Fall, death and failing at only good things



The equinox has brought with it the winds of Autumn.

And the wind has carried in the reminder of impermanence and the demand of letting go.

It’s carrying in the wisdom of what’s next and carrying out the stories we store within. The stories that have been told enough.

Carrying out the concerns and carrying in solid truth. A bliss of sorts that doesn’t worry it won’t last. A bliss that cannot be denied.

Blowing the towels on the line, bringing the lingering smell of honeysuckle vines right to my nose, loosening leaves so that there is nothing to hide behind anymore.

I set only one intention with this last new moon – a first for me.

And I have already let it go.

My intention was to speak only of the good in my life.


A couple Fridays ago, I sat in my writing corner of nature pondering the last weeks before me, dusted heavily with complaining and bitching. Reasons were valid, but now I was sitting tender again with circulating stories of deaths and reminders of what matters.

Two days later death dragged her dark cape across life again and this one was closer to home.

It didn’t feel good and it needed to be spoken about.

It felt right to ask this (speaking good) of myself, having spent a lot of time under the stress of tedious undertakings over the last six-plus weeks.

It felt like a challenge I needed.

It felt like a way of wrapping myself in that which I knew mattered. Of feeding the open mouths of what is good.

But I’ve been “failing” at only speaking good. Because it doesn’t all feel good.

But thankfully speaking mostly good comes naturally to me. Thanks to my Dad it is a practice that comes with the territory of growing up under his wing. To trust and believe that all of life has a reason, that all of life is meaningful. So even in times of stress or grief or confusion I can speak of good.

“Sometimes when the world seems to be falling apart it’s really just falling into place.” -unknown

But I realize that my intention to speak *only* of good collides with my knowing of seasons and truths that play out clumsily and messily and painfully, at times.

Our flesh is not immune to darkness and the season of Fall turns us toward that darkness.

But not without allowing us to dance bare within the wind of what is true for us, the good and the ugly.

So, I allow the wind to take my ‘only’ intention and toss and turn it, molding its essence with the bigger picture of what is life and bringing in a more wise and suited knowing.

Because nothing lasts and with that comes great relief and great pain.

Life’s spirit is impermanence and death is the most palpable and wretched impermanence of them all.

Death is what makes life truly matter. Death is a quiet constant in my life. A potential grief that keeps me warm with what I most wish to live in this fleeting days.

Below is an article I wrote for another site a year and half ago. Perhaps it isn’t the exact wording I’d write today, but it seemed suited to these days…


I love movies where people die. Not die in some violent masculine bang-bang-bang type of way. Die in the ways of cancer, “accidents”, illness and the like. I love movies where people die and big love is left.

I haven’t yet lost anyone where the grief continues for years, but I think about it a lot. I think about it because it’s my greatest fear.
I think about it because losing someone you love often makes life really matter.

I think about it because losing someone you love reminds you that ordinary is enough and that extraordinary is a bonus that you choose.

So many of us crave adventure and extra ordinary lives. Extraordinary lives where we are free of the ordinary.

I often picture my family of five, with just one suitcase each, exploring the depths of life in its adventurous, raging simplicity and beauty. Spending days with beach sand in between our toes, mountain scratches on our knees, new scenes each day. Squeezing the last bit of vibrancy from life’s tube of paint, each and every moment…

I sometimes sigh deeply and curse a bit at the mundaneness of dishes, a dog chewed shoe, heaps of dirty laundry, grocery shopping, bill paying. Sucked in like a vortex of life’s upkeeps.

I feel like I exist in a little town called The Duality of Meaning and Mundane.

I seek meaning like the sustenance of food. I have days where I make the mundane sacred with presence, oldies music, open windows and playfulness.

I have days where I truly know what matters with each breath I take; days that are so good I wish I could bottle up the essence and drink it on the forgotten days. These are the extraordinary days.

Many things rouse these extraordinary days, but one that is a consistent reminder is the reality of death. Remembering the fleetingness of your life can inspire a remarkable life and it should. Remembering death is our only certainty in this wildly uncertain life can inspire you to never overlook the ordinary.

It can allow you to rest your head at the end of the day, simply grateful that it was an ordinary day where no one was diagnosed with cancer, you didn’t miscarry, there were no car accidents, appliance breakages, broken hearts, trauma, tragedies or illnesses.

Death reminds us that taking any moment, or any day, for granted is foolish.

Death can be a reminder that ordinary days mean we are alive and that we must not waste our aliveness. 

An ordinary day can become extraordinary when we truly see the power of an ordinary day.

