Wake up, Venus.

As an astrologer, I relate everything in my life back to the stars.  I know that astrology is not 100% proven. There’s a small part of me that knows how completely insane it sounds to believe that constellations, which barely resemble various objects that symbolize certain ideas in life…is a real thing. In a universe as vast and as beautiful as ours, it seems that God would come up with constellations that more closely resembled a crab or a lion. Or even come up with a better system all together.  It sounds ridiculous, when I think about it.  I’m actually more skeptical about these things than I ever let on. 

But astrology is my chosen perspective on life. There’s a big part of me that has a subtle knowing of the concept:  ‘As above, so below.’   This concept is written in the Bible as, ‘we were created in his image.’  It’s the same idea.  The universe is my God, so this symbolism in the Bible resonates with me.

I believe we are somehow vibrationally connected to the planets, the sun, the moon.  Not so much like we are puppets on a string, but more like the planets are gear shifters that manipulate our lives for the common purpose of soul evolution.  They are characters in the sky, playing out in real time, through all of our lives. As above, so below sounds crazy. I get it.  I wouldn’t blame anyone who reads this for thinking that I’m a full blown nut job.  

In a world full of extreme religions, where a good percentage of the human population legitimately believes that a virgin gave birth to a baby, is it so crazy to assume that we are beings of energy, inhabiting shapes of flesh? Is it so crazy to believe that life is actually a series of situations and experiences designed to guide our souls into more evolved energy?  Am I mad for falling in love with the symbolism of the sun being our masculine side and our moon being the feminine side, a giver and receiver, a father and a mother.  It makes sense to me.  It’s a language that I understand as naturally as my native tongue.  

In my spiritual beliefs, I allow myself to see the big picture.  I don’t judge people, because I have a good understanding of the concept that we are all molded into ourselves through our environment and experiences.  No one in this world could ever imagine what I’ve been through in life, and vice versa.  This idea allows me to live from a place of love in all aspects of life.  I live and let live.  

Like I said, I relate everything back to the stars. Astrology is my roadmap for life. And at the moment, I am knee deep into my ruling planet’s retrograde. It’s always predicted that old loves come back around during Venus retrograde in the seventh house. And this has absolutely been happening. I ran into the first boy I had ever kissed at the gas station. I hadn’t seen him since I was seventeen. He looked really good. I looked like hell. Unfortunately, Venus also rules beauty. What a shit deal that was, running into my hot old flame, but looking like a scene from the hangover because I’m exhausted and slept in too late to brush my hair. Thanks, universe!

Then there was the very odd message from my very odd ex boyfriend. I had unfriended him after the break up. We haven’t spoken since November, and he sends me this out of the blue…

‘Although I don’t exist in your virtual reality anymore, I still exist in actual reality. And so does your birth certificate. You left it at my house.’


There’s been more too. I think I’ve heard from about six blasts from the past since Venus went retrograde. It’s like the universe is parading all of my big mistakes right past me, so I can remember how dumb I get when love comes to town.

I suppose that it’s necessary to rub my nose in the stench of love gone bad, so I won’t go wandering through a mess like that again.  

But that being said, my soul can only evolve so much when stewing in my own solitude.  Quite the paradigm this crazy universe has set me up with.



“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” ~Rumi
I saw this quote today and instantly felt as if it had slapped me right across the face. Heartache has become one of my greatest fears, as well as one of my greatest inspirations. I’ve been walking the line between wanting to live in solitude and wanting to be loved. In other words, I don’t have the capacity for another heartbreak in my life, so I avoid love like a child avoids the monster under their bed. I hide under the covers. But while I am under those covers, I sometimes wish someone was in there with me, but only sometimes. I have soaked myself so deeply into solitude, that I fear I won’t ever be able to leave it.  

