a small correction, a little favor, some life updates, and win a 90-min session with me valued at $250
OCT 03, 2025
Hi love,
First, a correction. In my last letter, I invited you to TheArt of Noticing and told you it begins in November. That was wrong. It begins in October. OCTOBER. In two-and-a-half weeks from now.
For reasons that are unclear to me but consistent, apparently, since they’ve plagued me my entire adult life, I cannot seem to keep October and November straight. They’re distinct but too similar, and my brain collapses them into one long stretch of autumn/fall, indistinguishable but lovely. Every year, I make this mistake.
Second: I need your help. I want to shape what comes next with you in mind, not in the way marketers mean when they say “know your audience,” but in the way I mean when I say I want this work to matter. So I made this survey. If you complete it, you’ll be entered to win one of three 90-minute 1:1 sessions with me (worth $250 each).
There is a tiny, little catch: to enter, you also share my Substack or Instagram with five friends. Then, in the form, tell me their first names and what you said to them about my work. I know it’s a bit extra, but I want to see how this community spreads: through whispers, trust, the intimacy of one person telling another, not ads or algorithms.
The competition closes on Sunday, October 19th, and I’ll draw and email the winners the next day. If you don’t want to enter the competition but just want to give me feedback, you can skip the part where you share my work and just leave me your thoughts instead. Your voice and thoughts are valuable to me. Thank you.
Third: we’re in the middle of the 8-part her way club “how to change your life” series. (Thank you so much for all the incredible email responses I get from you on this! It’s deeply meaningful to learn how this series is resonating.) And yes, I keep interrupting it. I tell myself I shouldn’t, that people like consistency, but the truth is: I have too many things moving at the same time that I want to share with you. I would rather risk over-communicating and leaving enough space between each note to you than leave something unsaid that might be useful to you or follow some arbitrary rule.
This year has been like a holy fire. Things I thought were permanent: systems, identities, relationships, ambitions, have collapsed into ash. And while it was frightening, it was also clarifying. What survived is what matters.
None of this was on my 2025 mood board. The mood board had other plans: more travel, maybe a new home, some whimsical goals that looked like self-portraits painted in soft light. Instead, what I got was a lesson in self-worth, in boundaries, in recognising where I’ve been overspending: emotionally, energetically, physically.
So here’s what’s changed in ways that impact you:
I’ve put a paywall on all of my memoir-style writing. Because writing at that level of exposure costs me something real. Metabolising in public requires energy, courage, and recovery time. It feels important to honour that.
What I keep free is the writing that’s more directly of service, the kind that teaches or inspires, and points you back to my work itself. It felt like an important recalibration: a quiet reclaiming of value.
I used to think I had to build an empire.
But conventional business empires are expensive, time-consuming and frankly, exhausting. The truth is, I’m tired. Not of my work itself. I love what I create. I love the people I serve. I’m tired of the way I’ve been made to believe I have to show up to be successful.
All I want is a simple, profitable business with minimal expenses, helping people and doing what I love.
There are times when my business doesn’t run perfectly, but I find that even on the challenging days, I am grateful. Because I am still waking up without an alarm, writing in my bed, working from a cafe, and able to fit my work around my life instead of the other way around. And that is such a gift.
I quit coffee again because of this, and turned to black tea instead
People like to tell you that a successful business is fully automated, and certainly, some automation helps, but I’ve found this works too:
Wake up Write Create and publish one piece of content Go for a walk Lunch See clients Workout Dinner + friends Sleep
It’s not glamorous, but it’s beautiful, it’s effective, and it’s enough. And my body and internal system and nervous system and heart thrive in this way.
As long as I can:
make money helping others be creative in the ways that pour out of me have minimal overheads and expenses set aside a good percentage for savings invest in experiences that I value have space and time to contemplate daily live in a beautiful environment with sun and water
I am a content, calm and fulfilled woman.
Success to me is:
consistent income living within my means low overheads and expenses financial and time freedom saving money for the future spending time with people I love doing things that I love daily nature, sunshine and movement a beautiful home and external environments work that supports me and my lifestyle helping people through my creativity a mutable, fluid daily schedule
Every Monday, I have a little dreaming and planning day. Corporate types call it a ‘CEO Day’, but for me, it’s a check-in date with myself:
I look into how I am feeling (what do I want and need) I check my accounts, income and expenses I make sure I put money in my savings I dream into what I want to create more of I lean away from what I want less of I organise my week ahead
I do this every week, no matter what. I know that whatever I pour my love and attention into is what will grow. I choose to be intentional with that. This is how I nurture my relationship with my resources.
I don’t have all the answers. But I do have a framework I’ve been returning to as I rebuild my life right now. It’s become my quiet compass in this transition. Thank you for being with me during this transformative time in my life.
I hope something wonderful happens for you this weekend.
I’m getting older, and I’m loving it. When people ask my age, there’s often a flicker of surprise in their eyes, and I take it as a compliment. I am not as young as you think I am. Who knew ageing could feel this good? I find myself more grounded, wiser, more anchored in my truth, but also lighter, more fluid, more graceful.
The first half of 2025 was a season of endings.
Deaths, dissolutions, breakdowns, breakthroughs. Whole versions of myself dissolving. Some days it felt brutal, other days liberating. There’s something both fascinating and bizarre about being alive right now, like we’re living in an endless loop of things falling apart and coming together again. All endings, all beginnings.
Now it’s August, my birthday month (hello, fellow Leos), and I’ve made a quiet pact with myself. I’m taking the entire month off from: solving my life problems; making any significant decisions; doing anything simply because I think I should; or setting any future goals at all, other than giving myself the gift of not doing any of that.
For the past few months, I have been holding my breath in anticipation, wondering “What’s next?”
But I’ve realised that I will only get the answer to “What’s next?” if I create space to pause and ask, “Where can I hold still?”
This is a time to slow down and listen deeply. To choose rest not as a last resort, but as a truly intuitive practice. One that clears the noise, softens me into Self, and brings me back to a renewed centre.
This August, I am devoting myself to this. I am going to savour my days, move through them as slowly as I can, cherish the simplest moments, wonder at nature, take long walks, read good books, spend time with friends, soak in salty water, and trust in the magic of the universe.
There are times that define our stories beyond our lives…
2025 has been one of those times for me. The loud echo that I must completely surrender to the mystery of life and let it transform me has been deafening, and all I’ve been able to do is nod my head obediently and let go.
It’s my birthday today—8/8—and I’m spending it in ways I love: cups of scalding tea in bed, blanket loosely draped over me, laptop balanced across my hipbones as I tap away at the keys. Later, I’ll run a long bath, wander through the city, and bake a vanilla-plum cake with the last of the plums my friend brought from the market, the skin of the fruit already beginning to wrinkle. Not necessarily in that order. Today is for me alone.
Yesterday I celebrated in the city. I deeply and wholeheartedly have fallen in love with new york city.
A friend treated me to the best massage I’ve had in years, maybe ever, and then we wandered Soho, talking about the things that matter: love, men, writing, creativity, the strange, exquisite privilege of being a woman in this world. Somewhere between film shoots and shop windows, she reminded me that certainty is not the point of life.
