What really matters?

Deep sensitive
I circle the moon with ease
Warm womb rising truths
I slide down the crescent
and hit the edge
I dangle
Waiting wanting wondering
I stand
and step
as she and I wane.


This was my Thursday.

Friday, we woke for early morning love making.

We finished just as the sun rose and decided quietly, alone, and then together, that we should just stay up and began our day.

Quiet beginnings before the kids awoke.

A rarity.

We peeked at the pink sky, and then shared hot chocolate in bed while watching Love Actually.


Sometimes I feel the worst parts of myself rise to the surface, begging for air, for life, for the center of attention.

I feel harried, irritated, bitter at “stuff”. Literally, stuff. Things, material stuff.

I fantasize about single suitcases and getting lost in the whispers of wanderlust.

I think of more love making and less worrying.

More laughter and less internet.

More playfulness and less planning.

More adventure and less maintaining.

More and more and more love, because nothing matters more than the love.


After the Friday beginnings of love making-hot chocolate-movie watching, I floated on the waters of awareness, presence, playfulness and joy.

I spent the day in alignment with the truth of what matters to me.

I let everything else wait.

Some days I fall asleep with the lingering remains of falling short.

It’s like being in a hot air balloon, hovering over what matters, but never looking over the edge of the basket and taking it in.

I don’t like these days.

I fully know and understand that as women (humans) we ebb and flow, rise and fall, wax and wane.

Yet, I scheme and wonder and plan and seek ways that I can always wax in the awareness, presence, playfulness and joy.

I’m captivated by what matters to me.

I wonder why I can’t stay in that place (even when I know why).

I wonder how even though I protect my life and my space, and this precious time I have to live this life in the vibration of what matters to me, I always wander off.


But I always come back too.


Friday evening, following the day of all that mattered to me, we went in to town to run a couple errands.

At a stoplight, as I neared a turn, we were nearly hit by an oncoming car, as they swerved to miss the person who turned in front of them.

In the brief seconds between everything is fine and relaxed and normal and we are about to (possibly) die, I had time to think of so much.

These are the moments why I live for what matters.


As we close out 2014 and welcome in 2015, really know what matters to you.

Put what matters in your basket.

Promise yourself that 2015 will be abundant in what matters and scarce in what doesn’t.

That you’ll understand life is full of too much mysteriousness to coast in the lane of “only what matters”, but that you’ll aim to stay in that lane as much as you can.


falan sig



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The (Empty) Basket Year


With the year coming to a close and the new year fresh on our heels, it’s begun.

The guiding books are coming out, the new planners, the word of the year tools, the recycled new years resolutions (“I’m gonna’ do it this year dammit!”)…

All the hype that we can be more, do more, accomplish more vibrates at a whole new level when December shows up.

I’m done with it all.

Well, I haven’t set a new years resolution since I was 20.

I have done the reflection and planning thing quite well the last few years, and early this year I chose my first word of the year.

Yet, you see, I’m a simple girl.

Really simple.

So much so, it was just a handful of years ago that everything my family owned fit in a 5×5 foot storage shed.

So much so, we recently bought a 640 square foot home. For five people.

Stuff disappears from our house as if a burgler stuffs himself in the empty space and sneaks out at night to gather.

“I don’t know what happened to that, darling…” “You gave it to Goodwill, didn’t you Mom?”

This simplicity floods over the container of tangible things into my view of life and time too.

I’m hung up (in what I hope is a good way) on making this life matter. On not losing focus of the primal and simple things that matter in the end.

A week or so ago, I choked on my tears as I tried to express the pain that I have a dollop over six years left ’til my son will be an adult.

That hurts so much.

But it offers power too.

Imagine, for one minute that it’s 100 years from now. You and everyone you love in this moment is gone. The world still exists (and maybe you do in a different incarnation), but you are gone in the form you now live.

Did you live the life you wanted?

That’s all you need to think about for 2015.

Eff new years resolutions, guiding words, or pages and pages of stuff to accomplish.

What matters to YOU? (if those things above matter to you, then they are welcome ;))

You see, time doesn’t really exist, but we need time to guide our lives.

As you age, and especially when you have children who seem to reshape overnight during dreams, life becomes a great longing to not wait, to live now.

Now is the time.

The time to quit with the more and pursue what matters.

Here’s a New Year suggestion for you and me.

The empty basket. (inspired by “The Empty Container” by Leo Babauta)

Get a little basket. A wee tiny one. Or a little medicine pouch, an itty bitty treasure box, a matchbox, a little jar…

Then, sit with your life. Really look at it.

