Embodiment has been so thoroughly commodified that people have begun to confuse it with aesthetics.

But embodiment is not a vibe—it’s a vow.

It is not found in curated Instagram grids.

It is not found in expensive retreats, brand deals, or a perfectly-filtered meditation selfie.

Embodiment is what you root into when no one is watching.

It’s what carries you through when the mission is bigger than your mood.

It’s the quiet promise to keep showing up—messy, magnificent, and raw…

Allyship is a beginning,

and co-conspiratorship is where the work gets real.

Being an ally often lives in language.

Being a co-conspirator lives in action.

Allyship says:

“I support you.”

(and yes—that matters)

Co-conspiratorship says:

“I will show up with you—loudly, visibly, and with something to lose.”…

In 2019, I saw it coming.

I felt it in my body first—anxiety that didn’t feel like mine alone. It was ancestral. It was alert. Something old and familiar was beginning to stir again, dressed in modern clothes and Christian language.

I remember speaking to my children,

naming the seeds that were being planted,

and naming the systemic dangers those seeds could become.

And today, the seeds which were stirring have broken ground into our reality—making news headlines…

Milestones don’t always arrive on schedule.

Sometimes they tiptoe in quietly, long after the expected due date.

Sometimes they don’t arrive at all in the form we imagined—

but they do arrive,

in the unique rhythms and sacred ways of each individual body.

My daughter Kora took her time.

She needed boosts—literal and figurative—

to meet her milestones.

Crawling didn’t come easy.

She wobbled, shifted, and eventually found a uniquely lopsided scoot

that got her where she needed to go…

This morning, I didn’t lecture.

I didn’t punish.

I didn’t try to control behavior with threats or shame.

I communicated—not to change my child,

but to connect with him.

To help him understand.

My 6-year-old has been sneaking into my room lately,

even after I’ve asked him not to.

He loves how nice I keep my space—

the calm, the order, the softness—

so he slips in quietly, invites the cats,

and plays despite my requests to stop.

With my husband home sick with the flu,

the kids and I have been sleeping downstairs,

making the best of it with couch sleepovers,

keeping the energy light

and the risk of spreading illness low.

But this morning,

I walked upstairs to discover my room soaked in cat pee—

on the shag rug, on my clothes,

all over the one space I go to ground

and feel like me…

So much of what we do each day isn’t born from our truth—

but from obedience.

Acceptance.

The deep, learned desire to be approved, to avoid rocking the boat, to not “make things harder.”

We’ve been taught to survive by staying in line,

yet this obedience does not come without cost.

Let’s reflect together:

How many of our choices are rooted not in desire, but in the quiet pressure to conform?…

When I was a little girl,

you could find me in my prettiest dress

—climbing to the tippy top of the tallest trees in the yard.

My skirt catching the breeze.

Knees scraped and dirty.

Leaves in my hair.

Giggles from my mouth.

I didn’t climb despite the dress.

I climbed because I could.

Because no part of me needed to be left behind—

not my joy, not my wildness, not my softness.

That freedom to be whole—

both tender and strong, both bold and beautiful—

stayed with me…

(A story of 10 years ago)

It’s easy to feel confused inside an abusive relationship.

One moment, things are fine.

The next, it’s like a switch flips—

and you’re watching someone charge at you

in the middle of an emotional storm.

I’ve been there.

I’ve watched a grown man slam doors,

throw objects at walls,

fall to the floor in tears,

scream so close I could feel his breath on my face,

shake me like a rag doll.

And here’s the hardest part…

We’ve all heard it:

🗣️ “Boys don’t cry.”

🗣️ “Be a man.”

🗣️ “Toughen up.”

🗣️ “Stop acting like a girl.”

And oh, how those words sink into the tender bones of our boys,

how they ripple across generations,

how they carve silence where there should be softness.

But here’s the truth…

Yesterday morning, Kora had her first seizure since February of 2024.

Fourteen months.

Fourteen months of no seizures.

Fourteen months of hope that maybe—just maybe—that had been her last seizure.

We let ourselves believe, cautiously, gently:

maybe we had crossed a threshold.

Maybe her little body was finally done with this.

But yesterday, we were back where no child or parent wants to be—riding in the ambulance to the hospital.

My fierce, funny, shining girl looked up at me

with that deep, quiet sadness—the sadness of a child who knows what it means

to be poked, monitored, measured again.

As her mother, I feel the ache rise in both of us…

With Trump’s recent executive order on “common sense school discipline,” many are interpreting it as opening the door for stricter punishment in schools — including corporal punishment in states or districts where it’s already legal.

While the EO does not explicitly mandate or reinstate corporal punishment, its vague language — emphasizing “traditional virtues” and “common sense discipline” — empowers local authorities who already support these practices to lean further into them. That makes the implications deeply concerning, especially for families in regions where physical punishment remains normalized.

So, I sat down with my son’s elementary school teacher to ask if this would change anything for them…

I was raised by a mother who breathed life into everything—

dandelions with voices, dragons with dignity,

cotton balls that became clouds in cardboard skies.

She could animate creatures big and small,

giving them names, stories, and purpose—

teaching me that motherhood isn’t just caretaking,

it’s world-making…

Today is Beltane!

For those who don’t know—Beltane is a celebration of earth’s blossoming,

the fiery, joy-filled midpoint between spring equinox and summer solstice.

It’s the season when the earth surges with life:

flowers bloom, leaves are abundant, bees dance among blossoms,

and the sun offers longer, brighter light over us.

And here’s what I want you to know, both as a parent and as a homeschooling mama…

We don’t just fight for liberation—

we live it.

We dance for it.

We feast for it.

We raise our kids in it.

We sing it into the streets.

We hold hands and laugh around fires,

even when the world tells us there’s nothing to smile about.

Because joy is not a distraction…

We’re living in a divided culture—

but sometimes, it’s not just the beliefs that divide us.

It’s the way we treat each other the moment we disagree.

You’ve seen it.

Maybe you’ve done it.

I have, too.

A stranger posts something we don’t like, and suddenly it gets personal…

For the young ones—and the grown-ups learning, too.

Let’s start simple:

🩵 Your body parts do not tell the whole story of who you are.

When you’re born, a doctor usually looks at your body and says,

“This is a boy!” or “This is a girl!”

They’re making a guess based on what they can see.

But who you are?

👉🏽 That’s something bigger…

When it comes to talking with kids about identity—

gender, sexuality, neurodivergence, culture—

it can feel like a huge topic.

But here’s the good news:

👉🏽 You don’t have to explain everything today.

👉🏽 You just have to create a place where their truth feels safe to grow.