Of course, we’d all love to peek behind the curtain and see exactly how the story will unfold, what choices will take us home to ourselves.
But when we choose to create: to paint, to write, to fall in love, to see beauty, to dance until dawn, to film moments, to tell a story, to share a favourite spot with the world, we choose to let go of control. We choose to step into the unknown and trust that our small acts of courage matter. Even when they seem insignificant, they ripple through lives in ways we’ll never fully witness.
Every moment of vulnerability, every leap into something that feels both terrifying and true, leaves a mark. Sometimes that mark is the spark someone else needs to ignite their own courage. That’s why we follow the things that light us up, not just for the outcome, but because each step pulls us closer to our truest self. Again and again, we are asked to choose courage over comfort, compassion over judgment.
In this way, our lives become works of art. Each choice leaves a trace, a brushstroke on the canvas of our lives. And sometimes, that’s enough to inspire another soul to take their own leap.
Later that evening, I made my way to the West Village to meet another friend. We sat outside under a soft summer sky, the air warm and tender, the faintest breeze brushing our skin. Words poured out of us in tangles, laughter breaking through like sunlight, glasses clinking over fluffy pineapple cocktails and a small mountain of cheeses and meats. She casually mentioned my birthday to the waiter, and a few minutes later, he returned with a slice of tiramisu, a single candle flickering in the wind and then swiftly blown out.
We walked along the Hudson River toward Grand Central as the sun lowered itself into the water, offering encouragements, trading the hard-earned wisdoms that only come from being cracked open by life. I found myself circling back to the same thought: Is the promise of expansion worth the risk of change?
Change often begins witha sharp moment of discomfort, resistance, or pain. Something that wakes us up, asks us to pay attention, and to do something new. The rest of the time, change comes from small, unseen moments, a single decision, a quiet realisation, a gentle letting go of what no longer fits.
At its heart, change is a love letter from life to our becoming. Growth and getting older feed us. Time spirals us deeper into ourselves, granting access to clarity, strength, peace, and a tenderness we couldn’t have imagined when we were younger.
This, I think, is the truest gift of the mystery: that it keeps revealing us to ourselves.
tender truths I’ve been unpacking at the edge of change (& some of your recent q’s a’d) HAPPY SOLSTICE
On the solstice, in my pyjamas, cracked wide open and choosing to share anyway. In this gentle check-in, I reflect on a deeply personal season of change, grief, clarity, and growth. I talk about what it means to navigate the unknown with grace, how I’m rethinking love and relationships, the choice to stop using my last name, and the evolution of how I show up in my work and life. I answer your questions, imperfectly and truthfully, from the tender in-between. A conversation about enoughness, soul-space, and staying soft while it all unfolds.
“When I came in this evening, I was so identified with my emotion,” I said, twisting to face the teacher. “I was like: I’m so saaaaad! WWWAAAAHHHH!!!” I exaggerated, earning a few giggles from behind me.
It was a rainy night in NYC’s Lower East Side. I was at a yoga and philosophy class.
Speaking in front of others used to terrify me. I’d flush with heat, my thoughts would tangle, and my voice would betray me. I’d prepare what I wanted to say in advance, rehearsing endlessly in my head while others spoke. By the time it was my turn, I wasn’t even there anymore. I was so consumed by trying to say the ‘right thing’ that what came out was a jumbled mess. Then came the shame spiral. I hated the awkwardness of being seen.
As I continued sharing, I said, “But then I moved and sweated and got into my body, and loosened the grip sadness had on me. I remembered that I am not my feelings, I’m just a person having feelings. And now, I feel fine! So I guess… yoga works!”
We all laughed. That’s why we’re here. Because it works.
It struck me again how easy it is to forget what we know when our minds are loud and cluttered. When we can’t hear the part of us that already knows.
That’s the ache of self-abandonment.
When, at the end of the day or week, or season, you realise you’ve lived from doubt instead of trust. You ignored your intuition. You bypassed your knowing. You outsourced your truth. And now you feel like a stranger to yourself.
That is not a feeling I enjoy.
You don’t trust yourself because you’ve never been taught how. Because you’re afraid of making mistakes. Because the noise of the world is so loud that your inner voice doesn’t get heard.
One that begins when you decide to start showing up for yourself with consistency, clarity, and care. A big part of that is creating enough mental space to actually hearyourself.
One of the most practical ways I anchor into my own self-trust is by gently clearing out the mental and energetic clutter. When my mind is quiet, my intuition becomes louder. My clarity returns. I know what to do next because I can feel it again.
Here are some of the practices that help me return to that place:
Let yourself take a proper social media break. Even one full day away can shift your entire nervous system. Delete the apps. Reclaim your attention. Eat breakfast without scrolling. Go for a walk without your phone. Remember what it feels like to live in your body, not just online. You’re not going to miss anything. Everything important will still be here when you return.
Stop checking email first thing in the morning. Give yourself at least one sacred hour before you open your brain to the demands of the world. That slow morning is magic and deserves to be protected. Use it to write, stretch, dream, create, listen. You can reply to emails later, when your creativity doesn’t need your full bandwidth.
Turn off all unnecessary notifications. Not every ping deserves your attention. Not every alert is urgent. Let your phone serve you, not the other way around. (The only notifications allowed on my phone are phone calls and messages.)
Make a list of the decisions that are swirling in your mind. Take note of the unmade choices weighing you down, and decide on them. All at once, if you can. Yes or no. Now or later. Decide to decide, or decide not to decide until next month or next year. Give your brain the closure it craves.
Close open loops. Send the email. Pay the invoice. Return the item. Follow up with the person. You will be astonished by how much mental energy you free up when you stop dragging yesterday’s loose ends into today.
Declutter your phone. Most of us have dozens of apps we never use. Delete what doesn’t support the version of you that you’re becoming.
Delegate what you can. For so long, I resisted delegation. But delegation is actually about accepting and receiving help. It’s wise. It creates more time, space, and energy for the things only you can do. And it gives others a chance to support you, which they often want to do.
Make amends where needed. Apologise. Forgive. Repair. Set things down that you’ve been carrying around in silence. Even if it’s something small, clearing the emotional debris makes room for a deeper self-trust to take root.
When you do all this, even a few of these things, you begin to soften into yourself. You feel more grounded, more lucid, more resourced. You don’t need to grasp or hustle for answers because you can access them right here, within yourself.
…an honest letter about starting over in the world’s most famous city
After a month in New York, I’ve concluded that it really is like living inside a movie. Yesterday, walking through the West Village, we passed one of the leads from YOU and that comedian my boyfriend calls “the ‘I’m a swan!’ guy.” I wouldn’t have recognised either of them, but he’s a pop culture encyclopedia, which I find endlessly entertaining.
The most charming thing about this city is how hard it tries not to be American. It’s clinging tight to its immigrant roots, claiming the most obscure and beautiful bits of the many cultures that built it.
