I had an objectively good job, doing work I loved and was good at. A great group of friends, with a full social calendar. I was living what I thought was my dream life.

And in many ways it was.

But I had this extreme fatigue I couldn’t seem to shake. I’d struggle getting out of bed in the morning. Nap during my breaks. Lay in bed after work staring at the ceiling, unable to move…despite having everything I thought I wanted.

Underneath the tiredness was a voice I couldn’t silence — a quiet internal tug that kept pulling at me. Kept asking me the same question: is this really it?

I wanted more.

And then felt immediately guilty for wanting more, because I already had so much. I felt stuck in a life I thought I wanted…that I had created with such intention. I felt ungrateful…silly even, for being so exhausted by a life that I’d dreamed of and that was so objectively good from the outside.

I had work that fulfilled me. Friendships that filled my cup. Lived in a beautiful city by the ocean. And had my family nearby to love and support me.

Yet, no matter how much I napped, I could never seem to escape the tiredness.

Because it wasn’t that I was simply tired from lack of sleep. It was a soul-deep kind of tired. And napping wasn’t helping me escape exhaustion — it was helping me escape the feeling that the life I was living, as good as it was, still didn’t feel like mine.

That’s what I couldn’t see at the time. The tiredness wasn’t about sleep. It was about spending day after day in a life that, however good it looked, wasn’t quite mine. And no amount of rest was going to fix that.

The feeling is easy to explain away as burnout. And while burnout is a very real thing, and often a contributing factor, it isn’t the whole story.

Because this isn’t just about needing more rest. Taking a break seems simpler — even if you won’t let yourself do it. But actually making a change? That requires something different from you. When you already feel like you have nothing left to give.

At least that’s how I felt.

And what I know now is this feeling — it wasn’t simply burnout. It was a signal. That something beneath the surface — beneath the gratitude, beneath the good job and the great friends and the beautiful place — was quietly (and then very loudly) demanding my attention. Saying that something needed to change, and I had to be the one to change it.

And that’s a much harder thing to sit with.

Because taking a break is simple. But changing my life, especially when I thought I was living my “dream life”…that’s more complicated.

There’s no clear answer or obvious next step. So instead of moving toward it, I hid from it.

I carried on business as usual, napping to escape the persistent hum of my inner knowing that something needed to change. Told myself I’d deal with it when things calmed down…but shockingly…they never did.

I share this because I suspect you know exactly what I’m talking about.

The feeling that follows you through days that are objectively fine. That settles in your chest at night. That tightens in your belly on Sunday afternoons when you look at the week ahead.

This feeling has a particular quality. It coexists with gratitude. You genuinely know that you have things to be grateful for. A life that from any “reasonable” external angle looks like it’s working.

And it is working. It’s just not fully yours.

Somewhere along the way, you started building the version of your life that made sense on paper. The responsible version. The one that accounted for practicality and other people’s needs and what you were “supposed” to want. You made good, sensible decisions. And in doing that — slowly, imperceptibly — you lost the thread of what you actually wanted.

You’re not sure when it happened. You’re not even sure exactly what you lost. You just know that something feels off.

You suspect there’s a version of your days that feels more alive than the one you’re currently living — you just can’t quite see it clearly, but you sure can feel its absence.

That absence has weight. It settles in your chest. It follows you into the day.

Here’s what I’ve noticed, after eight years of sitting with people in this exact place:

We call it burnout because we don’t know what else to name it. But it’s deeper than that.

You’re tired of the fundamental shape of your life being woven around something other than your true self.

Burnout lets you keep the life you’ve built and just...rest it a bit.

But the thing underneath burnout — the quiet persistent sense that something needs to change, that the life you’re living isn’t quite the one that’s yours — that doesn’t get better with rest.

It gets louder.

The longer you leave it unnamed, the louder it gets.

That feeling isn’t a problem to manage. It’s a question worth answering.

And the first step isn’t a plan. It isn’t a strategy or a framework or a list of things to change. It’s simpler and harder than any of those things.

