I witnessed. It was a blur of tires screeching, loud concussions, and frantic screams. I was one of three witness cars that were not hit, but who stopped to help. The highway was eerily quiet, a disturbing stillness. My adrenaline ran towards the car that looked the worst. The driver had been ejected. Another witness came right behind me. I told her to stop. Call 911. A third witness rushed our direction, saw the scene, and panicked.

I got down on the ground with the victim and held his hand. The peripheral scene vanished. I heard my voice say, “It’s ok to go.” 

I felt a hand on my shoulder, a strong voice asking me to step away from the scene. Questions followed:

Did you witness this accident?

Where is the car that hit this car?

Who was driving?

Do you know this man?

I answered the questions:


I don’t know.

I don’t know.

No. Yes I guess I do now. No, I don’t know his name.

I sat in the back of the ambulance while they took my blood pressure and asked me if I needed anything. I answered the same questions. I signed a waiver that I did not read.

They offered me a ride home: Can we call someone for you?

I drove myself home. My husband was still home.

I told him: I just can’t do today. I’m staying home.

Concerned, he asked me several times if I was alright. I lied, encouraged him to go to work, told him I would have some coffee, maybe take a bath, try to relax and reorganize. He believed me and left for work.

I sat on the couch. Everything was in slow-motion. The phone rang. Alison. I told her what had happened with almost no details.  She came over. We sat on the couch. The day ended.

That was the day I was forced to start over.

After, I wasn’t sleeping well because the accident showed up in my dreams. I felt withdrawn and angry.  I systematically took a scorched-Earth approach to my life. I abruptly resigned from all of my creative projects. I stopped participating in my spiritual life and personal hobbies. I hurt people who depended on me.

I reluctantly sought out a professional counselor with whom I spent the next six months rehashing the details. Searching for an explanation. I worked hard to understand that I was not responsible, that I could not have changed the outcome, that I did not fail.

I learned about myself. I learned to start over.

Now, it’s been almost ten years since I was forced to start over. Most days I don’t think about it. My life is happy, fulfilling, and dramatically different. But early dateless Tuesdays in September hold a fog I still can’t quite penetrate, and then I remember. And I start over on those days. Now, starting over is a familiar, practiced experience of acceptance, forgiveness, and the release of love sent to the man whose name I did not know. To his family. To the world.


6 Boys

Sitting on the steps of my porch this evening, I watched 5 black boys walk by in a group
Talking, laughing, backpacks and headphones
They sounded young but looked tall.
They looked like men.

I watched them talk and joke, roast
How did these boys meet and become friends?
Who in the group is the funny one, who is the smart one, the creative one?
Which one is the leader?

Where are they going? Will they make it there alive?
Will they make it home alive?
Do their mothers know they are walking alone?
Did she tell them they are a target, tell them not to make jokes – not to wear their favorite hooded jacket?

Did she say: Don’t put your hands in your pockets! Don’t run! Don’t yell!

My reminders to my son will be simple ones like:
Don’t forget your raincoat!
Or your homework folder!
Normal kid stuff.

I think my sons’ challenges will have more to do with his Hebrew name.
His peers most likely Christian with names like John and Sam.
He might have inherited my short stalky body.

What will I say when he loses a friend who was just riding in a car, laughing, roasting?Will I say it straight – explain to him than some people kill things they are afraid of without a second thought, and that after that destruction they ask for sympathy, insisting it was deserved?

I think my fears about my son’s future are laughable and naïve and he is privileged.

I hear the boys laugh loudly, one of them chases their friend into the street, yelling and teasing. Normal kid stuff.

Will I learn about one of the boys, his name in my newsfeed as a victim? A hashtag?
Will I learn whether he was the funny one or the smart one posthumously?


Write to Change Your World: Live Intuitive Journaling Workshop

Thursday, June 1st at 7:30 p.m. CT

‘Write to Change Your World’ is an Intuitive Journaling Workshop. We’ll gather together on Zoom for an interactive, expansive, and heart-opening evening of consciousness, a guided meditation, and guided journaling exercises.

What is Intuitive Journaling?
Intuitive Journaling is writing from a space of no judgment. Intuitive Journaling will help you clear your past, heal in order to expand and open the channels of writing and creation for YOU – even if you are not a writer. Learn how heart-based journaling will help you answer questions, overcome challenges, and experience deeper certainty from a soul level, and help you learn to recognize and work with your own inner creator.