But this quote isn’t about relationships with anyone else. That quote is about the relationship with the self. Rumi is advising us to break our own heart, repeatedly, until it opens. He’s encouraging vulnerability, to the point where it doesn’t sting anymore. He is challenging us to cut directly to the bone of our heartache infested selves, and then to pull out of ourselves our most terrifying ideas about who we couldn’t be. And then we must fall in love with those short comings.
When a relationship ends, and you blame the other person for everything, the opportunity for growth is unavailable. Growth comes from understanding that it all comes back to yourself. From the moment we seek out a relationship, the responsibility for choosing the other person falls solely on us. If you end up in a relationship with a complete psychopath, that sucks. But you chose that psychopath because there’s something inside of you that needed that psychopath. And you have to keep digging at that little something until you finally understand it. Only then will you be able to grow, and trust, and finally open your own heart.  
I believe that opposites attract because there is an opportunity for growth in every disagreement. We learn about ourselves through experiencing other perspectives from the people around us. We manifest our own lessons. And the only way to stop getting lessons is to test out of them, to rise above them, to annihilate them. Relationships are designed to teach us about ourselves. They are an experience to be had, to be thankful for. They were never intended to hold you forever.  

Sweet Dreams 

I have set some dreams aside along the way in life. I think it happens to everyone. You get this idea in your head of how life is going to go, and then life throws you a big fucking curve ball. And then another. And another. And then you just quit having ideas about the future. You just start to follow along with someone else’s, anyone else’s.  And your dreams fall behind.

Those days are gone for me.  I’m going to stop living small.  Im going to stop attaching myself to other people’s ambitions.  I’m going to start creating my own life based on my own dreams.

I’m going to write out some goals. And I’m going to chase them as hard as I can.

One might think that this sounds like a pretty normal thing to do with one’s life. Not a big deal. But to me it is a big deal. I am very much a ‘live in the moment and go with the flow’ type of person. Plans feel like decisions, and decisions feel like commitments.  And being the Libra Sun and Rising that I am, I absolutely despise making decisions. My fear of commitment level is off the charts. I couldn’t even commit to myself. But that fear is beginning to fall away.  

So here is a painting of the future I have dreamed up from for myself…

I want to spend more time with my children. I’ve been told by two different palm readers that I am destined to be rich. One said my fortune would come from the lottery. The other predicted riches from fame. I will admit that I have started to buy lottery tickets for the first time in my life. And thanks to that palm reader, I will be buying those damn tickets until the day I die.  

But just in case my good fortune falls through, I’m hoping my massage therapy career will blossom into something that allows me to quit the cubicle life. I don’t need to be rich. I just want to work a little less, so my kids don’t have to raise themselves. And I want to be mobile enough throughout the day, that I can live long enough to help raise my grandchildren. I just want to spend more time with my girls.  

If the massage career can’t get me by, I want to supplement my massage job with a part time job at the school. Maybe an aid, maybe a lunch lady. I just want to be present as a parent.  

This will also free up some time for me to write more about astrology. I absolutely love writing about the moon phases, but I want to expand my writing to horoscopes and monthly advice write ups, based on the stars. I’ve also considered making videos. Astrology is my passion and I’d like to explore it more as a lifestyle.  

And when my youngest daughter graduates high school, I will take my ten years of massage therapy experience and move to the Florida Keys, where I will practice massage under a breezy cabana on the beach for some fancy resort. I will also continue to write from my humble little houseboat in the marina. And I definitely have an original Volkswagen bus. And weed is legal. And Rage Against the Machine reunites. And I am standing on the beach with a good lover by my side, watching the sunset with warm salty air reminding me that dreams sometimes do come true.  I feel beautiful and content.

And that’s it. That’s my perfect future.

Wild Woman 

I was pulled over on the side of the highway the other day, talking to my best friend on the phone. I was ashamed to admit to her that I had a flat tire and absolutely no idea how to fix it. What a horrible feminist I am. I’m thirty-six years old and I had to call my dad to help me change my tire. Of course my best friend is representing the fairer sex because if she hadn’t have been out of town, she would have helped me out. She has changed a flat tire before!

I became a feminist when I was thirty. I didn’t really understand what that word meant to me until I read my first Marianne Williamson book. That woman, my hero, had opened me up to a brand new perspective on life.  She taught me how to love myself. This was a brand new concept for me, a concept I am still and always exploring.  
The more I had fallen in love with myself, the more love I had to offer to the rest of the world. I became a human generator of love, creating it within myself and beaming it out into the world. For a woman to love herself, is an act of feminism. Because women exist in a world that exploits them, compares them, rapes them, and devalues them. Women are seen as less than, even by other women.  We are told to paint our faces, have a thigh gap, walk on stilts, and be something pretty to look at, but not slutty because that would bring shame.