It’s honesty.

Really honest honesty — about what’s not working, what you actually want beneath all the conditioning and the “shoulds” and the “responsible” decisions, and what’s been quietly keeping you exactly where you are.

That’s the beginning.

If you’ve been running the, is this really it? loop — laying in the dark at 11:47 PM staring at the ceiling, or feeling your belly tighten on a Sunday afternoon looking to the week ahead, or in the middle of rest that is never quite restoring you —

I want you to know something.

You’re not broken. You’re not asking for too much. And that exhaustion you’re feeling, it’s more than just burnout.

You’re just not quite living as yourself yet.

And something in you knows it. Has known it for a while.

That quiet, persistent pull toward something more — it’s a signal. One that deserves to be heard rather than avoided.

You don’t need to know what the answer is yet. You don’t need a clear vision or a plan or certainty about what needs to change. You just need to be willing to look at it more closely, get curious about what it actually is, and be really honest with yourself.

That’s enough to begin.

If this resonated and you want to explore what’s actually there — I’d love for you to join me at Ignite Your Spark, a free 90-minute workshop happening May 8th at 11am MST. We’ll go beneath the surface of what’s keeping you stuck, and you’ll get to experience what this work actually feels like — not just think about it.

Link in my bio. Come find me.

Follow Your Inner Fire is a space for the ones who know they’re meant for more — and are learning, slowly and honestly, to claim it. If this essay found you at the right moment, share it with someone who needs it.

There is a particular kind of disorientation that comes when someone safe triggers something that isn’t about them at all.

When your body responds to the present as though it is the past. When every nerve is firing a warning that your mind knows isn’t warranted — and yet.

This is what trauma does. It doesn’t wait for context. It doesn’t care that this person is not that person. It only knows what it learned to survive.

But that does not mean we need to remain in survival. We can build our capacity to move into a state of thriving — where the parts of us still in survival are cushioned by our own ever growing presence.

It comes slowly, and then all at once. In the quiet work of holding our boundaries, and ourselves, without self-abandoning. In learning to discern and name our felt sense. To soothe and support ourselves back to safety.

I wrote this poem in a season that followed the wreckage. One where I was tentatively returning to myself — and finding that intimacy, even the quiet kind, even the safe kind, could still send me back there in an instant.

But instead of armouring up, I acknowledged the truth. Letting the fear, rage, and sadness within me be witnessed as it spilled out. And in it I was met — genuinely held in the mess of it. That changed something in me.

Healing the wounds left by others doesn’t happen in isolation. Sometimes it happens in the very spaces that frighten you most. In the choice to open, even when everything in you is braced for impact.

This poem is about that moment. The war happening beneath the surface. And the whisper that cuts through it anyway.

What if.

Intimate Spaces

my body tightens
as his fingers graze my thigh
my distrust of men
ignited

a battle cry rips through me
beneath the surface
my past selves assemble
jostling for position
ready

to fight
to flee
to freeze

the closeness we share
illuminates
the scars that I bear
unseen

the promise of intimacy
looms
I’ve often felt
unsafe
boundaries crossed
made to feel
less than

my hackles rise
not as a reflection of him
but those who came
before
their lust
more important
my comfort
merely an afterthought

reinforcements built
around my heart
my body taught
in protection

and yet
a whisper to trust
breathes within
what if…

with that
I open
truth spills out
laced with fear

meeting me
in the mess
holding me
he assuages my fears

I slowly unravel
from shame
honouring my truth

I’m learning how
to find safety
in intimate spaces

This poem holds a moment where opening led to safety. But I haven’t always been able to find my way there. There have been times I thought I was following my own truth — and wasn’t. Times I confused the longing to feel safe with the felt sense of actually being safe. Where my mind, desperate for the story to be different, overrode what my body already knew.

The difference, I’ve come to understand, lives in trust. Not trust in the other person — but in yourself. In your capacity to hear what your body is actually telling you, beneath the noise of what you want it to say.