In the vlog above, you’ll get a glimpse of my first chaotic, cosy, overstimulating, sunshine-filled weeks in the city, from yoga class revelations and focaccia-making to lazy girl makeup rituals and navigating PMS in a place that never stops buzzing. I reflect on how long it takes to feel grounded somewhere new, what I love about NYC (surprise: the water??), and the tiny wins that help me find my pace in the madness.
I came here with the intention to document it all. To share the magic of experiencing everything for the first time. But the truth is, while I love it here, I don’t have as much space or time as I once did. I used to languish in my creativity — let it ooze out of me like molten lava. Now, I live in a studio apartment on the Lower East Side with my boyfriend (who also works from home), and the luxury of spaciousness just… isn’t available right now.
Which means two things: one, I need to carve out more time and space that’s mine, and two, I need to learn how to create within the chaos. To let inspiration move through me, even in the chaos and noise.
Something is changing in me. I’m becoming someone I don’t quite recognise yet.
Usually, I’m a step ahead of life. I can see what’s coming. But right now? Life is a step ahead of me. I’m being asked to trust. Not because everything is certain, but because I can.
People often ask how I’ve built such deep self-trust. The answer isn’t about what I’ve done differently. It’s about what I’ve let go of.
My self-trust lives in the space I’ve cleared for it.
It came to me one night, maybe 15 years ago, while I was lying in bed meditating. I was new to it then, but it gave me a peace I hadn’t known before. A quietness that made space for things to rise up. The kind of space that lets truth speak.
I carried around a lot of pain.
My mum struggled with depression and anxiety, and as a sensitive kid, I absorbed much of it, believing it was mine. My dad died when I was ten. My stepdad, who entered the picture when I was four, was cruel, verbally and emotionally abusive. At one point, when I was six, he made me live in a caravan outside while the rest of the family was in the house. My mother joined him in the abuse. She told me later she thought siding with him would make it easier on me.
That’s the surface-level story, and honestly, it’s not the point. I share this not for pity, but to offer context — to show you the shape of the beliefs I had to unravel in myself.
Maybe you’ll recognise some of them:
I am not wanted. I am not lovable. I am not safe. I have to do it all alone. I can’t ask for what I need. It’s not safe to speak up. I must not upset others. There’s something wrong with me. I have to hide who I really am.
That night, in meditation, I felt frustrated. I kept circling back to these painful memories. It felt like I couldn’t move forward. And suddenly, a thought came:
These memories aren’t hurting me. I’m hurting me — by replaying them.
They were still active in me because they were unresolved.
I realised that every emotional block, every limiting belief, is just an unprocessed experience we’ve held onto for safety. At one point, those beliefs helped us survive. But they outlive their usefulness. And instead of releasing them, we keep them close out of habit — or fear — and they start to manifest in our lives, in our bodies. As pain. As illness. As stuckness. As stories we can’t seem to rewrite.
That night, I didn’t get caught in the stories. I just let the feelings rise. Memory after memory. Sadness, anger, grief — I let it all come, and I felt it. Fully. Until it softened. I cried for hours. I forgave myself. For how I had carried it all for so long.
And something in me shifted.
Over the days and weeks that followed, I kept practising. Feeling. Releasing. Replacing. Integrating. And little by little, things began to change. I lost the extra weight I was carrying. My skin cleared. My eyes were brighter. My relationship to food, to my body, to myself softened. I began to like who I was. To see my own beauty, not just my flaws. Life itself looked and felt different.
Because when you begin to clear out the old noise — the stories, beliefs, and inherited patterns that were never truly yours — you don’t just feel lighter. You feel free. Free to trust yourself. Free to choose what’s true for you. Free to follow your feelings without needing to explain, justify, or prove a thing.
From that place, life starts to unfold in the most unexpected, beautiful ways. You stop gripping for control, and instead start co-creating with the world around you. You stop chasing clarity, and somehow, it finds you.
You might fall in love on an ordinary Thursday and move to New York six months later. (That’s what happened to me :). You might find yourself changing careers, shifting relationships, saying yes to things you once feared, and letting go of things you thought you needed — not because something’s wrong, but because something inside you has become deeply right.
When you trust yourself, you don’t need to have everything figured out. You just need to listen. You need to stay close to that quiet knowing within. And when you do, the next step always reveals itself.
That’s the way she knows. And it’s already inside you.
Some years are made for fighting shadows, some years are made for dreaming dreams, some years are made for wholly living, some years are made for falling in love, some years are made for heartbreak, and some years are the dark, rich spaces in-between that tie all the other years together.
There are moments in every woman’s life 𓂃 often subtle, always significant 𓂃 when she realises she’s been waiting for life to feel good later.
I am that woman, too.
After the move. After she’s earned it. After the next launch. After she’s healed enough, achieved enough, grown enough.
It’s not that she doesn’t want goodness now. It’s that her nervous system doesn’t recognise it as safe. She’s built her identity on high-functioning self-reliance, on holding it all together, on always preparing for the next hit of chaos.
Goodness feels foreign. Untrustworthy. Fleeting.
But there comes a point when you get tired. Not just tired in your bones, but soul-tired. Tired of bracing for bad news. Tired of living on emotional adrenaline. Tired of feeling like peace is something you can only visit in short bursts.
This moment is an invitation: what if life gets to be good now?
your body doesn’t lie
If your system is used to surviving, “good” can feel unsafe.
Calm can feel like a threat. Pleasure can trigger shame. Stillness can summon panic.
We don’t override that reality by shaming it. We honour it. We meet ourselves there. Letting life be good begins with learning how to stay with good. To recognise it. Receive it. Regulate in the presence of it.
This isn’t just a mindset shift. It’s a somatic one.
Which is why I ask myself:
What are the tiny signals of goodness I can practice noticing? ✧ the softness of my sheets in the morning ✧ the kindness in a stranger’s eyes ✧ the miracle of a moment with nothing to prove
The more I notice, the more I can hold. The more I hold, the more I trust. The more I trust, the safer it feels to expand into joy without sabotage.
you don’t have to earn softness
So many of us were raised on invisible contracts that said:
Be good, then you’ll get love. Work hard, then you’ll get rest. Suffer well, then you’ll get your reward.
It creates a rhythm of deprivation, where we become addicted to proving our worth through pain. It keeps us stuck in cycles of over-functioning, over-giving, over-efforting.
But what if we broke the contract?
What if softness wasn’t a prize at the end of your endurance? What if it was the starting point?
This is the paradox of receiving: you can’t force it.
You have to soften enough to allow it. That softness — that capacity to receive life fully — is a practice of presence, not perfection.
It asks: Can I let myself enjoy this moment without earning it? Can I stop bracing for it to be taken away? Can I let it be this good, this easy, this free?
practicing your way into goodness
Letting life be good isn’t about bypassing the hard stuff. It’s about refusing to let pain be your only portal to meaning.
Here are some ways I’m practicing:
1. Noticing where struggle has become identity. Do I feel more real when I’m suffering? More valid when I’m busy? More lovable when I’m useful?
2. Replacing performance with presence. Instead of performing wellness, I’m allowing mess. Instead of performing peace, I’m regulating in real time. Instead of performing power, I’m rooting into truth.