What do you want or need more information about? Is there an area of your life that you could use more clarity in, or more guidance from the Universe? Where in your life do you need healing or to move away from energies and situations that no longer serve you? This workshop is for anyone who desires a deeper connection to their intuition and connection to their soul.

This online workshop will be LIVE on Zoom.
This is a donation-based workshop.

Registration is easy at https://www.eventbrite.com/e/intuitive-journaling-workshop-tickets-34667584679

I look forward to working together. Please feel free to contact me with any questions.


A Love Letter to My Inner Creator

For a long time, I wasn’t aware of your existence. Now I look back and I can see the perpetual protection and guidance you’ve provided.

For a long time, I thought of you as an external force: something achieved only by those with special gifts or skills I viewed as unachievable.

For a long time I felt that if you did exist within, I must have lost track of you somehow. Without knowing how or when I lost track, the investigation kept me up at night as I worried about you the way one must worry about a missing family member: terrifying, with endless questions, unnamable guilt, heartbreak.

I see now all the ways you’ve guided me to people, places, and things that without you I would have missed. Once you led me to a rural healing ranch where I met a woman who worked with Angels. She described this kind of energy as an external force, yet within that conversation, you presented yourself to me as an undulating mandala of gold, purple, and pink light. It was unexpected. You surprised me, but it was a tender reunion. This is the moment I understood my misperception. We are eternally unified.

You saved my life once during the birth of my first child. My daughter barely made it into our world, an experience which left a mark on her psyche and mine. She appears to be just like me: tender, empathetic, people-pleasing. When I listen carefully, you show me how to lead her, to help her, to teach her to find her own version of you.

You saved my life again soon after her birth, when my new motherhood depression was so dense I believed it was my new permanent reality. Up for a late night feeding, I begged for help out loud to the silent room, then felt an energy of unconditional love, clear and pure, encompass me. I saw that my only choice going forward was to humbly and completely surrender. To choose a pressurized path of healing and transformation.

Once you showed up on a date with a friend’s older brother. Drunk and laughing at a house party, he suggested we leave and head to a nearby park. A secluded area. You gave me an excuse to go home. Reminded me that I could call my dad. I did call, and he picked me up without question or judgment, and took me to an all-night grocery where he bought us an ice cream. I made it home intact. I think you saved my life again that time.

I recognized you the night I met my husband and you reminded me that you had already introduced he and me twice before: once a few months earlier outside a common area on our college campus, and once much, much earlier when I was 5 years old – a projection of my future happy life with a man who looked, and felt, just like him.

You show up in subtle ways too. You whisper daily gems like “take a different route today,” or “don’t forget your raincoat.” Sometimes I am late in my recognition of your voice and find myself wet and annoyed about the rainstorm the meteorologist hadn’t mentioned. Or stuck in traffic, anxious that I’ll be late to my next important thing. Just this week you reminded me to pack my favorite hat and my phone charger. I spent my weekend away from home out of whack, having left behind two of my essential comforts.

All the time now I think I could go on and on telling countless stories about how you’ve nurtured my physicality. How many of my wrong turns, hard falls, missed connections were actually ecstatic blessings in disguise. I’ve learned to listen, feel, and look closer. To take life with acceptance and bravery. Acceptance and peace.

I want to learn as much about you as I can. To tell anyone who will listen about the funny things you do, what makes you happy, your hopes and dreams. I want everyone to know the love you have for me, to have a personal experience of divine connection, blissful revelation, and expanding mistakes. You are the hardest thing I have ever studied, and the most fulfilling love of my life. Stay with me always as I stumble. You be the night beacon, and I vow to always keep watch.


Us and Them

I should say upfront that I’m one of those people. I believe in and seek out spirituality. This takes the form of Astrology, Angels, Earth energy, ancient religious/spiritual texts, and energy healing. I don’t just believe in them, I use many of these tools to navigate my life. I’ve tried some crazy things on the path to self-improvement. I’ve had some incredible experiences and some that while well meaning, resulted in additional chaos. Still, I was created with this chip. It’s in my DNA. Some of my earliest memories confirm that I look to something bigger to explain my existence. I have a difficult time accepting things at face value.

Therefore, the concept of “Us and Them” is one I’m hoping we can eradicate. Unity sounds like a great idea. It’s a beautiful word and a powerful consciousness to work toward. But at times, I feel the “Us and Them” mentality is impermeable*.

*Here I want to change the word and to versus – no – vs.  I think the abbreviated version of the word indicates a battle. Both sides have something to prove. Both push and fight for rightness and vindication.