This is the layer underneath it all. Without it, we can do all the right things and still not quite find our way home to ourselves. And it takes time. I’m still learning it.

If you’re curious what that looks like for you — what safety actually feels like in your body, and how to begin trusting yourself to know the difference — I’d love to support you in finding it. It’s some of the most important work we can do.

If this resonates and you’re ready to begin building the capacity to come home to yourself, so that when the moment asks you to open, you actually can, The Archer is where that work happens. It’s a 6-month journey back to yourself, and it’s waiting for you here.

That’s the thing about healing though isn’t it? It’s not linear.

And it’s not a destination you arrive and remain at.

Sometimes wounds you were sure you’d healed find their way to the surface once more.

Quieter and with more clarity, but still very real.

And that is where I’ve found myself recently.

While I wrote this poem in a different season of life, one where I was no longer caught in the riptide, but still sputtering from being pulled under.

Reading it now I feel both distant from the version of me and tenderly close to her. She is not who I am now, but she is a part of me I carry.

And while I can breathe more easily, she is still gasping for air. But instead of being the one gasping, I am now in a place to aid her.

Healing moves in cycles —not in downward spirals, but upward. Returning to the same places, the same wounds, but with greater clarity, compassion, and capacity to support yourself through it.

The invisible wounds are the hardest kind, silently poisoning you from within. There’s no visible scar, just the quiet, persistent pain of something that lodged itself inside you and rearranged things forever.

If you’ve ever felt like you were finally free of something, only to find it waiting for you around a corner — this is for you. You’re not going backwards. You’re just healing a deeper layer.

Invisible Wounds

you might not have meant anything
by your words
but they lodged between my ribs
with every breath
razor edges dig in

as each day passes
they sink deeper
sowing seeds of doubt
weaving a web
around my heart
trapped in feelings of not being enough
and simultaneously too much

you appear to have escaped
unscathed
no visible battle scars
around your heart
you pour into her
leave me in drought
giving her the life
we always spoke of

I have to remind myself
not everything is as it appears
smoke and mirrors
an illusion at best
keeping what you don’t want seen
hidden in obscurity

you always were good with the bravado
I was once intoxicated by it
now out of the fog
no longer caught up in the riptide
of your “love”
I can see i was really just choking
drowning in the wash of your storm

with every passing day
the space grows between us
I slowly find myself unravelling
from the trauma
disillusionment
your web of lies
healing invisible wounds

I am in reclamation of my true self
the version who feels free
with every passing day
I see and feel her
returning to me

The path was almost predetermined for me thanks to my dad.

He believed this was the best way to have true autonomy and freedom in your life — the kind where you control your time, choose your priorities, and show up for the people you love without asking permission from a boss.

Because it was the life he had created for himself.

He started his business working from home in our basement. And it was not your typical WFH job, being as he was a chemist.

We would come home from school in the afternoon to find him in his lab coat with a full gas mask on while he was working on formulations for this and that. I honestly didn’t really know much about what he did back then, but I loved that he was around when we got home, even if he was working.

He was able to be present and show up for us when it mattered.

Not because he was lucky, not because he had it easy — the life of an entrepreneur seldom is. But because he chose to build a life where he could.

And in watching him live that life, the seed was planted.

I wanted that kind of freedom.

The Search

When I got a bit older, and my dads business grew too big for our basement, I worked summers at the lab alongside my older brother.

It was here I learned that a future in chemistry was not for me, while my brother fell in love with it (and went on to take over the company when my dad passed).

But for me…a life in the lab wasn’t it. And so began the search for what was…

Horseback riding was my first true love, so naturally this felt like the place to start.

At 19 years old I flew solo 11,000km from Vancouver Island to New Zealand to train and sell horses.

But a few months into this endeavour and I discovered that while I loved riding, doing so competitively turned me into a nervous wreck. With the pressure to perform on my shoulders, my love for it wore off…

I called my dad in tears. Feeling totally defeated, the joy had been completely taken out of it for me.

And with his support, I decided to return home.