3. Setting up small rituals that remind me I’m safe to enjoy. A slow morning. A spontaneous dance break. A walk without my phone. Tiny practices that say to my system: this is safe, this is safe, this is safe.
4. Choosing environments that don’t require me to shrink. The people, spaces, and structures I choose are part of the goodness. They reflect back the truth that I don’t have to abandon myself to belong.
a closing truth
There’s a quiet rebellion in letting life be good. In refusing to rehearse old wounds.
In choosing to orient toward pleasure, peace, and enoughness, not as a reward, but as a right.
And like all rebellions, it takes practice.
But the more we choose it, the more it becomes familiar. The more we hold it, the more it grows. And the more it grows, the more we remember: this is what we were always meant for.
Let your life be good, not someday, but now.
Not because you’ve earned it. But because you’ve remembered how to receive it.
A gentle, practical journey to release the limiting beliefs, patterns, and conditioning that keep you stuck and to help you reconnect to your quiet knowing.
We start on Monday, May 26.
Earlybird price ends on Monday with the full moon.
This is a story about my cat who is the love of my life and if it’s not your thing I suggest not reading it but it’s the only way I can process my broken heart right now.
MAR 28, 2025
I wake at half past six in the morning with tears. I try to brush them away but they quell under my closed eyelids and start to wet my face. I get up and go to the bathroom to dry them and blow my nose. Not right now, I think to myself and get back into bed, chest rampant with grief.
Half an hour later the alarm goes off and my boyfriend stirs. He’s leaving for New York this morning. I curl up into his arm and we cuddle in silence for a while exchanging few words. I can tell he is distracted with his day ahead. I don’t mind.
I have my own inner world to tend to.
He gets up, dresses and places the final things into his already-packed bags. We embrace and kiss a few more times, and I ask him to keep me updated on his journey. “I’ll get everything ready for you for when you come”, he smiles tenderly. “Ok,” I reply, “I’ll bring all the fun”. We kiss one last time, and he walks out the door.
Finally, alone. I can grieve.
I can’t believe I let go of my baby!!! I sob out loud to myself. The waterfall of sadness that has been pressing against the edges of my body begins to pour out. I had cried, but in more restrained ways, up until now.
My baby, I keep saying between waves of tears. I’ve lost my baby. I start to clean the house. A well-meaning friend sends a photo from when he really was a baby, and it sets me off again.
I take the rug off the floor, put it in the washing machine and cry. It’s full of cat hairs. I wipe the surfaces, move the furniture around, and vacuum the remnants of cat litter sprinkled on the floor and cry. I strip the linen from the bed, mop the floors and cry.
I clean to move the emotions through my body. I clean to change the energy of my space after a week filled with big feelings. I clean for self-care to help stage my own letting go process. I clean, and I cry big, loud, ugly, sobbing tears.
We met almost exactly 6 years ago in Mexico.
There was a construction site where a big resort was being built between the old town and the jungle where I lived on the Pacific Coast. Walking home one day I heard high-pitched cries coming from inside the site which was taped off. The tape read ZONA DE PELIGRO. Danger Zone. The tiny squeals continued so I ducked under the tape and followed them. Between tools and sheet metal behind concrete bags, there was a tiny paw poking out.
“Hello, little baby”, I said softly as I crept closer and squatted down to see a tiny cat, ginger and white, with a bloodied nose and an injured front leg. I couldn’t leave him there like that, so I wrapped him in my sarong and placed him inside my basket, holding it closed to prevent his escape.
At home, I let him out where he carefully inspected the perimeter. A habit he kept every time we arrived somewhere new. I called a friend of mine who knew a vet. While I waited on the sofa, this tiny furry being jumped up and curled up into my arms. I’d never had a pet before, and I wasn’t planning on having one. I was too nomadic. It didn’t make sense.
The vet came almost immediately with cat supplies and food, and every day after, for seven days. Repairing his sprained leg and giving him protein shots and antibiotics to help him mend. I planned to let this little creature heal and then find a home for him. I named him Danger Zone for fun in the meantime in ode for where he had been found.
That first night, I put him to bed on the sofa, kissed him good night, went to my bedroom and closed the door. Moments later, I heard his tiny baby cries and paws pawing at the door. I laughed and let him in, surprised. Do cats normally want company this much? I thought to myself. We both settled into bed, me on my back, him wrapped around one of my legs and fell asleep.
Weeks passed, and then months.
I haphazardly looked for a home for him but in a country filled with stray cats, no one was particularly interested. Also, I was falling in love.
He had this endearing need, always wanting to be close, our bodies always touching. His presence was a gentle balm, softening a part of my heart that had calcified after my last breakup. His love was unfiltered and unconditional.
Separation triggered anxiety in him, his cries echoing up the street as soon as I turned the corner. I reshaped my life around him, trading some personal freedom for care, time together, and presence. My maternal instincts, once dormant, found new expression through him, one of nurturing and connection. Men I dated bristled at my devotion, struggling to compete with a bond they could neither understand nor replicate, a connection that prioritised his needs over theirs.
A year later, I knew it was time to leave Mexico.
I had career ambitions and dreams that couldn’t be met in the humid jungles I resided in. And I had him. Danger Zone Honey Bear. More Honey than Danger.
For a while, I toyed with finding him a home. Again. One day, on the phone with a friend who had noticed that I had become sullen and sad in our calls, he pointed out that I was likely depressed because I was thinking about separating from my cat. He was right, though I did not want to admit it.
Defying all logic, a decision born of pure emotion; impractical, perhaps even selfish, I decided to take him with me. I don’t regret that decision, even for a minute. I don’t think I would have survived what happened in the past five years without him.
We moved to Brighton in the UK for eighteen months and then to Mallorca, Spain, for another eighteen months, and then back to the UK for another eighteen months, where we toured the country for a while before settling in a cute little village in the forest. He loves being outdoors and having space to roam, so when the opportunity came to live in a cabin surrounded by nature, I jumped at it to give him a home that made him happy.
But I was not fulfilled.
There was so much more life I wanted to live and experiences I wanted to have, and being tied to a home for a cat made those things impossible. Though I tried. There is something in my makeup where my external environment and my internal journey are inexplicably intertwined. They always have been.
Different places activate different parts of my being, and I cannot access them without this key. I read so many articles on people judging this way of being as if I am seeking happiness in someplace new. But I am under no such illusion. I know that ‘better’ and ‘happier’ don’t exist out there.
That’s not what this is about. It’s that the essence of my soul is made up of everything on this earth, and to access those parts, I need to collect them in all the different places.
And so I tried to do it with him. Because I wanted to. Because however hard it was it was worth doing together. I put him through so much. Including a terrifying two weeks on a sailboat in an attempt to get to the other side of the world, together.
Because every time he is in my arms, he’s good. I’m good. Everything is good. Nothing else matters. Together, we were always fine. We have a secret language, this invisible thread that connects just the two of us.
In our six years together, he was my greatest teacher.