An extraordinary is day is an ordinary day you know could change tomorrow.



Soundtracking my days lately…


A little Autumn inspiration from last year…


With love,

falan sig




Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

How and why to set new moon intentions



When I shared the ‘new moon intentions sheet’ with my readers not too long ago, I began receiving questions around how to use it.

With the new moon on the horizon, I wanted to share this blog post to offer understanding and guidance for those new to the practice of setting new moon intentions.

I asked my readers to email me any questions they had and of all the questions I received they ultimately fell into two questions.

Why do you set new moon intentions?

How do you set new moon intentions?

I hope this blog post helps those new to the idea and refreshes those who are more familiar with this practice.

If something isn’t clear for you or you have another question that wasn’t covered, please do email me or leave them in the comments below.

Why to set new moon intentions.

The moon moves through four main phases every 29.5 days.

The first phase is the new moon/dark moon and it begins the new lunar cycle. This is when you see no moon in the sky. The new moon is vacant and ready to receive. Full of potential. It’s a time of death for the old and a time of birth for the new. It is a fresh start, a blank page, and sunrise and a sunset. A time to claim your intentions.

As the moon grows, first as a crescent and then as a first quarter moon, we call this a waxing moon. It’s a time of action and growth. An awakening of sorts. A rebirth. A time to make progress. A time to enact your intentions.

The moon continues to grow until it becomes a full moon. A time of enjoyment. Lushness. Fullness. Gratitude for what has come. A time of fruition and celebration of your intentions.

Next, the moon begins to move away from the light, slowly disappearing in the sky as it becomes first a third quarter moon and then a waning crescent moon, moving toward the new moon again. This phase is called a waning moon. This is a time of harvesting. Accessing. Turning inward. Garnering our truth. A time of letting go of your intentions so you may begin again with the next new moon.

Using the moon this way is a way of connecting with your soul, your intuition and mother nature to co create your life and an honest expression of who you are, where you are and where you want to go.

Setting new moon intentions is a ritual that helps to keep you in harmony with your spirit and the moon.

How to set new moon intentions.

Intentions are a plan, a purpose, a meaningful focus.

As mentioned above, the new moon is a time for new beginnings. A fresh start and a chance to work with the energies of la’ Luna to set intentions about what you want to prioritize in the next couple weeks. It’s the beginning.

On the new moon of each month, carve a corner of your day for setting your intentions. A half an hour, an hour, a wedge of your afternoon or evening.

You’ll need: quiet. hydration. pen and paper. You can use a blank piece of paper, a journal or the free pdf I’ve created for my readers.

Of course you can sage your space or light candles or dim lights or bring tea or find a tree to sit in or under, or a wave to wash the earth nearby. But, mostly, we mustn’t make the matter too complicated that we forgo it for more immediate gratification of ‘accomplishing’ a task.

Presence, heart and showing up for yourself – that’s what truly matters.

Next you plant seeds. The seeds are your intentions.

To plant your seeds/set your intentions, this is very important: shut off the world around you and all that you think you should do. Quiet your brain (as best you can) and settle in close with your heart and your womb. Your spirit. Ask what is truly important to you for these next couple weeks. What is it time to begin.

This is not another to-do. Not another self care practice.

This is about sincerity of your spirit, your life, your precious time.

Write your intentions down. Do not choose too many. We are not robots that can move through our demands, checking off our long list of tasks.  Intentions are not a to-do list.

Remember, this is all heart. This is about the whisperings of the place that knows you best. Your truth.

The seeds (your intentions) you planted with the new moon will grow and sprout with the waxing moon (with love and care, attention and nourishment). The seeds will grow to their fullness (for this lunar cycle) with the full moon, a time of celebrating that which is complete. With the waning moon you will harvest your bounty, take it in, access your garden of life, let go of what isn’t growing well in your climate and begin to plan your seeds for the next new moon.

Some things may take many moon cycles to live fully. Simply begin. Trust. Receive. Begin again. Follow your rhythm. Learn as you go. Leave rules behind. Begin again. Fail. Falter. Begin again.

I hope you enjoy using the moon as a guide for making your months matter. :)

falan sig


We moon

Lunar calendar

New moon intentions sheet (received free by joining my mailing list).


Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

Want to read a Luna Letter? (here’s a sample…)



Dearest you,

There has been such a rich and constant pulse of honesty beating within my life lately. I feel my skin flaking, shedding and falling away to slowly reveal something fresh, raw and renewed beneath it. I’ve been aware of a wildness wandering and lost within my good girl domestication…like standing at the edge of so many bodies of water, wishing to strip down and allow your flesh to fall in shock, awe and aliveness into the earth cooled aqua, submerging yourself weightless, but instead you sit still and steady on the dry patch where the water meets the earth and dip only your feet in…and wonder where the hell the feral parts of you went.