Despite initially feeling like I had failed, he helped meet see that I was one step closer to discovering what was for me.

From there, in true 1-line (HD: Investigator) style, I looked into everything under the sun. From hairdressing, to nursing, to becoming an electrician (yes really).

Eventually I landed on going to fashion school. But it would be many more years of trial and error before I found what was truly meant for me.

Getting accepted to nursing school…
And athletic therapy…
Going to business school…
Then photography school…

With each step I discovered more and more about myself, what I wanted, as well as what I didn’t.

And eventually I was able to boil it down to these three core values…

I wanted to be creative.
I wanted to help people.
And I wanted to have time and location independence.

And then my dad died…and it put everything into perspective.

When Everything Changed

Losing my dad didn’t just break my heart. It shattered my illusion of time and the world we live in.

At the time, I was enrolled in photography school, and working full-time in the industry. And while I loved the creative aspect of it, I was finding myself disillusioned by the industry itself…

The familiar feeling that said “this isn’t it” began to creep in once again.

Whenever that feeling crept in, this voice of self-doubt would arise within me.

…Questioning why I couldn’t just stick with something.
…Wondering if I was running away because I was scared.
…And berating myself for not being able to “persevere.”

But in my body, I felt clear.

Clear on my values.
Clear on my desires.
And clear on the difference between the discomfort of what’s not meant for you, vs the challenge of what is.

And it was from this energy, that I started my business.

Finding My Version

I dropped out of school, quit both my jobs, and bought a one-way ticket to South America.

With nothing but my laptop, a dream, and the determination to bring it into reality.

I started my business first as a virtual assistant & online business manager, which quickly led becoming a coach teaching women to turn their skills into an online business.

This was the first time I think I truly felt like I was on the right path, the one that was actually mine.

Finally all three boxes I was looking to fulfill were checked.

I got to be creative and collaborate with people I loved working with.
I got to help people, not corporations, build their dreams.
And I wasn’t stuck or beholden to one single place.

I had found my version of freedom.

As you can see, this didn’t come from following a perfectly laid our plan, or traditional path. It was discovered through allowing myself to try new things, learn, fail, and get back up again — refusing to settle for a life that didn’t feel like mine.

What Freedom Actually Means (To Me)

For me, work and purpose is a part of creating a liberated life, but it’s not the whole picture.

The freedom I was searching for wasn’t just about being my own boss, or making my own schedule. It was about designing a life where I could…

Show up for myself and the people I love—without asking permission

Travel where and when I wanted to, allowing my schedule to ebb and flow with the seasons of my life

Honour the rhythm of my body—not the demands of capitalism or someone else’s bottom line

Create without constraint, but with purpose and meaning

It was about creating a whole life. One filled with love, joy, rest, adventure, and deep presence. One that felt like mine — not a performance of someone else’s version of it.

And that’s what I want for you too. The freedom to determine how you spend your time, your energy — your one precious life.

The Hard Part (That No One Tells You)

Pursuing a liberated life isn’t easy. I’d be lying if I said it was.

It’s messy as hell.

It requires choosing yourself and your vision over and over again — even when it feels like it would be easier not to…

You’ll feel like you’re behind while everyone else has it all “figured out.”
(Trust me, they don’t.)

You’ll wonder if a more traditional or conventional path would be simpler, more stable, less lonely…

And if you do opt for that path, there will always be that part of you that wonders, “What if?”

You may even pendulum between the two paths a few times. I know I did.

You’ll wish you had the bliss of ignorance — that you could just accept what’s expected and stop wanting more.

You’ll worry about being misunderstood, judged, out of place.

But you’ll always come back to this vision you have for your life.
One of freedom.
The freedom to choose.

I know I did, and still do.

It’s like a good relationship — you have to choose your partner every single day. This path is no different. Some days the choice feels easy. Other days it feels impossible. But you keep choosing anyway.

Because the alternative — living a life that doesn’t feel like yours — becomes unbearable once you’ve tasted what freedom feels like.

This is all part of the search.