I believe that the lack of female friendship in today’s society is a huge problem. Most of the women I know usually only socialize with their boyfriend’s or husband’s wives. The squad we ran with in high-school, disbursed into new cliques made up of the wives of the men that hang out with their husbands. I’m very proud to say that I have my own female friends. But we only get together a few times a year. Some of them only leave their men behind for our annual Girls Weekend, where my bestie and I have a very strict ‘No Penis’ policy. And we reinforce it by running around the lake house completely naked. It looks like a damn pagan holiday up there with all of us wild women running around naked, wine glass in one hand and a joint in the other.
Girls Weekend is the ultimate tribute to our Devine feminine energy. We get away from the world and surround ourselves with the beauty of Northern Michigan. We light a big campfire. We get sloppy drunk. We dance naked by the lake. We share our most intimate stories of past loves, life struggles and childhood traumas. We merge our lives for a short time and bathe in the freedom of being our true selves. We take respite from being the sum of other people’s expectations and drink away the burdens we carry all the other days.  We are the ‘Mom Squad,’ a name generously given to us by my fourteen year old daughter.

Girls Weekend is a tradition I hope my daughters will carry on when they are older.  Beyond Girls Weekend, I am blessed to belong to a tribe of women who gather every month to celebrate the full moon. We are a sisterhood of healers. We meditate. We burn white sage and palo santo. We chant ‘Om’ and discuss the astrology of the moon.  Rarely do we even mention our significant others.  We are strong women who carry our own identity.

These female friendships are responsible for not only holding my head above the water, when life is pulling me under; but for pulling me out of the current that I had been treading against my entire life.  

My best friend is my life line. She is my family. Our lives are familiar, as we have traveled through many of it’s hurdles together. She knows my life as a single mom, because she lives the same way. Our personalities contrast completely, but we admire and respect each other’s differences. We learn from each other.  We share with each other.  We talk about everything from life philosophy to raising our kids.  She is the person I call when I need someone to know me.  

This is something that the working woman’s generation has missed out on. Even when women were mostly domesticated, they had each other to lean on and converse with. It was common for women to gather at each other’s houses during the day to smoke cigarettes, play bridge, and watch each other’s children. They compared recipes and housekeeping tips.  I’m sure they talked about things we never want to imagine our grandmother’s discussing.  That feminine friendship probably saved a lot of women from the loneliness of being a housewife.

When women moved into the workforce, they lost touch with that sisterhood. They replaced friendship with water cooler gossip and weekend getaways with their husband’s poker buddies.  I will admit that I had lost touch with most of my girlfriends when I was married.  And that, I can promise you, will never happen again.  

I hope one day, it will be uncommon for a woman to travel this world without her very own wild woman tribe.  Mine is so very important to me.


Men are like rabbit holes. You crawl inside, because you are curious. And then the next thing you know, you plunge into another world, where you are constantly being told that you are too big or too small. And you start to question your own sanity.  So you drink tea, smoke a hookah, and you find yourself.  And then you get the fuck out of there.

Curiosity is going to kill me.

Dear Mama

I had forgotten a really big piece of my healing journey.  After my divorce, I went through an incredible transformative phase. It was the first time in my life when I began to cultivate some self worth. The first thirty years of my life, I had none. And now that I’ve laid myself down in the greener pastures of self love, I could never imagine going back to the dead yellow grasses of self loathing. However, during this transformation, I neglected to forgive and love my mom. And here’s why that is a key ingredient to my healing process.  

My mom sees the world a lot differently than I do. She sees people as objects to compare with herself, as you are either a hero or a villain in her book. Her heroes are few, but the small group of people that fall into that category, to her they can do no wrong. Those are the people who personify her ideas of perfection. Those are the people she aspires to become.