He taught me how to be present no matter what else was happening in and around us. He helped me heal my inner child by teaching me that his needs — for routine, for comfort, for affection, for attention, for safety and for stability — were also myneeds. He taught me boundaries by modelling a no-f~*ks-given attitude towards what he likes and doesn’t. He helped me heal my unhealthy patterns in romantic relationships by being so securely attached and available for love that anything less was no longer accepted.
When we ended up in Portugal, I was content for life to show me the next steps, as I always do. And it did. I met a man, fell in love and chose to build a life with him. Paid subscribers know the intimate details of this story so I won’t go into it here. Danger and I sublet a friend’s apartment, he grew fat because he had no outdoor space to run around in, and we were happy together.
When my boyfriend invited me to join him in New York I had to make a decision. In February, when I decided that, yes, I would go, I revisited something I had thought about before but wiped from my mind.
I went to work to find him a foster family. I posted on local community groups and asked friends to post on theirs, and a few weeks later, I met a lovely Mexican woman who was enamoured with taking him in as he, too, is Mexican. We met, and he met her and hated every minute because, of course, it was a strange new person in a strange new environment, but nonetheless ideal. She agreed to take him. Happy and relieved, I booked my flight.
Two weeks later, late at night, she sent me a text. She had gotten cold feet and wanted me to find him another home. My heart sank. I understood. Accepting an animal into your life is a big responsibility. I appreciate not taking it lightly. But it meant that I had less time to find something suitable.
I tried all the same methods, reached out to every friend I could think of, and asked everyone I knew locally for help, but no solution materialised. Stressed by both the decision and the process, I started looking up local organisations that could house him and found an animal protection agency in Lisbon with a promising reputation.
We email back and forth, have a phone call, and they offer to take him and find him a home and agree that I would bring him the day before my flight. A few hours later, an email landed in my inbox that said that if I wanted their help, I had to bring him the next day. Something about having space now and not later. When I read those words, I fell apart. It was too fast and too soon. I want as much time with him as possible. But I also need their help.
My boyfriend offers to go with me several times, gently reminding me that I don’t have to do this alone. I love him for wanting to be there for me, but this thing, I have to do alone. This is between Danger and me.
That afternoon I pack up his toys, put his favourite food in a plastic container and cuddled with him as much as I could. That night I hold him in my arms and try to imprint every detail about him into my memory.
His soft, silken hair. The way he places his paws on my hands. The way he sneaks up and puts his face on my face. The way he closes his eyes with pleasure every time I kiss him. He soft mews when he wants something. The quiet purrs when he’s nestled into my body. Every sweet gesture breaks me and makes me grateful for the time we have had together.
The next morning I get up, call an Uber, kiss and hug him one last time and silently put him in his carrier. I can’t speak. I cry the 45-minute drive to the agency. Once there, they get me to fill out some forms, pay for his medical requirements, and take him away. The process is sharp and painful. I hear him cry in alarm in the back somewhere, and my heart shatters. Empty and distraught, I walk out on shaky legs, sit on a concrete block and weep deeply. A woman comes down from a nearby building and touches my shoulder to comfort me. I am beside myself with grief and unable to remain composed. I call an Uber and cry the 45-minute drive home.
It’s been three days. Waves of grief bring me to my knees. I wonder if I made the right decision. I feel so much shame and doubt. But mostly shame.
It’s the little things that destroy me now.
The little flutter of excitement to see him that I get in my heart when I’m heading home. The little cat hairs he has left as souvenirs on every item of clothing. The little pitter-patter of his paws that followed me from room to room. The way I leave the bathroom door open a little because he always demands to come in. Sitting down anytime, anywhere, and immediately becoming his human cushion. Getting into bed and waiting for him to jump right in after me. But now he doesn’t.
Noticing is my favourite art form. It’s how I find beauty in the ordinary, meaning in the messiness, poetry in the in-between moments.
Writing has always been my way of capturing it all… of making sense of the world, of holding onto the fleeting magic that might otherwise slip away.
Starting on Sunday, April the 13th with the Full Moon 🌝 I am leading a 6-week writing club as an invitation into that practice. EB prices end on Sunday.
London, nostalgia, and the deep life shifts I didn’t see coming
Just back from London, I reflect on the trip—soaking in my love for the city, visiting museums, reconnecting with friends, and taking care of some life admin. I also share personal thoughts on transitions, endings, and the cycles of life, along with the challenges of navigating change. A timely reminder that contraction always precedes expansion—just like an inhale before an exhale. 🌿✨
… and I don’t know if I feel distressed or relieved about it? Or if the bones of my business can carry me forward from here?
On Tuesday night, as I made my way to bed, I popped my phone on charge in the living room and was about to turn it on aeroplane mode — my nightly ritual of digital disconnection — when I saw the message above. Confused and with my heart already starting to race, I swiped across to my Instagram icon and tapped on it, only to confirm my worst fear: my personal brand account, years of connections and content, had vanished into the digital ether. Poof! Gone faster than my New Year’s resolution to do morning meditation.
The next two hours became a blur of frantic searching and desperate attempts at recovery. Anyone who’s lost something precious knows that initial surge of panic – the racing thoughts, the moist palms, the tightness in your chest as you try everything you can think of. From clicking the ‘hacked’ option to desperately navigating Facebook business support (an experience about as helpful as asking my cat for tech advice), I followed every breadcrumb trail I could find. Each dead end felt like another door slamming shut. Instagram’s automated responses might as well have been echoes in an empty room — they offered literally zero help. By midnight, I crawled into bed with stress hormones surging through my body, my mind a carousel of worst-case scenarios.
Yet somewhere in that chaos, a tiny voice whispered: “What if this is actually a gift?” (Plot twist: sometimes the universe has a peculiar sense of humour in delivering its messages.)
The past 36 hours have been a rollercoaster of emotions that have been equal parts terrifying and oddly liberating. Like standing at the edge of a cliff — frightening, but with a breathtaking view of possibilities I hadn’t considered before. Who knew digital detox could be so… involuntary?
While juggling multiple priorities I attempted account recovery, supported my private clients and wrote the daily lessons for the free 6-day Clarity challenge that starts on Monday:
Each day you’ll receive bite-sized audio lessons and powerful exercises designed to spark clarity and momentum straight to your phone on Telegram. 📲 There you can share your breakthroughs, connect with others, and take bold steps forward—one day at a time.
Day 1: Understanding Stuckness
Focus: Why you feel stuck and how to shift your mindset.
Day 2: Creating a Vision
Focus: Get clear on your authentic desires and values.
Day 3: Overcoming Resistance
Focus: Address internal and external blocks stopping you from progressing.
Day 4: Reigniting Inspiration
Focus: Build motivation and discipline for aligned action.
Day 5: Building Momentum
Focus: Start taking aligned action with clarity and confidence.
Day 6: Anchoring Self-Trust
Focus: Celebrate progress and build tools for future decisions.
These past 36 hours have forced me to deeply examine Instagram’s role in my life, and the revelation has been both unsettling and illuminating.
Yes, it’s been an incredible platform for building genuine connections — a digital garden party where I’ve cultivated beautiful friendships and connected with kindred spirits across the globe. Through it, I’ve shared my authentic voice, sparked hope, and offered a perspective that celebrates personal responsibility and infinite possibility.