Sometimes I feel wedged between two hearts of mine. The pumping, bloody, vital one and the infertile, slow beating, blocked one.

There is a lot of aliveness that keeps asking for me to live it. I keep removing what doesn’t matter from my life in an effort to leave only what does and to reveal that lushness found only in aliveness.

How odd it is that so many of us think we’ll arrive someday, where most areas of our life will be something better than they are now, and how sad it is that much of our life never completely feels quite like – exactly like – what we want. That dampening and yet divine dissatisfaction always feeding our distaste for the spread in front of us, while also fueling us to move in a way that helps the veil fall away, bringing us closer to the true expression of our spirit.

Life is such tricky territory, sticky like honey tasting so sweet on the tongue and slowing our breath as if it were coating our lungs.

As I stood watering the garden a couple weeks back a sudden warmth washed over me, as if I’d turned the hose on myself after it had sat motionless in the sun all day. The warm wash wet me with the words “it’s all sacred”.

It made me believe that all my efforts to fill my life with only what mattered was rich work for the soul. And, yet, there was more. I all the sudden understood that all the times that tasks and to-do’s seem to steal each minute, and many hours, and sometimes the bulk of the day still mattered.

I realized with a cellular certainty that I had done the work of eliminating what didn’t matter in this phase of my life (however fleeting), and that what was left was everything that truly mattered and everything that I was meant to have and be at this time in my life.

I realized that I didn’t have to resist the many tasks and to-do’s that “stole” my precious time – because they mattered. Because they were sacred too.

It was truth I wanted to steal a piece of my heart and weave through my ribs and tuck itself into the softest part of my womb to be birthed into a reminder whenever I needed it.

The truth being that we do not arrive. We become and begin and end over and over again, and all the moments of becoming, beginning and ending matter. All the in-between is the fleshy middle, full of uncertainty and longing and the luscious sacredness that veins itself through every single thing, if we are willing to truly feel the meaningful vibration that beats within all the moments we call life.

And, so, with this letter, I ask you to let go of what doesn’t matter and then to begin to feel the thread of magic moving through the mundane so that you may remember, and know, how sincerely sacred your in-between is.

With love,

falan sig




This is a sample of a recent Luna Letter that I hand wrote and mailed out to the oh-so-beautiful tribe of women who receive them each month. If you are not already receiving them, I would love have you join us. You can learn more here. The next one leaves the nest with the September new moon.

Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

in these moments. curveballs. dreams. trust. moonstruck.

photo 3

With three kids, I’ve often heard the saying that children are like sponges. Absorbing everything around them.

Like sponges. Dry until wet with what life exposes them to.

It’s funny to me that we say this as if it only applies to children.

Yes, I agree. Their brain is changing like the tides and swelling with more and more liquid knowledge and experiences each day.

But I’m pretty certain I’m a sponge too.

Always absorbing. Soaking in. Squeezing out. Drying out. Drowning. Moistening. Wiping. Wearing out. Ripping.

Life has thrown our family a fair share of curveballs lately. Honestly, if I list out (and I do love lists of all kinds) all the adjustments and expansions and contractions of our life over the last year it’s rather startling.

The two that got this ‘new year’ rolling, back in August a year ago, were buying our home and my youngest daughter weaning – marking a new town, new land, new energy and the closing of over a dozen years of pregnancy and breastfeeding combined.

I find these transitions highly spiritual shifts in the life of a woman. A person. A family.

This past month has uprooted our recent and familiar routine with a combo of ‘what the fuck’ and ‘wow, life is good’.

It’s felt like a mix of a big mean joke and a genie blowing our wishes to life.

Yesterday, I found myself in a true moment of grace when I felt the exhaustion of this past month suck the marrow from my bones.

The exhaustion of holding space for dreams and holding space for disappointment.

The beautiful thing is that I’m sponging it up, wet with the weight of a lot of mental focus, while wiping away the not so sexy stuff so I can see the shining dream below it all.

Stress keeps trying to pour itself a cup, but we are mostly just dumping it out and brewing what we enjoy (with a couple primal screams on the side).

Because it’s life and in the scheme of life it’s little.

Sometimes we must pour grace on that which we wish to wallow in. We must handle things with as much finesse as we can rally, without complaining or floundering in feelings of unjust or bitterness or unfairness. Because not one of those curveballs has come as death or cancer or incurable illness. Nor divorce or homelessness or car accidents.