And then she has her villains, anyone she sees as less than herself. People she feels threatened by. I have always been the rebellious child, lashing out at her beige world with a paintbrush soaked in my own bright red reality.  

People have a natural instinct to love their mother. But when that love goes unrequited, it’s devastating. A kid is supposed to be able to count on their own mom for love and support. I couldn’t. I carried around an empty cup. It should have been filled with my mother’s love. But instead I filled it with binge drinking, disconnected sex, and enough resentment to take out a small army.  

So I began to despise my mother. I blamed her for my shortfalls in relationships and life. I hated her. I dropped her into the villain box and began to treat her the same way she had treated me. In my eyes, she wasn’t enough. She didn’t measure up. She couldn’t do anything right.  

But what I failed to realize, was that she was still my mother. She created me out of her own flesh. She brought me into this world. She gave me nourishment and taught me her language. I am her. She shows up in my mannerisms, my eyes, and my smile. Her voice is the voice in the back of my head. It’s the voice that taught me how to navigate the world. It’s the voice of my inner critic. My mother’s mind, body, and soul are ingrained into my own. So no matter how much energy I put into self love, if I hate my mother, I hate myself.  

So I am making the conscious effort to forgive her for not being able to love me in the way that I need. And I am able to truly accept her version of love, because my cup is filled with my own self love now.  

And I will fill her cup too. Because she is my mom and she has always loved me, the best that she can. And so I will continue to love her the best that I can.  And hopefully one day I won’t have to work at it.

My Little Girl 

My eight year old daughter asked if I could read my blog to her.  Unfortunately, I have nothing written down that she is ready to hear. I started this blog so that when my daughters were older, they could read a little bit about life during their childhood, through my eyes.  My mom and I don’t talk much. I know very little about her life during my childhood or prior. And that breaks my heart. I want my girls to know me. 


We should have named you Sunshine, because when you came into our lives, with your big cheesy smile, you lit up our world and gave us hope. I remember crying during the ultrasound I had when you were still in my womb. After trying for so long to bring you into our family, watching your busy little feet kick around inside me was one of the greatest moments of my life. We found out you were a girl that day.  Dad got busy remodeling your room. I could not wait to get you home and rock you to sleep in your Ladybug nursery. That feeling never went away. I sobbed like a lunatic on the last night of my maternity leave. I felt like Dumbo’s mom, pulling myself away from you was agonizing.  But I had to do it so I could afford to raise you. I hope when you are older and have a baby of your own, that the world will be a little more supportive to the importance of the parental bond.
Holding you at night was my happy place.  Your optimism and adventure for life are inspiring. Since your first breath, you have made us smile on a daily basis. You had sass right out of the womb and I wouldn’t have you any other way.  Your mind is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. Your ability to live wide open as your truest self is my greatest accomplishment. Please don’t ever lose that one. 

I don’t know what you will accomplish in this lifetime. But I do know that you are an extraordinary person. I know that you are going to sprinkle your pixie dust along the road of life, pouring color into this black and white world. And this world is going to be better because you are in it.  

I hope you always feel loved and safe. I hope you keep a good circle of friends. I hope you know that I am always in your corner, even on your darkest days. And I hope you don’t have too many of those…just enough to gain some wisdom about your old soul. Your beautiful, amazing, and precious old soul.

I hope you know that life is what you make of it. If you dream hard enough, you will make your own dreams come true, and I hope so badly that you do. I hope you see the sunset with the full moon rise as often as you can.  And I hope you know that your dad and I love you in that very same way. We couldn’t always be together, and shine on you at the same time, but we both love you day and night.

I hope you fall in love with someone who deserves you. Someone who knows your soul like I do and will cradle it gently to their safest place. I hope you never lose your curiosity about nature. And I hope you will live in a society that respects it. I know you will speak up if you find that you don’t. I hope you never feel small. I hope you always stand tall. I hope you follow your heart just a little bit more than your brain, and I hope it leads you to great places. I hope you always see the magic in life. I hope you always love yourself as fiercely as you love Pokémon cards. I hope you get to read this to a child of your own some day, when you are older. And I hope your heart will then, finally understand the magnitude of our bond. I love you to infinity and beyond.