But let’s be honest. The platform has morphed into something almost unrecognisable. It’s like that friend who suddenly got really into multi-level marketing — still lovable, but exhausting to be around.
Each scroll brings another sales pitch, another algorithm-fed distraction. The wholesome creativity and genuine connection that drew us here have been largely displaced by an endless parade of carefully curated content and targeted advertisements. At this point, my feed thinks I’m simultaneously planning a wedding, starting a kombucha business, and in desperate need of 47 different productivity apps.
And when I look at my stats, of the 12k, less than 10% of you get to see anything I share. I find myself increasingly torn between gratitude for the platform’s benefits and an almost visceral resistance to being part of this attention economy.
It’s like being at a party where everyone’s shouting, but nobody’s listening.
While I’ve always strived to maintain authenticity in this space, there’s a growing dissonance between my values and the platform’s evolution. We’re all aware of the studies showing social media’s impact on our collective mental health, our ability to focus, and our capacity for deep, meaningful in-person connections. As someone trained in psychology, I feel this weight even more heavily.
Could this forced exit be the universe’s way of nudging me toward a more aligned path? Perhaps. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified about my business’s survival without this digital lifeline.
There’s only one way to know. This is exactly what I am doing now: seeing how you, my community, rally around me.
While losing my account has shaken my business foundations, it’s also created space for something new to emerge. Something potentially more aligned with both my values and the genuine needs of my community.
This is where you come in.
As I navigate this transition, I’m curious to hear your thoughts and feelings. How would you prefer to stay connected? What kind of support and content would truly serve you? How do you feel about Substack and YouTube? Perhaps together, we can create something even more meaningful than what we’re leaving behind.
The struggling woman archetype simply cannot exist in 2025. There’s no more room to play small.
It’s a rainy winter day here on the windswept Atlantic coast of Portugal. Winter has officially set in, and I’m already yearning for warmer days. I really do try to embrace these colder months – wrapping myself in cozy blankets, sipping steaming cups of tea – but ultimately, my soul was made to dance outdoors under that magnificent ball of fire in our sky.
Lately, I’ve been in a deep season of reflection, turning over the same question in my mind: “What life am I truly designing for myself?” To chart my path forward, I need to first understand where I’ve been.
The recent path was initiated with a leap of faith – moving from sun-soaked Mexico to the misty shores of the U.K. in early 2020 to launch my first physical product: Plannher 𓂃, a planner crafted specifically for women. Then, of course, the global panini hit (I’ve decided to rename it because if I hear “pandemic” one more time, I will actually expire).
I know this era transformed all of us in profound ways.
For me, it shattered something fundamental – this infinite trust I had carried in the world around me. Perhaps it was misguided, perhaps even privileged, but I had always held this unwavering belief that some mystical force would ensure everything worked out. That belief crumbled when I witnessed just how broken our world could be, and it hurt me deeply.
In response, I tried to make myself smaller. I convinced myself I could be content with less, shrinking to fit into what my environment seemed to expect of me. In a world I had once felt was mine to explore, I suddenly felt microscopic.
This contraction forced me to mature and face myself in ways I’d been avoiding.
Alongside my inner growth, my career accelerated at a dizzying pace – I said yes to everything, trying to keep up with a world that felt increasingly unstable.
Seeking sunshine, I relocated to Mallorca.
But something had shifted inside me. The carefree global wanderer I’d once been felt like a stranger. The magical circuit I’d existed in had shattered, taking pieces of my heart with it. I had witnessed humanity’s vulnerability, selfishness, and irresponsibility, and I couldn’t unsee it. Burned out, unsettled and unable to find my flow – which manifested in strange physical symptoms – I left Mallorca behind.
Back in the U.K., after five months of nomadic wandering, I nested in a sweet little village, in a cabin surrounded by ancient forest. But even that wasn’t enough. My soul was starving.
That’s when I had to face a powerful truth: I am someone with enormous desires.
I want it all. I want that epic, life-long love story. I want to taste every flavor this world has to offer. I want to craft a bold, meaningful, breathtakingly beautiful life. I want to be so well-resourced that I never have to compromise on experiences. I want my creative life to overflow with possibility. I want to buzz with pure, electric aliveness.
Sometimes we need others to remind us that we deserve everything we desire. My closest friends have been lighthouses in this journey. I speak to my friend Lola almost daily, and we fan the flames of each other’s dreams, encouraging one another to follow the charged desires pulling at our heartstrings. Because really – if we don’t, what’s the point of this precious life?
Through all this, I’ve realized something crucial:
To be truly free, playful, and creative, you need both financial security and the maturity to handle your resources wisely. The struggling woman archetype simply cannot exist in 2025. There’s no more room to play small.
My boyfriend and I often discuss how the real game-changing adjustments in life are actually quite boring, simple, and repetitive. You can’t hack your way to satisfaction. But you can strategically stack your habits to create better outcomes.
When I examine the areas of my life that have flourished – my career (at times), my lifestyle (I’ve already lived such a full life that fills me with pride!), my friendships (meaningful and deep), my romantic relationship (everything I dreamed of right now) – the design process has been consistent.
I followed the magnetic pull inside my body and took whatever action was required.
I showed up for my business every single day for years, long before it became financially fruitful. I made heroic efforts with my friends, driving hours just to share a coffee or offering soothing words as balm for their hearts, even when it wasn’t convenient. I said “no, thank you” to countless potential suitors and relationships, choosing solitude over settling for less than what my heart truly desired.
Eventually, piece by piece, I got what I wanted – even if it looked nothing like I’d imagined.
Because context matters. The only thing that truly matters is that it fits me like it was made for me. Because it is.
If you’re ready to redesign a specific part of your life, here’s what works:
— First, decide how you want to feel in that area of your life. Ultimately, we only want anything because we’re chasing a feeling. So get crystal clear – what feeling are you pursuing?
— Next, pay attention to what makes you feel truly alive. It doesn’t have to be directly related to what you’re redesigning. But by holding that part of your life high in your consciousness and heart, you help pull the necessary elements toward you, creating momentum.
— Create a feedback loop between your actions and the area you’re redesigning. Gradually adjust how you show up for yourself, letting the context of what you want to change inform how your life shifts.
— Finally – and this is crucial – find people who are already living the life you’re designing, in ways that you admire, and spend time with them. Nothing transforms your life faster than surrounding yourself with people who expect nothing less than spectacular for themselves.
Rinse and repeat, forever and ever, as you evolve as a human being.
How else could we live? We pour ourselves into vessels that may crack, dream dreams that may dissolve, love people who will certainly change. And in doing so, we become more fully human, more alive…
The winter rains have arrived which everyone warned me about. “It pours endlessly and everything will feel damp and moist,” they told me.
I’ve been living in the tiny fishing village-turned-surf destination of Ericeira in Portugal, for three months now. The palms outside my windows are waving at me carelessly reminding me not to go outside.
It’s Monday and I woke in bed with my cat’s face so close to mine I could feel his soft breathing. He had tucked himself under the covers next to me like a doll, making me laugh.