Nor at all from the things that strip you of your skin and make you bleed mourning.

Nope, just random turns in the path and fallen trees slowing your pace and complicating your plan.

Things that make you sigh, things that make your belly turn a bit, things that make the rotting rage come undone and make home in the forest floor to grow you into something more beautiful. More stable and strong. More malleable and flexible.

It’s awkward to admit that many of us often hope life will lay itself down in a clear cut line and let us walk it smoothly if we plan it first.

But, rather, life is a spiraling mix of pain and beauty – no different than the daily dance of this earth we walk on.

photo 2

I’ve felt unmoving in my writing lately.

But, now, today, I feel words could squeeze from my skin like a sponge that never dries.

I’ve had fantasies to give it all up and delete the words I’ve shared here. Not being sure I’d find myself in them anymore.

But today I wish to keep going.

I’ve stayed quiet, wondering if words are mine to speak beyond the inky and lined pages of my privacy.

But today I know they are.

I’ve kept running my hand around the rim, afraid to reach in and feel how deep the hole has gotten from not filling it with my words.

But today I’ve filled some of the hole.

Maybe I’m unmoving because I know I have stories to tell and I’m afraid to tell them.

But they want to be told.


Lately our life has been changing, fast. Because he’s changed his mind.

“Change your mind to change your life.”

Who said that?

It’s so true.

We all need to change our mind about something.

I wonder if I can change my mind to believe that I can write and mother. Both. Fully.

photo 1

The tasks of home and life swallow my days sometimes. Oftentimes.

Stuff feels like an insult to my soul and I can’t get rid of enough things.

Stripping, shedding, exposing and eliminating.

Wondering if I can free myself of the outdated, used up and out grown parts and bits of the self and life, like wet herbs left behind in the strainer. Letting the infused rich collect in the jar that holds. An elixir of all that nourishes and matters. Taking away what is no longer me or mine and composting it into the layers of life I call and claim as mine, to decompose and then nourish the next phase of life.

Marriage has felt smooth like grassfed butter, rich with sustenance after a spell of struggle. Even with the curveballs of knives stealing thick pats of that butter we are still tasting rich and spreading thick.

I’ve been moonstruck on magic lately. Signs and serendipity and synchronicities are spooning my parched mouth with honey. There is certainty that life is unfolding in no other way than it is meant to, so magically it feels like you’re making love to the world.

I’ve been staying open and watching for all the ways to give, bring joy and show gratitude to those around me. Homemade soup and cookies to a healing neighbor. Flowers and homemade caramel corn to a sister-in-law who is there when you need her, treats to the sheriff who helped as a middleman, a homemade creation to friends who offered kindness, handwritten letters to friends in deep grief…it feels so good to source someone a smile. And reminds me how big and beautiful and connected this world is.

I’ve came up close and personal with trust, staring it down the long and curvy path only to watch it straighten right before my eyes.

Trust – the proof is there when we believe.

I feel, like always, really full and empty. But mostly I feel grateful.

Life is good. Life is a curveball.  Life is magic.



falan sig



Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

My real struggle with the internet.

Crap, I had done it. I was laying in bed about a month ago, my husband at my side, both of us staring into the vast interwebs through these little screens called iPhones.

No, no, no. Not me. I had plans to be immune to this. I wasn’t dare, ever, going to the be the one who chose the touch of my phone over the touch of my family, the screen over snuggles, the words and life of others over the flesh and breath of my own words and life.

I was, indeed, certain I would be free of this internet addiction.

I, who have taken day long, week long and month long hibernations from the internet.

I, who have no pings and dings on my phone.

I, who seemed to be the very last one to say yes to a smartphone and quite frankly resisted it like crazy.

I, who often seriously considers going back to a life without a smartphone.

I, who am young, but old enough to remember when the internet became something and when the internet was nothing.

Tears pooled in the circumfrance of my eyes. He asked me if I was sad because our littlest had just lost her first tooth. That made me feel sadder.

Gawd, I can’t spoon up enough words to express how grateful I feel that my kids were all born before I had a smartphone. That I got to hold them and nurse them and follow them and play with them and love them with nothing more than a good ole’ home phone to ring and a bulky cell phone free of the internet and texting.

It’s a gratitude that ranks right up there with select and political decisions I made in mothering. Something that settles in deep, like thank you that I didn’t fuck that one up.

Though I am human and weak in ways I wish I wasn’t, I still thought I wouldn’t find myself here.

You see, one of my most read articles tells women to not do just what I found myself doing on this night.

