A declaration of voice, purpose, and the courage to be seen.
I used to live in the mindset that I needed to share my experience so that others would have something to relate to—to process, heal, and be inspired by the truth that things can and will get better. I also felt a deep need to expose the ignorance around just how wretched and terrifying this world can be, hoping to awaken compassion in those who’d rather look away.
There really are boogeymen. There really are nightmares happening in our own neighborhoods.
In the throes of a custody battle steeped in domestic violence, I realized that silence is compliance. And that those of us who can muster the courage to speak might be the ones who stop cycles of abuse that thrive in secrecy.
But the truth is—
No one really wants to hear it.
No one really wants to let in the reality that evil exists all around them.
And maybe, if we weren’t constantly bombarded with global crises and distracted by the curated fluff on our handheld portals, we would notice the travesties in our own communities.
Maybe we would engage in that “it takes a village” thing.
Instead, we’ve become so disconnected that we read fear as anger.
Terror as rage.
We fear the ones who need protecting. Or, if not afraid, we find them annoying. Rubbed the wrong way.
I’ve been a truth-sayer for at least half my life.
Before that, I lied.
I lied for protection.
I lied for freedom.
Because I couldn’t trust.
But somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to lie altogether.
Now I am transparent to a fault.
Honest because I know I deserve that—and so do the people I engage with.
People don’t always like this.
It’s uncomfortable.
Sometimes I air the things they’d rather keep buried.
And yet…
Sometimes the courageous ones pay me to be their truth-sayer.
To speak aloud their scariest, most hidden, most trapped parts.
To give voice to the things that need to be released.
I’ve become more responsible with this gift.
I don’t speak truths unless I’m asked to.
If something is begging to be heard, I ask if it’s okay to share first.
But what if the truths are my own?
What if it’s my hurts, my revelations, my scars and sacred understandings I feel divinely led to share?
That’s where I get scared.
Not of exposure—but of backlash.
I fear upsetting people I love.
I fear my family hating me, rejecting me, misunderstanding my intentions.
I fear hurting them with my truth.
And I know what I’d tell a client:
Your truth is your own.
You can’t control how others respond.
It’s not your responsibility.
And it’s none of your business.
I would remind them that this whole world—this entire universe—exists because they do.
So they might as well make it about them.
They might as well speak their truth and live fully in it.
But this is the hardest part, isn’t it?
This is the last place I still hold shame.
Shame about what happened to me.
Shame about not protecting myself.
Shame about what my kids lived through—
The trauma they’ll carry, not because of what I did, but because I kept it all in the shadows to protect people who couldn’t protect me.
I’ve hurt so deeply, I never want to be the cause of anyone’s hurt.
But I know now that I must be clear.
With myself.
With others.
I must release the shackles that keep me repeating relational patterns I’ve outgrown.
I must trust my intentions.
I must claim my worth.
I am worthy of being fully in my purpose, free of secrecy, actively sharing my voice, my vision, my feelings, my truth.
This is how I get my kids and I out of the storm.
This is how we find dry land.
And I’ve begun.
I’ve started sharing my voice more regularly.
And with it, I’ve experienced profound healing.
The fear around being seen, being heard, is unraveling.
It’s wild how freely the words flow now.
Sometimes I catch myself in surprise… and pride.
I’m proud of myself.
It was during Mercury’s cazimi that I finally understood—
This isn’t just about my father wounds.
It’s bigger than that.
I’m tending to my mother’s wounds.
My grandmother’s.
Society’s.
The patriarchy’s.
The wounded divine masculine.
The generational ache of all the fathers and their fathers before them.
These are universal wounds.
And my private experience is just one facet of the collective whole.
I’m not alone in this.
What I am is a light.
Without trying.
Without directing.
This light that is me naturally shines into the darkest places.
It brings things up from the depths.
Shame.
Secrets.
Sorrows.
And it makes them ready to be seen. Tended to. Unburdened.
It’s wild how afraid we are to expose the very things that are holding us back.
We pretend they’re not there.
But they’re withholding love.
Abundance.
Joy.
Safety.
Stability.
Peace.
And so… we just keep swimming.
If anything I share stings or brushes against a wound you’d rather not face, I want you to know this:
I am not here to punish.
I am not here to shame.
I am not here to blame.
If it feels personal, I promise—it’s not about you.
We all did the best we could.
We are all doing the best we can.
But I’ve learned something the hard way:
That by keeping quiet—by withholding what I feel called to share—I hurt myself.
I carry the pain in my body, my bones, my breath.
It festers in the silence.
The weight of unspoken truth becomes unbearable.
My body becomes a vault for everything I was too scared to say.
And in that suppression, I remain unstable.
Insecure.
Disconnected from my center.
Expression is how I anchor.
Truth is how I find solid ground.
When I speak, when I let it rise and be seen, I return to myself.
I’m just trying to get my kids and I to dry land.
And if I can be a lighthouse for anyone else still stuck in the deep…
Still drowning in fear or trauma or silence…
Then maybe, together, we can climb up onto solid ground.
Not to avoid the jagged edges of our hurts and scareds—
But to find the ground to stand on what is true.
To live from that truth.
To rise out of the depths of fear and trauma.
To breathe again.
I just want to be the light that helps the hurt, scared, lost, trapped parts of ourselves
climb to safety.
🌊And part of that is allowing those parts of myself
exposure.
If you’re ready to unpack what’s been weighing you down…
if you’re looking for your own dry land…
I’d be honored to walk beside you.
My psychic healing sessions are a space for truth, safety, and soul restoration.
The light is on. The tide is shifting. Come ashore.