Think of all the things you want to do. All the things that you already do.

Connection with loved ones. People. Family. Husband. Children. Parents.

Work and business goals. Travel. Financial goals.

Health. Home. Healing.

Write them down.

Fill a page or pages or a whole darn notebook of all the things you want to do. Big stuff, little stuff, medium stuff. Get specific.

Now, take a break. Watch a movie that ignites a truth in you. Take a walk. Snuggle a loved one.

Then come back and look at your list.

Circle all the things that are important to you. Truly important.

Not important because you think they should be. Not important because they are important to someone else.

Truly important because there is a calling in you that pulls you there.

Because when you leap 100 years from now you want those clichéd, and very real, blood, sweat and tears to have come from what truly matters to you.

Honor what season of your life you are in, knowing that if you live beyond this season you can choose different things. But if you don’t live beyond this season then you still lived fully.

Then choose five. Just five.

If you are the hard core type, choose three.

That is your 2015. Put them in your basket.

That is what comes first. Every thing else second.


falan sig



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Why Journal? Five reasons.


Pen and paper have always been alluring to me.

I spent my childhood funds on journals, notebooks, pens and the like.

My Dad and I would spend chunks of time roaming the aisles of office supply stores.

I always had a diary or journal of sorts.

I was always writing on something.

My Mom used to joke about the amount of trees I ate up with ink.

I am still the same.

I’ve always had a place to write the workings of my heart and mind on paper.

I’ve always made lists, logged tidbits and tracked my life with pen and paper.

I prefer this over any electronic, with no competition to ever be found.

It was just this year I decided to call myself a writer.

But writer was nothing I ever longed to be.

I write. I love to write.

I met my husband in a creative writing class.

If I could handwrite these blog posts to you, I’d adore it.

Not a day of my life passes that a pen doesn’t make home in my hand.

But it wasn’t until this year, when my journaling practice became so much more, that I realized the true importance of writing.

Here are five reasons (there are many more) writing in a journal can be important to us all.

Permission. To be all of you and as much of you as you are in any given moment. When others around you can’t hold space for what you’re going through, it gives you permission to hold space for yourself.

Heart access. The hand is led from the heart. When we write, long enough, we access our truth. Our intuition. Our inner knowing. Our heart space.

Release. Brain dump, heart dump. Letting go. It distributes the weight of life, so it no longer sits merely on your shoulders.

Housekeeping. Life can get crazy messy. Journaling lets you clean up the mess a bit. To find clarity and calm in the chaos.

Depth. There’s a depth in us all that we don’t reach in the busyness of life. That we can’t reach when we don’t sit with ourselves long enough to share what’s going on within. Journaling creates room to go deeper.

There are no rules. Just begin. Simply show up. Write what’s on your mind. Write until you are empty.

All answers are within us. Writing gives you new ears. Simply start.

With tremendous love,

falan sig




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Radiating Joy, crapping on complaining and becoming a recklessly rich woman


I am radiating joy.

Radiating joy because I have given up am giving up complaints and am giving myself what I need.

Such an obvious path to joy, but one I was walking right by.

At 2 o’clock today we will receive some news.

News that should diminish my joy and tailspin me into worry.

News that I expect to be the last big shift of the year.

Expected news in an intuitive, wind-carried-it-kind-of-way.

Feeling it coming. Calling it to come.

A delivery from life that you ordered in a heart touchstone kind of way.

It, coupled with the my changing relationship of motherhood, changing relationship to friends and family, and changing relationship to home and town, feels like the curtain is being closed on one act of my life and preparing to open for the next.


I’ve been cutting and unraveling the threads of my life all year long.

These mornings of writing I have been giving gifting myself are doing something to me I can’t find a word to describe.

I feel every cell of me buffering its edges and preparing to hold space for everything that is changing and is coming.

I share so much of myself in this space.

We all long to be seen, and I think sharing here allows me to better see myself and what I am going through.

But we all have parts of ourselves we don’t see and we don’t share.

Journaling each and every morning is revealing myself to me. It’s reflecting my world and giving me space to see things as they are. It is showing me my inner tapestry and weaving it with the magic that life is. (I am so excited to welcome six ladies to join me in this work this winter…!)

My life feels pregnant with divine timing right now.

Life hands us what we’ve been asking for and preparing for, but are too scared to cross over to.