Let’s make a list:

Rich vs. Poor

Race vs. Race

Religion vs. Religion

Truth vs. Lies

North vs. South

East vs. West

STEM vs. Fine Arts

I imagine you’ll add a few. Separation is afoot.

I was watching a class last week, and the teacher described living a spiritual life as watching life with subtitles. The image landed. I’ll experience a day designed solely to piss me off: crazy, life-threatening drivers, an unexpected bill, an argument with a loved one, and long wait times or numerous, annoying obstacles. On good days, my thoughts run something like: Well, it’s the first day of Cancer, or there were 3 earthquakes last week, or it’s a Full Moon and last night we had an Eclipse. I seek the bigger picture. Sometimes I feel it comes with a price. The battle rages with knowing there is an explanation for chaos around you, vs. not having a negative reaction to the chaos around you.

Things happen in life that are incomprehensible. Trying to look at a situation based on facts, always looking for the truth, means relinquishing judgments that I’m quite comfortable with. A contemporary example is it’s easier to view a Republican Senator as a misogynist based on an internet meme versus researching the claims from numerous sources and then making a personal conclusion. On bad days, this is the tape: Well, I’ve seen this like 5 times today, this must be true. That’s the whole story, I’m sure of it. It must be true if this person is posting it. I can’t believe this guy would do that…before long I’m anxious, angry, and disenfranchised. Separate. I begin to see nothing but the flaws around me. Things start to piss me off.

I had a friend tell me once that there is no “Us vs. Them.” He was responding to my frustrations about communication in my workplace. I was up in arms. Why doesn’t this person take responsibility instead of running every decision through the higher-ups? Why aren’t our ideas being utilized? Why all this change? My friend’s demeanor remained calm as he reminded me that while we are based in different geographical locations, we are a part of one organization working toward the same goals. “There is no Us vs. Them.”

My perspective expanded in that moment. I got a widescreen slow pan of my current movie and saw how through my own ignorance and resistance to change, I had created unnecessary separation. I had created pain for myself. I was upset and committed to remaining so. The truth? Half of the things I was pissed off about weren’t even true.

I want to say that I am far from enlightened. I am self-aware, and I have a desire to be a positive force in the world. I hope that after I finish writing this, I’ll be able to cross one line from the list of “Us vs. Them” that I’ve acquired. But I don’t think it will be easy.



My Crowdsourced Life

I want to talk about community.

The dictionary defines community as:

  • A unified body of individuals
  • a social state or condition

There is an alleged consciousness behind it.

And the word togetherness:

  • warm fellowship, as among members of a family
  • the quality, state, or condition of being together

Ideas that sound easy enough on paper, I’ve found that actually creating community and togetherness takes inner transformation.

Sometimes in my enthusiasm, I come on strong in relationships. I go full force, straight forward with no pause to think if the other party needs or wants that amount of energy. Sometimes I make a mistake in thinking that because we have common interests or are members of the same community there is an automatic intimacy. I forget that things take time to build. The same applies to personal interests and challenges: it’s all-or-nothing.

People that I admire or look to as examples tell me to “let go.”  Let things flow. Don’t try to always have the answers. (Insert a sigh, eye roll, or scream.) This is a challenge for me. The cycle of negative tape plays in my head, where I imagine the worst case scenarios of what will happen “if”…

My chest tightens, my energy gets small and trapped and I feel like I can’t breathe. My brain plays the common trick of convincing me that if I can control everything, I won’t have anything to worry about.

This approach doesn’t yield good results, so my focus in the past few months has been to take the hard advice: let go, let things flow, and don’t try to always have the answers. It’s a tremendous effort that requires constant vigilance. It’s baffling how quickly I slip back into trying to do everything myself and the chaos that often follows the decisions made in this state of mind. I have some challenges in my life that are so familiar: old patterns, old thinking, all of it the same old garbage that I can’t seem to break free of. I feel broken, helpless to change myself.

This is where I think community and togetherness come in. This is the energy behind the contemporary trend of crowdsourcing: we can do it alone, but the results are often more expansive when we work together.

When we invest in something as part of a group of like-minded people, we want to contribute instead of expecting a return.

So it is accurate to say that my life is crowdsourced. People who love me more than I deserve at times contribute to my potential. They look past my flaws and over-sharing and child-like enthusiasm and see my light. My parents accept my out-of-the-box lifestyle and support me in more ways than I can write in an essay. Sometimes I’m so committed to my own point of view that I can’t even receive this love. People in my life show me their heart and I reject it. Or I twist it to fit into my own understanding of what it means to share and miss an opportunity to experience the growth that can only come from admitting that I don’t know.

