She Writes…
The Wall Outside the Window A Story of Wren, Her Dragon and the Soma
Wren's bones carried a message and sent it to her soul, and the little yellow cottage felt scary; the storybook, silver-haired, merry-eyed keeper felt like a shadow. Wren felt her throat close, her heart race. Her legs tightened.
But then something happened. As she began to narrow her eyes, her bones started to send out another message, one that called on her dragon, her dragon who could grow right up out of Wren when she needed to. The dragon was good and necessary, and the dragon had saved Wren many times when Wren could not fly.
But through the years, Wren taught her dragon, as teachers do, to pause before breathing fire. Fire was good, but fire was not always what was needed. In the pause, Wren and her dragon learned to think and assess.
So Wren paused, and her dragon stood down, at least for a moment. She breathed until the bell quieted enough to hear underneath it.
And so Wren and her dragon remembered.
The shape of the scary was the same. The man was not.
I Stopped Whispering - My Coming Out
IMAGINE my surprise when, as I stood behind this person, I “SAW?” (me questioning myself in that moment) – GLASS WINGS UNFURL from that person’s back up around their head? Ok, cool – I am a creative. I’ve got a good imagination. And then IMAGINE my surprise when…I “SAW” a sophisticated, older woman with constant eye contact – as though to say to me – YOU BETTER PAY MIND – hanging out behind the shoulder of another in the class. That imagination of mine. And then IMAGINE my surprise when she WAS BACK, and she spoke to me through song – over and over and over. For weeks. Until, finally I decided to come clean and share what occurred with the people who seemed to be the recipient of the message. I drew what I saw and I wrote what I heard. And I shared. IMAGINE my surprise when they both confirmed they knew exactly WHO and WHAT I shared.
Here is what happens, in the plainest language I have: when I practice Reiki — and sometimes simply when I speak of it or I plan a session— I SEE things. A figure standing patiently beside a woman, waiting to be noticed. A color moving through her. Wings of glass unfolding from a man’s back and a silver thread wrapping him in safety. And then I HEAR it — a message arriving, often through music, in a language somewhere between sound and knowing.
What Is Somatic Healing? Of Grief, Celebration, Shame and…TAXIDERMY
The world tends to tell us when we should feel a certain way. I don’t buy that – that thought process allows shame to enter into the room and shame tends to shut us down. And guess what happens when we shut down and pack it away? Unheard, unprocessed? The body keeps the score.
Why Don't We Dress Up Anymore?
When did we take away permission to put the dress on and live? When did we resort to being viewers at a wake – onlookers at a funeral of dress displays, remembering "when and if" and convincing ourselves that the "when and if" is only for other people? When did we make ourselves relics or Cinderellas locked away with no chance of becoming the woman in the gown?
Honoring My Pieces
My pieces showed up.
The messy little girl who dreamed.
The teenager who believed I was gold.
The young mother who found purpose in love.
The thirty-something divorcée who rallied through devastation.
The forty-something woman who found love again and mothered five children from hard places.
All of them. Every version of me.
2025 — The Year We Erupted: Creating in the Fire
THE RELEASE
We all have our cycles. We all cope in our own way.
For me, at first it looked like survival.
Then self-care.
Then fear.
Then maybe hope.
And then — mother-fucking eruption.
Why Are We Still Mean-Girling in Our 40s? (And What That Actually Reveals)
You’d think that after surviving heartbreak, hormone shifts, motherhood, trauma, identity breakdowns, career chaos, grief, and the absolute shitstorm of recent years, we’d know better than to turn on each other.
But it happens. Even in spaces meant for softness. Even in circles built for healing. Even — heartbreakingly — when someone desperately needed to feel safe.
Reclaiming Sensuality in the Shitstorm of 2025
You deserve to exude that sensuality. You deserve to walk into rooms and have the air change. You deserve to feel your own power so deeply that people bow to the vibe. You deserve to climax — yes, physically and metaphorically — in your own damn life.
So fuck the acid rain of 2025. Let’s dance in it anyway.