I feel my trust, playfulness and pleasure expanding. I am exploring the richness of myself.

With a skip in my step, and a strength to face what’s to come,

falan sig


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Self Care Supreme/Holding Space for my Loneliness


I feel lonely for myself lately.

The whole family just drove away.

One quick errand and they’ll return in 20 minutes.

I open the computer to share my thoughts, balancing the teeter totter of freedom and uncomfortable.

Space always feels new to me.

I’ve shared, many times, my devotion to motherhood.

Quiet and space have not come easy, or often, in these past (nearly a) dozen years.

Quiet and space have always been intertwined with fear for me.

For example, as I type this, everyone who truly matters to me is in a car right now.

Running a simple errand.

Am I the only one who wonders what if they didn’t make it home?

Fear because I don’t want to miss out or fuck up the most important role my life will ever lead.

Guilt because my worth has been entangled, since the dawn of adulthood, with the role of ‘Mother’, and anytime I’m on my own I am not yet sure who I am.


I feel lonely for myself lately.

I’m supposed to love alone time, right?

I do. I really do. I come alive in the quiet like a wolf travels the night.

My ritual for as long as my memory wanders is that I’ve found space nearly every night after the house has fallen asleep.

I think this longing for me is creeping in only as a natural loneliness unfolds in my life.

I moved recently and friend connection feels lost, as I navigate what energy a new home requires.

My relationship to my Mom feels lost, for now, and I carry the pain, anger and loss heavily.

My children are stretching their arms and legs wide to the seasons of life and I am no longer interwoven in a sticky web of breast milk, hormonal havoc and a need waiting to be filled every moment of my day. I feel very lost with this one, because I never imagined life beyond that most beautiful sticky web.


I am lonely for me lately because there is space to wonder who I am, with so much less reflecting or defining who I am.

I have recently found a way to touch that lonely me and give her space to find herself.


Space and the old clichéd need for self care.

You know, I kind of want to turn my nose up even using the words ‘self care’. It’s a bit used up like a dirty sock, eh?

But what else should I call it?

Rather than ride the waves of the late hours, I’ve been turning in a bit earlier and claiming space for myself upon waking.

I tell the kids that I’ll be out after I finish writing.

I close the door to my room and they (mostly) respect it. The older two, that is. The littlest one finds a half dozen reasons to talk to me. But that’s okay. I’m confident with time she’ll understand too.

I listen to them break out our newest board game, argue over who needs to take the dog out in the cold, or welcome the silence of their trio selves reading on the couch.

I eat up the time, logging my fertility, snipping my dreams onto paper and rambling out my heart faster than my hand can keep up.

Transforming while I drink hot herbal tea and tend to my womb and heart.

And bump up against guilt.

And ride the joy of showing my kids how to give yourself just what you need.

It has made ‘self care’ oh so sexy.

And it feels really naughty.

Lonely for myself and I am giving her space and time.


Space calls to me like the waves of the sea.

And I am answering this calling a wee bit.

It’s as if, each morning, I am saying that I matter.

I matter and it is okay to decide to start my day with a slice of space for me.

My loneliness matters and it’s my job to greet the longing with the chance to really see myself through the pages of my journals.

We matter in ways we’d never give ourselves credit, recognition or gratitude for.

Our value is often lived through the love we give to others.

These morning minutes are lighting little fires of reminders about my worth and my well being.

It is rippling out into the rest of the day, when I am full and cared for.

It’s true that if we don’t hold space for ourselves, no one else will.

It is true that if we don’t meet our own needs we cannot lovingly meet the needs of those we love the most.

Reflect upon your space and see how much you have.

See what you need.

Find it.

Find it when the night turns dark and loved ones sleep.

Find it by honoring the growing of your littles who are now old enough to allow it.

Find it when your milk drunken wee one naps.

Find it upon waking or right before bed.

Find it because you are worth it.

Find it because befriending yourself means as we embrace self love (eh, another dirty sock word) we have more love to give.

buckets of love,

falan sig


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Creation over consumption & arousing your pelvis (with optional challenge)


Five years ago.

We lived real rural, I was plump with a nine plus pounder inside of me and spent each morning devouring handfuls of ripe berries that surrounded the little passive solar home we rented.

We had dial up internet, a prepaid cell phone and a landline phone.

The main sounds were the critters, the creeks, and the range of music that sound tracked our home.

This marked life, for me, before I really stepped into the online world.