I promised myself a slow start this morning and folded myself deeper into the lingering nighttime warmth letting my mind drift and wander without holding onto any particular thought.
Finally, the urge to relieve myself urged me out followed by padding out to the windows to confirm that it was indeed a day to stay cosy indoors.
Lighting candles and incense in the living room I moved back to the kitchen to make warm lemon water to drink always the first thing on an empty stomach followed by honey-sweetened cacao to enhance the cosy atmosphere.
The start of 2025 has felt like water slipping through cupped hands. Impossible to grasp yet vital to life itself. Like water, we try to build our worlds on what cannot be contained: love, friendship, and the gossamer threads of possibility. In my small corner of existence, as the world churns with its fires and floods, its violence and chaos, I find myself surrendering to this paradox.
A chance encounter on a cafe stoop becomes something more. A love story with a tall Italian stranger transforming from nothing into something.
This is the eternal human condition – to build our castles on shifting sands, to stake our hearts on what tomorrow might reshape entirely. How else could we live?
We pour ourselves into vessels that may crack, dream dreams that may dissolve, love people who will certainly change. And in doing so, we become more fully human, more alive to the exquisite uncertainty of it all.
I sit watching raindrops fall in gentle rhythm, as candles flicker and fade one by one. My to-do list grows longer with each passing thought – a testament to my endless optimism about what I might accomplish this week. Though I know, deep down, that time will move more slowly than my dreams, I’ve learned to forgive myself for this hopeful nature. There is something beautiful about believing in possibility, even when reality gently reminds us of its own unhurried pace.
It’s officially 2025, and while some folks are diving headfirst into goal-setting and vision boards, others might just be trying to remember where they left their coffee. Wherever you’re at, it’s perfectly fine. Honouring your own rhythm is a beautiful thing. And while you might not be feeling the “new year, new me” vibes just yet, this could be the perfect time to hit reset on some sneaky habits—like enabling.
It’s been a hot topic in my little corner of the universe lately.
Having grown up in an emotionally unsafe environment, I was no stranger to enabling behaviours, as these dynamics often blur boundaries and foster a pattern of prioritising others’ needs, emotions, or dysfunctions over one’s own well-being, perpetuating cycles of dependency and unhealthy interactions.
It took me years to unlearn this pattern, a process that involved becoming deeply discerning about what was mine to carry and what wasn’t, and learning to step back, allowing others to take self-responsibility by resisting the urge to react or intervene in their experiences.
I thought, to celebrate the start of this new calendar year, you might like to break free from that pattern too, if it sounds familiar.
Let me show you how!
what is enabling?
Enabling is like being someone’s personal life jacket—except they’re perfectly capable of swimming, and now you’re both exhausted.
It’s when you step in to solve someone else’s problems, fix their mistakes, or shield them from the natural consequences of their actions. At first, it feels helpful (you’re just being a good friend/partner/parent, right?), but over time, it creates a pattern where they lean on you instead of stepping up. Meanwhile, you’re left wondering why you’re so drained and why they’re not learning to handle their own stuff. Sound familiar?
Enabling can feel like love wrapped in concern, but it often hides a deeper fear: that they might fail or face discomfort. By stepping in, you may inadvertently steal the opportunity for them to grow and build resilience.
Think of it this way: if you’re always the one baking the cake, how will they ever learn to crack an egg?
what you’re responsible for
(aka: The “Handle Your Own Stuff” List)
1. Your health and healing. Nobody else can drink your green smoothie, book your therapy appointment, or stretch out that lower back. Sure, someone can suggest a healthier routine or offer support, but it’s on you to make the choices that support your well-being. Pro tip: Own it, and celebrate even the smallest steps forward.
2. Your decisions. Ever agreed to something you didn’t want to do, then fumed about it later? That’s on you, my friend. Whether it’s choosing a new career path or deciding not to answer a 10 p.m. text, your decisions are yours to make. The beauty here? You’re in charge—even if you make a mistake, you get to learn from it.
3. Your commitments. Said you’d do something? Then do it, or renegotiate with honesty. If you promised to help with a project but now realize you’re overwhelmed, it’s your responsibility to speak up. Holding your word—or adjusting it with integrity—is the backbone of trust.
4. Your relationships. Every relationship is a two-way street, but you’re responsible for your lane. That means communicating honestly, owning your role in conflicts, and recognising when it’s time to pour in love—or to step away. It also means not projecting your expectations onto someone else (ouch, I know).
5. Your personal space. From the clutter in your home to the vibe you create, your environment reflects how you care for yourself. Whether it’s finally tackling that junk drawer or adding a candle that makes your living room feel like a spa, this one’s all on you. And yes, this includes asking for help when needed.
6. Your personal growth. Change doesn’t arrive on your doorstep like a surprise Amazon package. If you’re stuck, it’s on you to take the first step. Whether it’s seeking guidance, ending something toxic, or starting that hobby you’ve been talking about for years, you’re the one who needs to pull the trigger.
7. Your happiness. Waiting for someone else to make you happy is like waiting for your cat to clean the litter box. Danger-baby isn’t doing it, and neither is anyone else. The secret? You’re fully capable of creating joy for yourself—start small and watch it grow.
what you’re not responsible for
(aka: The “Put That Down, It’s Not Yours” List)
1. Someone else’s healing. You can offer a supportive hand, share tools, or hold space, but you’re not their healer. Whether it’s a friend processing heartbreak or a sibling stuck in their patterns, their healing journey belongs to them. Trying to take it on will only drain you both.
2. Their decisions. Ever tried to “fix” someone’s choices because you can’t bear to watch them struggle? Let it go. Your advice (when invited) is valuable, but you’re not the director of someone else’s life. Let them call the shots—and learn from the consequences.
3. Their happiness. No matter how much you love someone, you can’t fill the gaps in their joy. Whether it’s a partner, child, or friend, their contentment is their own work. Yours is to love and support them, not to carry the responsibility for their inner world.
4. Their messes (literal or metaphorical). If they didn’t pay their parking ticket, left dishes in the sink, or caused drama at work, that’s their mess to clean. If you’re always stepping in to save the day, you’re robbing them of the chance to grow and take ownership of their actions.
5. Their learning process. Growth is a beautiful, messy thing, and everyone’s path looks different. Trying to micromanage someone’s progress (or save them from mistakes) isn’t helping—it’s holding them back. Trust their ability to figure it out—they’ll thank you later.
let’s get real: a quick example
You’ve got a friend who’s always late. Every. Single. Time. You try “helping” by texting reminders, calling them 15 minutes beforehand, or even picking them up. Guess what? They’re still late. You’re exhausted, they’re still tardy, and now you’re resentful. Why? Because you’re trying to fix something that’s not yours to fix.
Instead, take a step back. Let them be late. If it means missing the movie previews or skipping the event, so be it. They’ll either learn the value of punctuality—or not. Either way, it’s not your circus, not your monkeys.
how to tell if you’re enabling
Ask yourself:
Do I feel drained every time I help?
Am I more invested in their success than they are?
Is this something they could reasonably handle themselves?