I’ve talked about the importance of being smart with our smartphones right here on my blog.

I wonder then, how the hell did I find myself here when I was so vehemently against it.

When I was the one who wouldn’t bring my phone into my bedroom.

When the thought or action of anyone choosing their phone over people makes my boundary blood boil.

When the only social media I partake in is Instagram and even then I am currently following no one and post pictures rather sparingly.

The truth is, like so many have said, the internet is a tool. An incredible tool that let’s me write messages in this space and have women all across the world read them.

My iPhone lets me send pictures to my parents in a jiffy, find directions to a new destination in a snap and text my Honey love notes when the fancy strikes.

The internet holds any answer or point I wish to believe and holds words that resonate and remind us of how little we are alone.

It’s the tool that lets lovers share faces when oceans lie between them.

That lets those newly diagnosed with life altering and body altering changes find those who have walked their path.

That lets those who are living their darkest days find light in the similar understanding of an absolute stranger.



The internet often leaves me with this barren feeling, one in which I just abandoned my own life for a bit to look into someone else’s.

Or, worse, one in which it sucks dry my time doing menial but must-get-done tasks.

Sometimes I feel a wee bit guilty for resenting and being so confused and weighted by something that serves me so much.

It also feels woven in the confusion and struggle I feel between expressing myself with my words and mothering as deeply as I always have.

This is why most of my words are kept scribbled in the pages of paper from trees.

Sometimes I feel I can’t have both. Mothering and writing.

Full presence of my life and the internet.

I know that this is seen this way in the limits of my mind.

But also not.

It is felt in the limitless way of my heart that never fails me when I ask what really matters.

In a world where so few of us feel like we have the support we need. Where communities and villages of motherhood and friendship and family and womanhood and handwritten letters are fading into Facebook groups and social media comments and emails and texts, we can feel we have no choice but to partake in the direction the world seems to be moving in.

But sometimes it doesn’t feel like we are moving that way as much as we are following that way. Or being pulled.

And sometimes that way feels so unhealthy when following usually leaves us feeling empty and envious and not enough.

It seems that sometimes everything important seems to get hushed under the things that call us into their corner.

Our culture is so good at numbing out and the internet provides us with the ability to fog our night away, the start of our day away, our afternoon away.

Tuning out, zoning out, decompressing, I think, is healthy. We must tune down the vibration of the world so we can hum our own tune.

But zoning out to the tune of others often makes us try to hum their tune.

Sometimes it can help us hear our own tune through inspiration, but often it’s just noise drowning out the truth that comes alive in the quiet of ourselves.

The quiet we’ve grown very uncomfortable with.

This very painful moment in bed where I found myself numblessley and mindlessly looking at the most random of things, reading the most random of words…when I could have been doing the most meaningful of things….

like writing or lovemaking or dream talking or watching the way my kids sleep…

It hurt. It caused a shell of pain to cradle my heart and I knew I had stepped into territory that wasn’t mine.

The truth is, I feel happiest when I use the internet the least.

Call me sensitive, tell me I could create a better reality with the online world…it’d be true, but still…

Y’all, if anything beats the rhythm of my heart, it’s that I know that this time is limited. So very precious and limited.

What we know to be true in our lives as you read these words and as I type them can change before you finish this sentence.

Let’s be fucking done.

Wasting our lives.

Carefully curating little squares and blurbs to capture our best and scrolling through the filtered best of everyone else.

Realize, people, that what you see online is a piece of someone’s life. A piece. A fraction.

They cry and shit and feel shame and loneliness and argue and laugh until they nearly pee and make love and feel moved by the smallest act of beauty.

Use the internet to give of yourself and let people see the peeks of you that are soft and vulnerable too.

Use the internet to find pieces of yourself and connect with others who hum a similar tune.

Use the internet to pay bills and send emails, to garner news that matters to you and to find the details of the things you wish to know.

Use the internet.

But remember…

Something will always spend your hours.

Be intentional.

What does matter to you?

What really really fucking matters to you?

The only way for this life to be well lived is to put those things first.

Life can be stolen in a glimpse of cancer and car accidents, aneurysms and heart attacks, trip-ups and tumors, depression and disease.

Make what matters to you happen, then weave in the bits that need to happen to make the day function.

Summon all your mindfulness to curb the minutes and hours that get stolen in the always-more world of online.

Let life be the messy ass mess that it is…stop looking for answers and certainty online… instead pour as much meaning and magic as you can into the flesh of life to plug up the time sucking drain that is the overuse of the internet.

This life is what we have for certain. But how long this life is is uncertain.

Take care of the matters of your spirit.