Soon after, we moved back into town and welcomed high speed internet. A couple years later I surrendered to an iPhone

During this time, I welcomed the world of blogs and started my own.

You may be laughing, because quite clearing I am far behind the times.

Yet, it was all so intentional.


At this point, I fully embrace the incredible resource and profound capabilities that the internet is and offers.

At this point, I am back out in the country with the critters and wide sky, but I’ve kept the high speed internet and the iPhone.

Still, I am stinker for protecting our lives from too much consumption.

Still, I am a massive believer in the sacredness of simplicity and I live it as fully as I can.

We live in a tricky time, where we are saturated in consumption. With the flick of a finger you can peek into the lives of others, seek a recipe, find the answer to your kids crazy question, earn an income doing something you love, and Skype with someone miles and miles away.

That’s an amazing tool not to be reckoned with.

Or is it?

Because on the other side of that coin, with the flick of a finger, you can procrastinate your day away, ignore the warmth and love sitting next to you, miss the chance to lie in a hammock while the sun centers the sky, feed your lying unworthiness, and spend a whole day without creating.



Creation happens when your hands move to express your heart.

Women are powerhouse creators, as their pelvis holds the creation of life and all the energy they need to create any ole thing.

Creativity activates this pelvic energy, arousing it & creating more of it.

Kind of like the more sex you have the more you want.

Creativity soothes overwhelm (as it nurtures your innate desire to create), puts you in touch with yourself , grows joy, and sends you to bed with a feeling of fullness.



Consumption happens when we consume something.

Hungry for more we get addicted to ingesting the world outside of us.

Consumption often steals intuition (as you can lose touch with it when you never sit with it), promotes procrastination (where the hell did those three hours go?!), and breeds ‘not good enough’ (hello hot pool of comparison).

Obviously nothing is so black and white, and we all know consumption isn’t only bad.

However, the point I am making – in this very round about way – is to choose creation over consumption first.

Make something, do something. write something, cook something, paint something.

Always before you look at something, read something, reply to something or watch something.


Want to challenge yourself?

For one week?

You must create before you consume, every day.

Wanna go hard core? Give up consumption entirely for one week.

See the magic of you reappear in a world that ice buckets you with the world of everyone else.

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Emails, Blogs, Podcasts, Magazine, Books, Newpapers, TV, Movies…

What about YOU?

When’s the last time you shut everyone and everything else out long enough to remember what it’s like to know yourself?

I promise, the world can (and will!) wait.

Loads and loads of love, and lingering full moon magic,

falan sig


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Choice and the world can wait.


“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” -John Lennon

The world can wait.

When we are living lives, free of fresh trauma, daily health concerns, terminal illness and/or shattering pain, we need to realize how flexible, how malleable our lives truly our in each moment.

How much choice we truly have.

Really, choice remains regardless of our circumstances.

But we often fail to realize how much we take our choice for granted when we don’t have an overwhelming situation guiding our every move and choice.

Understanding that choice changes everything.

When we can shadow our lives just long enough to see how incredible choice is, how magical freedom is, how blessed our lives really are, then we understand that the world can wait.

The world can wait on you to answer the flood of emails while you soak your feet in an Epsom herbal bath & paint your toenails black.

The world can wait for you to tidy up the kitchen while you run around in the dark, under the waxing moon, with your kids.

The world can wait for you to read a tangible, pageable book while you shut down the electromagnetic waves of your smartphone/laptop for awhile.

To live your life instead of peeking into the lives of others far too often.

The world can wait while you step outside, snuggle a loved one or take a nap.

The world can wait for you to live your life instead of meeting the demands of everyone else’s life.

Instead of you warming your worth by what you do.

The world can wait for your while you choose wants over ‘shoulds’.

The world will wait for you to self nourish yourself because nourishing yourself is actually the least selfish thing you can do.


Sometimes life can make you feel like a bursting abdomen that ate far too much bread.

There’s so much freaking stuff we want to do, need to do, desire to do…

Our lives are insanely full, even if most of that fullness lives in our heads and hearts.

Our lives thread along the seam of fragility.

Our time is not infinite in the form we live within now.

We must walk the razors edge of now and later, priority and postpone, this or that.

It’s hard.

The world can wait.

But our lives won’t.


We must learn to navigate this tricky threshold and choose between what matters now and what can wait.

Here’s a lil’ thing I’ve taken on from the classic The Artist’s Way to help pilot the things I know can wait; yet, don’t want to be dismissed.

The God’s Got It file.

