I thought I was signing up for spiritual wisdom.

Turns out, I was paying to listen to a windstorm in designer sunglasses.

To be fair, she looked the part: glowy, barefoot, beach backdrop. The kind of person who says “frequency” instead of “vibe” and somehow makes it sound taxable.
And maybe that’s what got me — I mean, who doesn’t want to believe enlightenment smells like sea salt and private-jet fuel?
So I clicked join.

The Transmission
She appeared, haloed in sunlight, voice rising over what I assumed was the ocean.
Except it wasn’t the ocean. It was wind. Lots of wind. The kind that makes you want to throw your phone in a sock drawer.
But everyone else in the comments was typing things like “yesss goddess” and “the frequency of wealth is loud today.”
So I thought maybe I just didn’t get it. Maybe I needed to listen harder.

Spoiler: I didn’t.

The Awakening
Somewhere between “exclusive access” and “only three people in the world have this view,” I realized this wasn’t spiritual expansion. It was a sales pitch with a seashell filter.
And that’s okay. She’s doing her thing.
But I finally recognized the sound that had been bugging me the whole time.
It wasn’t the wind.
It was the gaslighting.

The Wisdom (with a breeze of humility)
I’m not mad. I was just… curious. Maybe a little greedy. Maybe I wanted to see if enlightenment came with room service.
But here’s what I learned: spirituality and money absolutely can coexist — but when the Wi-Fi is stronger than the self-awareness, it’s probably time to log out.
​
Not everything that glitters is gold. Sometimes it’s just sand in your eyes and your money in the wind.

The manor was still.
Not dramatic, just... stagnant.
Like when the playlist runs out and nobody notices, because they weren’t really dancing in the first place.

Blondie was quiet.
Matt was quiet.
I was somewhere between feral and frozen — tiptoeing through a season of fog that had overstayed its welcome.

Then came Moose.
He didn’t knock. He barked.
He peed.
He tripped over air and launched himself into our home like a champagne cork fired from the hands of God — chaotic, effervescent, and absolutely uninterested in your furniture arrangement.

He was not the dog we were expecting.
But maybe he was the disruption we needed.

The crack in the stillness.
The tiny, unapologetic peacock tail of life flaring up in the corner of the living room, insisting:
​
“I’m here. You’re here. Let’s make some noise.”
​

Aliveness Isn’t Always Graceful
Sometimes it drools.
Sometimes it runs into glass doors.
Sometimes it leaps before it looks and lands in your lap like a furry existential crisis with a squeaky toy.

But aliveness wakes you up.

And Moose?
He barks at shadows, has feelings very loudly, and loves harder than most people I know.

He reminds us — daily — that feeling everything is a privilege.
That joy isn’t always tidy.
That the soul sometimes re-enters through the back door, covered in mud and holding a stolen sock.

Our Manor Breathes Again
The house is messy.
The couch is full.
The vibe is… unhinged but alive.

And honestly?

It’s never felt more like home.

Moose didn’t just bring us a reason to laugh — he brought back the part of us that could.

Sometimes the deepest trauma is the one that feels most natural.
You think it’s your nature to give, to absorb, to keep the peace.
But what if it isn’t who you are — just who you became to survive?
​

For a long time, I didn’t recognize my trauma because it wore the mask of love.
Fawning wasn’t something I did — it was something I became.
It was sacrifice disguised as kindness.
It was putting everyone else’s needs first — not because I didn’t matter, but because I believed I was the strongest.
Because I thought I was keeping everyone safe.
That if I said no, if I stopped absorbing, if I chose myself… something bad would happen.

That was the trauma:
The belief that my desires were dangerous.

I was smart. I was determined. I was brave.
But the invisible mask of fawning became my greatest self-sabotage.
Because I couldn’t see it.
No one could.
​

The Silent Form of Trauma
Fawning doesn’t look like panic.
It doesn’t fall apart or scream.
It adapts.

And because I could function — always with a smile — no one asked if I was okay.
No one saw I was collapsing under the weight of the world I put on my shoulders.

​Not even me.

❁✿❀    ღ

Like the functioning alcoholic, I was the functional empath:

• Taking on the draining tasks no one else wanted
• Anticipating others’ needs before my own even formed
• Absorbing guilt and shame like a second skin — even though I don’t fully know what shame feels like (more on this in a future post)
• Silencing my truth to protect the people I love
• Internalizing chaos as my responsibility to fix 
• Protecting others from pain, even at the cost of myself

The Recognition That Set Me Free
Fawning is different from fight, flight, or freeze.
It’s slipperier.
It disguises itself as intuition, strength, compassion, maturity.

I now see:
From the moment I was born, I learned to regulate the emotional temperature of the room.

I won’t get into the reasons why this happens in this post, but I now understand it has to do with both family patterns and our unique Human Design.

At its root, it’s a trauma response — one designed to regulate the environment, not express your truth.

This is why so many brave, high-functioning, loving women (and men) stay stuck:

• They don’t see the pattern.
• They think it’s just their nature to be accommodating.
• They call it kindness, but it’s actually self-abandonment in disguise.

​
What I Know Now
​I don’t need to prove my goodness by being the most accommodating woman in the room.
I don’t have to hold the emotional weight of other people’s choices.
I am allowed to want, to rest, to disappoint people.

Saying no is not a betrayal.
Dreaming bigger is not dangerous.
Letting go of false peace is not cruelty — it’s truth.

And most of all:
I wasn’t anxious — I was overflowing with what no one else knew how to hold.
And I wasn’t broken — I was bending under the weight of what I thought was love.
I was never selfish for wanting more.
I was just fawning my way through a world that didn’t know how to hold me back.
But now I do.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something quietly beautiful in the works for November --
an experience created to help you gently uncover the invisible masks you’ve been wearing,
and remember who you are beneath them.

More soon. 𓂃 ོ☼𓂃