With love,

falan sig




Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

updated sharings


The stiff wave of my last post seemed to wash over me and meet with the vastness of the ocean of stories and experiences that make up this life.

Always shape shifting like the ocean, expanding and contracting with the tides by the light of the moon.

I don’t exactly know why but I feel like the past couple/few years of my life have been an unmarked trail with surprise signposts along the way.

Maybe it’s because so much of my adult life was clear. Marked. Certain in a way that is never certain. Made with motherhood and fattened with simple focus and fierce love.

In the more recent years, it’s been a lot of holding on and letting go, holding back and moving forward.

A lot of deep work that couldn’t be done when all my deepness was the work of belonging to their beginnings.

I’m not sure if I ever remember being so sensitive in all my life.

Sensing the world around me through such softened surroundings.

The skin I’m in wearing a coat of honey spread over my layer of armor.

I have finally and certainly realized I am an introvert far more than I would have ever thought to think about.

So much lived simple and inward and so much in contact and connection.

Silly to say because I gather it’s the truth for so many of us.

I’ve realized it’s only these sensitive pieces of me that seem to make words to share. Though I sometimes wish my words could find ways to serve this space more clearly.

Life has felt rich in serendipitous moments. Little bits of magic dropped into my days like leaves when Autumn arrives.

I’ve felt myself rise up this past week and I took massive action in a direction I got sick of only talking about and planning on pen and paper.

I felt my love turn his book to my page so we can read together, for now.

I feel this always-wild-oats in me waiting to live themselves loud. Some aliveness dulled by domestication.

Yet, as I sprayed the garden cool after another 97 degree day, I pondered the fullness this summer has brought with it. I wondered if I wasn’t so busy full what would I be doing? And I realized in that moment I’d do just what I was doing with my life.

It felt like I was sprinkled with the warm water that sat in the hose, in the sun, all afternoon. It pooled at my feet and soaked deep into the soil that enriched my understanding of how beautiful I grow.

I feel like I keep emptying and filling, moistening and drying out like the soil in the feverish sun.

I feel a steadiness in my unsteadiness.

A comfort in the suspension of life. A reason to find trust again.

A chance to now be on the other side, with a bit more understanding tucked in the corners of my heart and laced into my soul.


falan sig


Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field


Will you wait for me?

I’ve been a hot, tender, sensitive and moody mess for the last few weeks.

With moments and days, between, of complete normalness.

If I could, I would have likely spent many of those days in the quiet of myself, writing about bits of brokenness and listening to songs like Girl Crush.

I feel like a concoction of new beginnings and endings, but mostly of confusing middles.

Space is some sort of visceral craving of mine that motherhood and marriage doesn’t allow.

The act of tending to the self is quite a feat when each foot placed on the ground is cemented in family.

Sometimes it’s a given, sometimes it feels stolen, and sometimes – like lately – it feels foreign.

I’ve been living in my head a lot lately; my heart full of feelings that can’t lead or follow or find.

I’ve misplaced trust, all while holding tight to it, and found myself searching for forced unfoldings.

I’ve felt slayed over and over again by motherhood and sand papered by marriage.

Falling asleep to the rain, the other night, I felt certain that most headaches must be stuck tears.

Aching heads are a rarity for me, and the tears flowed the next day.

Days are busy with the tasks of mothering and home and a life well lived, and I am both lost and living fully in the needs of everyone I love to the bones, the blood, the spirit.

I keep looking for myself under layers and layers of simplification.

My clothing has been thinned to less than 50 items. My hair has been cut 8 inches.

I’ve cleared my inboxes. Burned my cut hair and pages and pages of lists. Donated 5 more bags of outgrown this-n-that to the thrift store.

I’ve painted my bathroom white, un-followed everyone on Instagram, and let Over the Moon mag know I wouldn’t be writing for them for awhile.

I’m nesting for a birth of myself.

My parents’ recent visit, full and good, made the missing of them all the more hard and real.

Stuffed tears always waiting to grieve what we miss in each others lives.

I feel wounded in some sweet way, wishing to find myself pumped in motivation or soft in the transitory awareness that life is.

But, instead, I sit in a middle place, ebbing and flowing back and forth. Back and forth.

Not entirely any one thing; moving in and out like afternoon thunderstorms in between sunshine.

This is the longest I’ve let my blog sit without my words, since I began sharing myself here.

My words feel like they are for me right now, mostly because I don’t know what the hell they mean.

So, I wonder and I ask, will you wait for me?

Uncertain whether my quiet will stalk this space for weeks longer or words will water this screen sometime soon…will you wait for me?