Now, before you let your panties slide up your butt thinking I’ve gone religious here on my blog, I haven’t. Not even a dollop.

Yet, I believe fully in the power of something much larger than myself, in the governing force of life, God’s and Goddesses, feminine and masculine, energy, magic, serendipity, diving timing, divinity, spirit, soul…

I believe.

The God’s Got It file is the place on my desk that holds all my random bits of paper and index cards with the eons of thoughts that pass through this eager and dreamy mind of mine.

I put it there, I let it go, I trust, I let the world hold it.

The world will wait for us to get to it.

But it won’t wait for us to live our lives now.

Happy Samhain & Happy Halloween,

falan sig



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Claiming my sensitive, shattering ‘shoulds’ and leaving a crack for joy


We live by the sun, we feel by the moon

I was moved by the number of ladies who showed up in my inbox after last weeks post, sharing a resonation with the feelings I seem to be moving through lately.

I see that I’ve carried sensitivity since I was a child; yet, I also see a tremendous freshness of it over this past year. It’s as if the parameter of my heart was peeled smoothly with a potato peeler.

I know part of this has to do with the bleep-er of an awakening I went through early this year. Another part of it feels like lost footing as I transition from a much needed Mother (creating, nursing and holding littles close) to a Mom with three kids fending more and more for themselves.

What’s interesting is that I’m a ridiculously spunky person. Just a few hours ago, I was cooking up dinner while jamming to 90’s skating rink music like a goofball, followed by dinner convo of butts and turds and all that jazz.

But words seem to flow from me here mostly when softness and mulling is lingering.


We are complex beings and I want my internet home to show my own complexity. In a world of internet saturation and peeks into what feels like perfect lives, I want to show you that I am real. Very real.

I want you to accept your realness too.

Whoever we are, let’s be who we are.

I get roused up when life makes us think we should feel the same all the time. The seasons live within us and we are turned inside out by our experiences in life, our relationships with others and with ourselves, loss, the melancholy of Fall, astrological and lunar shifts and tremendous amounts of more…

I want us to all be okay with where we are. With who we are.

To be okay; always leaving a crack for joy to sneak through.

Right now my joy is sneaking in in one very simple way.

To choose want over should as much as possible.

Should seems like an appropriate suffix for all of us. It’s rather wild how much we take on and act on because we should.

It’s sad how often we do the shoulds before the wants, somehow assured that the shoulds are more important than the wants, or that we don’t deserve the wants without finishing up the shoulds.

The truth is; however, that the shoulds are never done and when we choose a day of shoulds we don’t have anything left over for our wants.

Then resentment swallows joy.

Yet, when we choose the wants and honor the sacred request of what calls to us we create joy. That joy feeds our energy & our time to serve our shoulds that are actually needs, or to finally let go of the shoulds that should are ready to be shattered.

new moon love,

falan sig


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Vulnerablity, inadequacy and truth telling

anaisninI often feel like I wait too long to show up in this space.

I feel like I teeter in between this place of wanting to be seen and wanting no one to see me.

Don’t we all?

Sometimes I think to myself, “who the hell wants to read my personal ramblings?” fallleaves

Fall feels as though she went through my spice cabinet and sprinkled herself with cumin, turmeric, cayenne and the like to warm the seasons coolness.

Driving into town last week I felt a twinge of grief in the air, knowing Fall would pass far too soon.

Life feels mixed grief, the lingering playfulness of yesterday’s dream, the crispness of the Autumn air and the comfort of weekend lovemaking.

gigi This past week we lost a dear matriarch, our Gigi. She died beautifully and lived beautifully.

We recently lost three chickens to these country woods.

Last week many women held space for National infant and pregnancy loss awareness day. So many of us have experienced this type of loss. I recently shared some heart-full thoughts on miscarriage in SQUAT Birth Journal. You can view the pdf of the magazine for free here.

lakeeden I spent a past weekend at the Southeast Wise Women Herbal Conference. Again, I came home early Saturday night, as the distance from family is too much for me and my crew.

I find myself unable to hold space for all the energy there. I like my safe cocoon of home.

There’s so much wisdom that I almost feel too full when I leave.

Yet, it unlocks more about me each time I go.

I spent nearly the entire Death and Dying class with goosebumps. Surprisingly, it was one of the classes I looked forward to the most. A little unknown fact about me is I am drawn to death and spend a decent amount of my reading time in books that highlight loss, and in thoughts that inspire presence because of inevitable loss. An interest in volunteering at Hospice has sat with me for while and this class concluded that I am being called to serve with and/or prepare for death.

