My Chaotic Realm

Waking the Hands, Waking the Flame Imbolc arrives not with certainty, but with sensation. A faint warmth under frozen ground. A loosening. The quiet knowledge that the Deep has done its work. January did not ask me to leap back into the world. It asked me to prepare for re-entry. At Imbolc, I did not rush the thaw. I kept myself warm while the world stayed cold, and I returned to motion gently, at my own pace, in my own way. This year, January was a threshold month — a time of returning not to momentum, but to my body, my home, my hands. After a long season of holding and pushing, the work became smaller and more intimate: tending what was closest, listening for what wanted warmth. Physical tending took the shape of hearth-work . Hands-on. Slow. Intentional. Even trying new recipes. The primary project this month was modest by design: tending one small area of my home that had grown heavy with neglect and winter pause. I cleared it slowly, touching each object with a sin...

 This is a monthly witness, not a summary.  At the end of each month, I pause to notice — not to evaluate or explain — what was lived, what was tended, and what is still unfolding. What I Tried I tried moving at the pace my body set, not the pace my fear suggested. I practiced noticing early signs of stress and responding sooner instead of pushing through. I experimented with smaller days: fewer expectations, clearer edges, more rest. What I’m Keeping / What I’m Releasing Keeping: Slow mornings and checking in with my body before committing my energy. Releasing: The belief that rest needs to be justified or earned. A Physical Project I tended one small area of my home that had grown heavy with neglect and winter pause. I cleared it slowly, touching each object with intention. The result wasn’t perfection, but space — a place ready to be lived in again. A Monthly Ritual I marked the Full Wolf Moon with quiet presence rather than performance. I spent time noticing ...

I’m not replacing hustle with another aesthetic version of productivity. I’m not optimizing my rest or monetizing my healing. What I’m doing in 2026 is practicing—slowly, imperfectly—ways of living that don’t require me to be in constant pursuit mode. Here’s what that looks like right now. I’m practicing pace. Letting things take the time they take. Leaving margin. Choosing “not yet” more often than “push through.” I’m practicing embodied yeses and noes. Listening to my body before my calendar. Noticing where tension appears when I agree to something—and honoring that information. I’m practicing enoughness. Stopping at “good and sufficient” instead of polishing myself into exhaustion. Letting “done” be a form of care. I’m practicing work that doesn’t hurt me. Not pain-free, not perfect—but work that doesn’t demand constant self-betrayal as the price of admission. I’m practicing creativity as nourishment. Writing, journaling, making, and mending without asking whether i...

I’m not starting 2026 with a manifesto. No word of the year. No demand that I become sharper, faster, or more impressive by spring. No declaration of the goals that I “must” do, then accounting for them (done or not). I’m starting the year the way I start most things now: by listening. Listening to my body, to the whispers on the wind, and to the voices in my mind. The last few years taught me that reinvention isn’t loud. It’s patient. You don’t burn your old life down—you compost it. You let what’s been survive long enough to feed what comes next. I’ve lived so many versions of myself. Some were polished. Some were exhausted. Some were trying very hard to fit inside systems that never fit back. Some of them almost died. Yet, all of them belonged. All of them brought me here.  Eventually, you can read more about those versions in my book (when I publish!). This year, I’m interested in sustainability—not as a slogan, but as a bodily truth. The kind that asks:  What do I want ...

I entered 2025 carrying more than I admitted. Stress I had normalized. Pain I had minimized. Stories about myself that no longer fit—but hadn’t yet been set down.   This was not the year everything changed. This was the year I changed how I listened . I learned that my body was not betraying me; it was telling the truth long before my mouth could.   I stopped asking What is wrong with me? and began asking What do I need to stay whole? I did not escape the systems that exhaust me, but I built buffers, boundaries, and language. I practiced choosing enough over everything . I honored my creativity not as output, but as remembrance — through essays, vignettes, journaling-as-ritual, and the slow, cosmic redrawing of my life’s Etch-a-Sketch.   I reclaimed nourishment: food as care, rest as necessary, ritual as grounding. I marked time not just by tasks completed, but by what I built with my hands and what I consecrated with intention. I allowed myself to be seen. I let s...

Last week, we watched the tide turn. I’m not celebrating Charlie Kirk’s death, but I’m not mourning it either. We can hold two truths at once: sadly, assassinations are happening at all, and also that Kirk died on the altar he built. The right wasted no time blaming the “radical left” before there was even a suspect. And now that evidence shows the shooter was a far-right Nick Fuentes follower—the “your body my choice” guy—it doesn’t matter. What matters is the story they spin. And that story is already being weaponized to go after free speech, opposition, the press, and the right to assemble. The timing couldn’t be better for them. MAGA was splintering over the Epstein files, and even Kirk was veering off script about Epstein and Israel. Now his death stitches the party back together, and his huge following and network slide neatly into Trump’s pocket. Proof? JD Vance literally hosted Kirk’s podcast from his office the very next day. And the fact it all went down the day befor...