Thank you.

Ooodles of warmth,

falan sig


Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

befriending thy breasts & body

“and i said to my body. softly. ‘i want to be your friend.’ it took a long breath. and replied. ‘i have been waiting my whole life for this.'” -nayyirah waheed

I stood, for a long time, in front of the mirror the other morning. Naked.

My clothes sat folded on the counter and my robe hung on the hook.

Not wanting to get dressed, I paused, staring at this body of mine.

I ran my hands from my armpits down the round of my breasts, along my ribs and waistline, slowly alongside my hips.body

I thought about how much I would one day miss this body.

This body as it is.

The youthful suppleness of the skin would be replaced with the wise softness that time and age transforms.

The inevitable acceptance of your aged lines that can’t help but to long for your springtide.

I thought about how often looking at our bodies results mostly in judgment.

I thought about how our eyes fall to “flaws” instead of our hearts holding gratitude for our abilities.

I thought about how much this body has provided for me.

The points of pleasure. The points of passion and aliveness.

Touch and orgasm and tickles and snuggles. Laughter. Joy.

Long walks. Hikes. Swims.

Holding me gently and with strength in all the sadness I’ve felt.

The pain. The tears.

The expansion of pregnancy and the power of birth.

Moon cycles and blood and babies and losses and new life.

Breasts. Breastfeeding. Milk.


Oh, breasts. Extending from the heart.

For nearly a dozen years, milk, milk, milk.

Swelling and softening, filling and emptying.


Just last August my youngest weaned and I closed the door on nearly a dozen years of breastfeeding.

After she weaned, I would be standing in the shower lathering my skin with milky soap and would skip over my nipples.

And then I would catch myself and remember that I could soap them up now.

My nipples, my breasts, they’ve belonged to my children.

They belonged to the nourishment of those I love the most.

Now they feel mine again.

They show the stories of how they belonged to them for so long.

Soft lines gently mark the inner breasts, nearest my heart.

Pink nipples always appearing aroused.

Now mine again.


We live in a world that models tremendous detachment from our own bodies.

Sex sells, but connection to ourselves doesn’t.

We live in a world that encourages women to give themselves monthly breast exams and to get painful, invasive mammograms once a year when they reach their 40’s. To stoically examine your breasts one time a month/ once a year, but not to touch your breasts with adoration ever. (Many similar thoughts can be said about the vagina and the pap.)

We live in a world where breast cancer steals the lives of mothers and daughters and wives and sisters and aunts and grandmothers, but we are not shown to fully appreciate our breasts for the incredible energy centers and nourishers they are. (Many similar thoughts can be said about the yoni and cancers/concerns of the womb space.)

Disconnection from ourselves steals our power and our respect and our regard for this precious body of ours.

Please, take these words of mine and settle them into you.

It’s time to stop the disconnection from this spirit housed skin we are in.

It’s time to sincerely realize the remarkable magic that your body is.

Breasts are a beautiful place to start.

Begin to feel your breasts everyday. In the shower, for the five minutes before you fall asleep. Lovingly massage them, supporting lymphatic movement and enriching your heart center. Go without a bra. Throw your bras away (absolutely on the underwire ones!) Look at them. Love them.

Let your breasts be a catalyst of connecting with, and befriending, the richness of your body.


Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

Arrival isn’t real, lessons abound


Lessons abound for us all. Repeated lessons, replayed in different ways, looping with glimpses of past behavior, familiar territory. Comfortable becoming uncomfortable with thresholds we get really close to reaching.

Arrival isn’t real.

Though lessons, I’m certain, become wisdom … when learned.

We never arrive.

Though portals appear, calling us closer, offering their generosity of inevitable prudence.

Arrival simply becomes a new path.

There isn’t some place of arrival that we make it to, where we become some resting wild and primal animal after digesting the meat of the lesson.

Rather, life is a series of entrances, passages, ingresses into new expressions of who we are.

Souls infused with spirit and layers and layers of life upon us, we shed and unravel and peel back and expose what’s always been there, waiting for the truths we’ve always known to free us a bit more.

Living our own personal seasons of lessons, some lingering longer than we please, others bringing about all the precious delight only the birth of a new season brings.

We feel the blankets we’ve cozied ourselves with fall away, leaving our untamed nakedness defenseless.

We feel the leaves we’ve festooned ourselves with fall away, composting beneath our feet and enriching the ground we grow from.

Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field

What my Saturday taught me about my Friday


Sometimes I can’t understand how you can stand in the middle of your life and feel unsatisfied. Not unsatisfied in the sense that something difficult is standing facing you, but, rather, in the middle of the life you asked for, created and wanted.