As I write this I’m in the middle of a situation that has an open ending. I don’t know how some of the challenges will resolve. But in the past few weeks, I’ve had people step forward to offer a hand up in ways that I would have never imagined. And it seems to happen in the blink of an eye. Somehow, I’m in the right place at the right time and an opportunity is presented through people and places that surprise me. So far, the results have been far better than my original plans. I’m humbled by my small perspective. I limit my reality if left to my own devices.

My crowdsourced life is a wonder. I am in awe of what we can accomplish when we set our egos aside and commit to a common goal. My relationships are stronger when I step back a bit and let things build organically. My fears of not being loved are replaced with the knowing that sometimes love shows up in minutia, but is no less grand. If I get out of the way, I don’t miss it.


On being “good”

My daughter ran over to me, excited. “Mommy, mommy! Toodles is coming tonight!”

“Who is Toodles?” I asked, perfectly aware that she was talking about her cousin’s Elf from the popular trend Elf of the Shelf.

“Toodles the Elf!”

“Do you know why Toodles comes to their house?”

“He makes sure that they are good so Santa will come at Christmas.”

I paused. I didn’t register excitement and I didn’t tell her that an Elf would be visiting us. Instead, I decided to continue the conversation with as much compassionate as possible.

I began, “You know we don’t have an Elf, right?”

She does know. She has noticed. I told her, “Listen, we don’t have an Elf because we don’t need someone to tell us whether or not we’ve been good. We’re good every day, right? No matter if it’s Christmas time or not. Santa will always come to our house, AJ, because we always do our best to do the right thing and to be good people.”

She didn’t look surprised. She looked serious and pensive. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers and she responded with “Even when I’m frustrated?” When she has something that’s really bothering her, she doesn’t look me in the eye. I forced her to look at me. I made eye contact and I told her that yes, even when she’s frustrated, she’s still “good.”

When she has something that’s really bothering her, she doesn’t look me in the eye. I forced her to look at me. I made eye contact and I told her that yes, even when she’s frustrated, she’s still “good.” I told her that nothing she did would ever keep Santa from coming to visit our house. She seemed basically satisfied and ran off to be with her cousins.



In that moment, I saw the weight of what being “good” means to my daughter. Good means perfection. Good means no mistakes. Good means never getting frustrated. Sometimes my daughter’s emotions are so big she can’t control them. She screams in frustration and anger and I’m shocked at how such a small body can contain such grand feelings. I see myself in her – a person who experiences waves of emotion that seem insurmountable and the feeling that you might explode if you don’t get them out somehow.

How do we talk to children about the idea of being “good?” What does that even mean? Are events where gifts are customary supposed to be used as a dangling carrot to elicit behavior we deem acceptable? Don’t we give our children birthday, Christmas, or other gifts just because we want to share with them? I think gifts are more for the person giving them. It’s a way for us to show our hearts to someone we love, and hopefully, that expression of our love brings them joy.

I have several friends who really enjoy the Elf on the Shelf experience, and their posts on social media are fun to follow. They clearly have a great time creating different scenarios for their children to discover. I think the fundamental idea behind the trend is to bring an additional element of magic to the Christmas season, which is beautiful and sweet.

I guess I just don’t want to start a cycle of what feels like entitlement or expectation that my children “deserve” things. It’s heavy talk for a 5-year-old, but what if the only person who is “watching” to make sure we are good is ourselves? I want her to hold herself to a high standard because it feels good to know that you did your best, whether other people see it or not. We can do random acts of kindness any time of the year, and we can work on ourselves to be our personal best without the expectation of a physical reward. I think the reward is the inner peace and fortitude we gain when we make the decisions that are the best we can do at the moment.

I want her to know that being “good” means feeling overwhelmed and messy and showing up to work hard anyway. Or that having moments of anger or frustration are part of being a human being and it’s never too late to start over and try again. I guess this holiday trend of the watchful Elf feels like the Christmas version of the participation certificate. I’m certain this isn’t a popular opinion, and maybe I’m a party-pooper, but I think the season can be magical and hopeful however you observe it. And I think we are all at our core exceptionally good.


Let’s Get Lost 

I woke up this morning with an intense feeling that I need to tell everyone I love that I love them. To shout it to anyone who will listen. To hug them tight for a period of time beyond our collective comfort zone. To sit together for a moment and not talk about the carpool or the groceries or the to-do lists.