If the answer is yes, you’re likely enabling.
letting go is the best gift
When you stop enabling, you give others the chance to grow.
You also free up your own energy to focus on what is yours. Imagine how much lighter you’ll feel when you stop carrying someone else’s load.
As we step into 2025, I invite you to honour your energy.
Set boundaries, embrace personal responsibility, and let others do the same.
An end-of-year wrap up including a journey through 3 continents, my biggest lessons, 4 free life-changing courses for you & raw answers to your most asked questions.
I began 2024 floating in the South Atlantic Ocean off the African coast, deliberately empty of resolutions. No intentions. No ‘word of the year.’ No lofty ambitions to chase. Just a simple commitment to living life fully, moment by moment.
Life, as it turned out, had its own master plan. My role was simply to keep saying “yes” – applying the wisdom I’d shared in pieces like “cycle girlie” along the way.
Before I knew it, I found myself as a caregiver to two small boys, trudging through muddy, enchanted forests in the U.K. for six months. It was messy, beautiful, and completely unexpected.
Driven by my deepening desire to embrace idleness – a conscious rebellion against hustle culture, urgency addiction, and capitalism’s endless demands – I veered toward Spain. But life had other plans. Two weeks of confronting patriarchal structures (which, yes, thoroughly sucked) somehow landed me in Sicily’s warm embrace.
Then came another sharp turn: Portugal. And within two weeks, as if life was orchestrating a romance novel, I fell in love.
Looking back, I realise that some years aren’t meant for vision boards and carefully plotted goals.
Some years are cosmic dance lessons, where life itself becomes the choreographer. The magic happens when I loosen my grip on carefully constructed plans and allow myself to be carried by life’s current.
Every unexpected turn – from African shores to English forests, from Spanish confrontations to Portuguese romance – was a reminder that life’s wisdom far exceeds my limited imagination of what’s possible.
When I surrender to this flow, I find myself exactly where I need to be, even if it’s nowhere I ever planned to go. And yet, this surrender to life’s flow has led me to perfect clarity about what’s next.
As 2025 approaches, I’m filled with electric excitement about bold new directions — particularly a complete reimagining of my business structures — and the pursuit of new dreams.
Watch this space! I am delighted to take you with me on this journey.
I needed to let go completely to discover what truly sets my soul on fire. That’s exactly what 2024 taught me, and now I’m ready to chase the visions that make my heart race and my spirit soar.
Speaking of which, I want to invite you to join me as we turn the page into a new calendar year.
SOVEREIGN – A 6-part liberation journey designed to help you break free from limiting beliefs and patterns. Using four simple steps, you’ll learn to identify and clear the blocks holding you back. *If you’re ready to claim your freedom, this class is calling your name.*
INTUIMETHOD – This 15-day interactive experience is your practical guide to mastering intuition and universal connection. Through daily videos, you’ll develop a reliable method for accessing, trusting, and acting on your inner wisdom while tackling the core obstacles between you and your soul’s path.
ON PURPOSE – Forget searching for purpose – let’s find aliveness instead. This masterclass offers a refreshing 4-step process to discover meaning in your life. Because the real question isn’t “What’s my purpose?” but “How can I live with deeper significance?”
PAUSE & PIVOT – An 8-lesson journey into creating your own graceful daily routine. Learn how to align your daily practices with your core values and non-negotiables, understanding that different days call for different approaches to life.
And for those of you feeling called to bring more magic and intention into your daily life – I have something close to my heart for you.
a planner-and-journal-in one specifically designed for the intuitive, magical woman you are, is available in its final print run. This isn’t just another planner – it’s a sacred space for your dreams, your intuitive hits, your magical moments, and your practical plans to weave together.
I won’t be creating more once this batch finds their homes, so if you’ve been feeling that nudge to elevate how you plan and dream… this is your moment.
As we stand on the threshold of a new year, gifting yourself this tool is more than a purchase – it’s a commitment to your future self, a declaration that you’re ready to plan with both purpose and magic.
Recently, I opened up my Instagram for an AMA (Ask Me Anything), and your questions touched me deeply. They reflect so much of what we’re all navigating – from setting intentions mindfully to finding love, from moving through grief to embracing self-compassion.
Here are my thoughts on some of these beautiful questions…
1. On Setting Intentions for 2025
“How can we set intentions about how we want to feel in 2025, rather than just making resolutions?”
Instead of creating a rigid list of goals, try this: Close your eyes and imagine yourself on December 31st, 2025. How do you want to feel in your body, your spirit, your relationships? What sensations do you want to experience daily? Maybe it’s feeling grounded and peaceful, or perhaps alive and electric with creativity. Let these desired feelings guide your choices rather than external measures of success.
2. On Trust and Surrender
“Can you speak about letting go of expectations and trusting the path?”
Letting go of expectations has been my greatest teacher this year. Trust isn’t about knowing the outcome – it’s about believing in your ability to handle whatever comes. Start small: practice releasing control in tiny moments, notice how life flows more easily when you loosen your grip. The path reveals itself one step at a time.
3. On Navigating Grief
“How do you move through grief during the holiday season?”
Grief during the holidays feels especially heavy because joy and sorrow dance so closely together. Honour your grief as a reflection of your love. Create small rituals to acknowledge both what was and what is. Light a candle, write letters, cry when you need to. Remember that healing isn’t linear – some days will be harder than others, and that’s perfectly okay.
4. On Writing Practice
“Any advice for starting and growing a writing practice?”
Start before you feel ready. Write for yourself first, without judgment. Set aside sacred time – even just 10 minutes daily – where you meet yourself on the page. Don’t edit as you write; let it flow raw and real. Your voice will emerge naturally through consistency and courage.
After focusing on my relationship with myself, nurturing my own growth, and getting clear about my non-negotiables, love appeared naturally. Not as a chase or a game, but as a recognition of souls. I’ll devote a longer article on this in the future.
6. On Course Creation
“What’s your biggest lesson after years of creating courses?”
The biggest lesson? Authenticity over perfection, always. People don’t connect with polished perfection – they connect with genuine sharing, with vulnerability, with real stories of transformation. Every course I’ve created has taught me to trust my unique way of seeing and sharing.
7. On Life’s Flow
“How do you relax into just trusting life and yourself? How do you find the confidence to believe that life feels good?”
It’s a daily practice of choosing trust over fear. Build evidence: keep a journal of all the times life worked out better than you could have planned. Notice the synchronicities, the “coincidences,” the magical moments that arise when you relax into flow. Your confidence in life’s goodness grows with each recognized blessing.
Heartbreak can be our greatest teacher if we let it. Each disappointment helped me refine what I truly wanted and needed in love. The key is not to close your heart but to keep it open while raising your standards. True love often arrives when we’ve done the work of loving ourselves through the healing process.
Before I wrap this up, I want to pour my heart out to you.
Your presence here, reading these words, sharing this journey – it means everything. The dreams and visions I have brewing for what’s ahead make my heart race with excitement. I can’t wait to unfold them with you, to share all that’s been growing in my mind and heart.
This is just the beginning of something beautiful, and I’m so grateful you’re here for it.
Vienda Maria 