This is one of the spaces I am standing in when shame comes up; a whole other area of feminine science I am dissecting.

I wonder how (and I often feel mad at myself when) I feel unfooted in this beautiful life where is all is as it should be.

I spent this past Friday in a funk. I stared out my bedroom window, watching the birds empty the feeder, and cried. I cried again while my husband held me after work, and then again after the house fell into its dark hush.

I can’t even try to pinpoint a single reason because it felt like there was more than one thing rubbing up against my most tender places.

The distance of my parents…just 600 miles down the east coast and I feel the constant fleetingness of life robbing me of the chance to really make the time with them count. A daily heartbreaker. Something that stings my eyes as I type.

The relentless requests and responsibilities of our home. Big dreams interwoven with daily upkeep.

The fine line of making many dreams happen soon, or sheltering them to meet one large dream later while the others ferment. Facing a sacrifice that seems necessary that I don’t feel steady or ready enough to do.

Marriage and the dance it takes to love fully amongst a life of two people heading in the same direction with different steps.

The most rooted and deep love a human can have – for her children – coupled with the hoedown of supporting and guiding them through all they are becoming.

The internet and my feet planted firmly in an ongoing pussyfooting relationship with it.

The veils I cast over myself and the fear I feel when I become something else…and the perceived pressure to step inside the bodies others are used to me being inside of.


And then Saturday morning began with something that I didn’t have in my planner.

Something I almost expected in some odd way of lessons lived.

A wee trip to the doctor that stole the majority of our Saturday hours and unfolded in the lesson and reminder that days aren’t meant to be wasted.

Nothing I named above, that fed my Friday funk, did I not choose in some way.

Our lives are lived fully within perspective and we can wear any colored glasses we choose, despite what we face.

But before I say more, please let me claim that I am not one who believes in bopping around the world like a Polly Pocket cartoon, wearing rose colored glasses with a sunshine following you around the whole time.

Life is difficult, painful, uncertain, confusing, overwhelming and full.

Much of that is a choice. Some of it isn’t.

The daily shenanigans are always a choice. The heart-gutters aren’t.

The point I want to make within all these thoughts are that Saturday’s doctor visit was the lesson/reminder I needed that Friday’s funk was a choice.

Though I sincerely believe that we are all worthy of shitty days, falling apart days and ugly days, let’s not waste too many of them on days like my Friday.

Because, you see, my Saturday made my Friday look full of potential and beauty I wasted. All because of perspective. All because of choice.

Because, as clichéd as it sounds, we can notice and focus on what is good in our life or what we feel isn’t.

It’s like that old country song Standing Knee Deep in a River & Dying of Thirst.

How many of us live lives where the river flows brilliantly and powerfully and yet we feel dehydrated and parched?

Every day people lose someone they love with every filament of their existence. That is pain.

Every day people lose jobs, struggle to feed their families, crash their car, get diagnosed with cancer, find a spouse cheating on them, watch their world and home melt to nothingness…

THESE are the days that you can crush your rose colored glasses.

Even though I come from the camp that believes all those harrowing things are for a reason – that every single thing happens for a reason, you have every reason to shove those glasses up your ass.

THESE are the days you can feel the funk, – the weeks, the months, even the years, frightenly full of all that pain and uncertainty and sadness.

But let us not waste (too many of) the days where we are simply hung up on how we think things should be, rather than embracing what is and working with it. Moving, stepping, acting in alignment with what is and what you wish to be.

Of course we can be unsatisfied with things, but in those moments we must become warriors who garner the strength of choice and choose things that move us in the direction of new territory.

This is why I am committed to being real here. This is why I share my struggles far more than my beauty. Because the internet casts a filter over life and often that filter makes everything and everyone seem far more glorious than things really are. I share them for this reason, and because I have found our lives and our struggles are far more similar than they are different.

And so is our beauty.

Our lives are filled with such tremendous beauty. The fact that we are breathing, feeling and moving through our days with autonomy and choice is freaking marvelous.

Our spirit nudges us continually, and in a day where I faced what was a relatively scary but overall harmless incident I was reminded of the core of what I believe.

That this life matters. So much. That life can and does turn on a dime and when you are faced with a day spread out before you, with that marvelous choice and autonomy, do not waste it lost on what is not, but remain alive on what is.


falan sig



Feel like you belong here? Sign up for heart-full inbox hellos and blog post updates. To say thank you I'll send you a 'new moon intentions' sheet to help you make the most of each new lunar cycle.
* = required field