We could sit side by side and not compare notes about politics or society or wars. We could just be – a lofty, spiritual concept forgotten since the days of iPhones and instant downloads. A lofty idea permitted only for those who have neglected adult responsibilities.

Do questions change the world?
Does love change the world?
Do hugs change the world?
Do protests change the world?

I woke up with lofty ideas about simplicity and unification and sincerity. I want to tell everyone I see that I love them, especially those who disagree with me, or me them.

I want to forget to check my iPhone, or be one second late paying a bill or answering a text because I’m lost in a hug or stargazing. I want to forget about opinions and being right and divisions between people.

Will my forgetting change the world?
Will we make it if we get lost in love?


Eczema, Humility, and Strength

My son turned 1 at the end of August, and my daughter will be 5 years old on Thursday. First of all, WHERE DOES THE TIME GO? Right!? My daughter is a giant now and my son is almost walking. I’m thinking about milestones and the quick pace of life, which is baffling. 

My son’s first year has been challenging at times. He arrived in the world earlier than expected, but healthy. He’s a happy baby. He’s affectionate and funny. He’s almost always in a good mood, and he’s never met a stranger.

Three months after he was born he developed a rash on his cheeks. This rash spread to his chest, the back of his knees, and eventually, the rest of his body. The first time I took him to the doctor about the rash specifically, she diagnosed him with eczema caused by a milk allergy. I was nursing him, so I immediately cut out all dairy from my diet. The rash persisted. And it grew to a full-body, unrelenting, swollen, and angry red albatross.

Subsequent doctors’ visits were a guessing game. Our pediatrician prescribed steroids which improved the condition but only temporarily. She prescribed antibiotics in case it was bacterial. She told us to use topical creams. About the time we got the first round of steroids completed, my son caught the strep virus from my daughter, causing a major setback. More steroids and more antibiotics.

I had well-meaning friends and family come out of the woodwork with advice and questions. Everyone was understandably concerned. We tried every suggested cream, oil, essential oil blend, and home remedy. Allergy testing was suggested, and he tested positive for food allergies. Eradicating those items from his diet and mine seemed to help a bit, but the rash persisted still.

In the middle of all of this, our family moved, thereby requiring a new pediatrician. Her suggestion was to do additional testing, which was uncomfortable for him and us but was ultimately a blessing. Basically, due to the amount of medication he had in his first year of life, combined with a (lighter) schedule of vaccinations, his little gut couldn’t handle the toxins from the medicines and his digestion was all out of whack. The doctor explained that the body’s entire immune system is controlled in the gut, and his rash was a manifestation of his imbalanced gut bacteria. She prescribed some medication and then some non-dairy probiotics. He’s doing great today. He has some eczema patches here and there, but nothing compared to what he experienced the first few months of his life.

This process was humbling. People, who are innocent of any wrong-doing seemed to have no filter whatsoever. Comments and questions like “what’s wrong with his face?” and “oh my god, is he ok?!” were a daily occurrence. Sometimes I didn’t want to leave the house. I just didn’t want people asking about it, and I was afraid of being judged.

The situation taught me a lot. First, my son is incredible. Who could blame him for being fussy or irritable during all of this? — But he wasn’t! He was happy, and sweet, and snuggly. He actually cries more now than he did a few months ago. There were times that the rash was so severe and his face was so swollen his eyes were almost shut, and still, no complaining on his part. He’s a great example for all of us to be happy despite being so uncomfortable.

The situation also taught me to trust the Light, and to trust myself. My emotions about it often got in the way, but in the moments that I was able to filter the well-meaning comments of onlookers and really tune into my own inner guidance, the message I received was that this was a process we all needed to go through. I knew that it would get better, and to keep working hard with the doctors until we got to the root of the problem. I got a great lesson in not giving up, even when results seem far away.

Today I hope that he outgrows his food allergies. We continue with the probiotics for a few more months, but he is doing really well. He’s beautiful and his eyes are wide open, bright, and shine with light. Today, instead of shocked expressions and worrisome questions, we get comments about how beautiful he is.

The other day I was in the grocery store and had both children with me. It had taken us a long time to get into the shopping basket and into the store. In the bread aisle, a woman approached us and she told me that she had watched us in the parking lot. She said, “You’re a really strong mother.” This year, there have been a lot of moments when I felt anything but strong. But she’s right. I am strong. And I know I can get through anything now.