Taking the intensive with Rosita Arvigo was a long held wish of mine. Here, I sat reminded of the incredible power of our wombs and inspired to expand my She Cycles course with more lushness of the uterus. And quite honestly, it inspired me to perhaps tell one of my truths of why I created the course in the first place. Something I’m quite unsure if I’m ready to tell.

I forest bathed, listened to the beautiful Aviva Romm talk about yoni’s, soaked up comfort in the stones class for empaths, listened to the sweet Emily Ruff talk Sacred Science, and absorbed Robin Rose Bennett’s humble talk on moon magic and women’s health.

sunrise I’m feeling a very personal loss myself in this phase of my life. A quiet almost unmentioned loss.

I am getting lost in the pages of my journal. Un-layering, unraveling, unearthing what is deeper than what I show.

I’m confused because I’m far more goofy and playful than my writings ever reveal.

I keep wondering when I am going to regain my social interest that seems to have vanished this past Winter.

I’ve been thinking much about how we take for granted what we have and want what we don’t have.

I’ve been watching synchronicity magic up my life lately, reminding me that I am uncovering the right path.

I am taking an internet consumption break. I dislike the disconnect of myself I feel when I hear too much of others.

I’ve been facing my own inadequacy lately. Watching where my worth is validated.

Vulnerability is such a tough and beautiful thing. A critical thing.

Life keeps calling me to tell you more of my truth. Truth I already know and truth I am discovering.

It’s scary.

caramelapplesWith vulnerability in mind and our desire as women to be seen and to not be seen, I am opening a virtual circle this Winter for those of us who want to explore this part of ourselves, to uncover the truths we keep hidden. So many of you have expressed the wish that my She Cycles course offered a deeper way of connection with me and the other women taking it. This circle and the expanding She Cycles will offer a bit of this connection. xx

With wishes to share a cup of hot cocoa with you,

falan sig


And for the sheer sake of it, a couple videos that share a bit of the recent soundtrack around our home.

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Transitions and a tribute to my body


My current life began in August.

We bought our home, I stepped into a new pain of forgiving, and a week later my littlest quit breastfeeding.

In this moment, I want to step within a door that is now closed.

She didn’t nurse before bed for about a week and I danced around the sporadic tears that would show up when I thought about the closing of this part of me.

And then, she was upset one evening and asked to nurse. Grateful for this last chance, I sat on the edge of my bed, scooped her into my arms and nursed her knowing it was the very last time.

Her last time.

My last time.

She hugged my breasts goodbye (an unspoken knowing in her too) and I softly cried at the profoundness of the moment.


Tears sting my eyes as I share this moment with you.

You see, I was 19 years old when I chose motherhood. Consciously chose to welcome life, and expand love, between the love of Josh and I.

I had no no no idea what that would mean for us, for me.

I didn’t know that it would be motherhood that would define me, shape me, make me.

A dozen years in and I have spent ALL of it pregnant, nursing or both. I have held babies and toddlers to my breast for 10 and half years total.

Five pregnancies. A bed birth, a water birth and a floor birth. Two miscarried births.

Hormonal havoc, oxytocin rushes, mama lioness, mama weakness, stretched belly, soft skinned breasts, blood, milk, tears, spirit, deep deep joy and deep deep blues.

For the first time in twelve and a half years I am not pregnant and I am not breastfeeding.

to mom

As women, our breasts, our hands and our mouths are connected to our hearts and serve those we love.

My breasts may be done but I’ll always serve with my heart and hands.

With a part of me who thought I’d never want to be done with babies and with a part of me that now loves what this means for the relationship with myself and my husband, I am transitioning.

Behind the door lies a tremendous part of my identity. One I’ve always been greatly attached to and scared to distance myself from.

For this reason, it’s not easy to gather words to express this transition.

It’s fluid and natural and feels just so. It’s hung up in my heart waiting for me to fully celebrate, acknowledge and sweetly close the door on what has been the most important, profound and sincerest part of my life.

When all you got are words and you want to set your heart ablaze with your story, but it doesn’t seem enough…this is what I have in this moment.


falan sig



Feel like you belong here? Sign up for free weekly-ish lovins' in your inbox. I'll also send you a link to a private page, just for my readers, that includes heart-full little pdf's, such as Beside the Bed: Three tools to set yourself free, without leaving your bed. (I'll keep your email super safe - promise!)
* = required field