Each path you take is leading you into greater understanding of who you are, what you want, and what matters most to you.

For me, each different path taught me something essential.

Whether it was that I needed more autonomy.
That I wanted to build something of my own.
Or that I needed creativity to feel life.

None of it was wasted. Even the paths that didn’t work out brought me closer to the one that did.

Every detour was necessary.
Every “mistake” was part of finding my way.

Time Isn’t Guaranteed

My dad showed me what freedom looked like, I watched him build his version of it. And then…he was gone.

I don’t say that to be morbid, but because it’s true, and it matters.

We act like we have all the time in the world to create the life we want — waiting for the “right time” to go after it. To build the life we actually want instead of the one we’re convinced we’re “supposed” to want and have.

But if I’ve learned anything from losing my dad, it’s that time isn’t guaranteed.

And every day you spend building someone else’s version of success, or waiting for permission to want what you want, or convincing yourself you’ll do it “someday” — that’s time you don’t get back.

Time is going to pass anyway. You might as well spend it going after the life you want.

My dad didn’t wait. He built the life he wanted while he had the chance. And when I lost him, I realized: I couldn’t afford to wait either.

Not because I suddenly had all the answers.
Not because the path became clear or easy.

But because the cost of not trying — of letting fear or doubt or “someday” keep me stuck — became greater than the cost of the messy search itself.

So Here’s My Question for You

What are your three boxes?

What are the non-negotiables — the things that have to be present for you to feel free, alive, like you’re living your life and not someone else’s?

Maybe it’s:

• Autonomy and flexibility

• Deep, meaningful relationships

• Financial security

• Creative expression

• Making an impact

• Adventure and travel

• Stability and routine

• Building something that lasts

There’s no right answer. Just your answer.

And once you know what your boxes are...are you moving toward them?

Or are you waiting for permission?
Waiting for the “right time”?
Waiting for conditions to be “perfect”?

Because here’s what I learned the hard way:

The right time doesn’t come.
You create it.

Permission doesn’t get granted.
You give it to yourself.

And your liberated life — the one that’s uniquely, authentically yours — won’t build itself.

Freedom isn’t just about what you do. It’s about who you get to be while you’re doing it.

Your version may not look or feel like mine. And that’s exactly the point. It’s not supposed to.

There’s no template for a liberated life. Just your truth about what makes you feel free, alive, and fully yourself.

So what’s stopping you from going after it?

P.S. — If this resonated and you’re ready to move from dreaming to doing, I’d love to walk this path alongside you. Learn more about working together in my 1:1 program The Archer at luminarymedicine.co

Yes, it broke records. Yes, it caused seismic activity — I was there, it was rare, I remember it all too well!

But what struck me most wasn’t what happened on stage, though it was incredible and Taylor sure knows how to put on a great show, it was what happened in the crowd.

Women of all ages, myself included, showed up in sequins. Cowboy boots with fringe. Friendship bracelets up to their elbows. With glitter freckles, sparkles in their hair, and outfits coordinated for specific eras.

They were vibrant. Expressive. Alive.

I saw the same thing at Harry Styles’ Love On Tour when I was in Germany a couple years ago. Bright colours, bold prints, feather boas — joy on full display.

In these spaces people feel safe to show up fully as their unapologetic and radiant selves.

But once the concert is over, we then return to our normal lives and go back to dressing in neutral tones and “elevated basics” so that we don’t draw attention to ourselves or stand out amongst the crowd.

The Permission We (Sometimes) Give Ourselves

As a millennial woman, I’ve spent most of my life learning how to make myself smaller.

Not just physically, but in every way that matters…

• Smaller voice (don’t be too loud, too opinionated, too much)

• Smaller presence (don’t take up space, don’t draw attention)

• Smaller joy (don’t be frivolous, don’t be silly, grow up)

Overall a smaller expression of who we are.

We’ve been taught that being a woman means being palatable. Contained. “Appropriate.”

But at a Taylor Swift concert or a Harry Styles show?

Suddenly, we have permission.

Permission to be ourselves. Unapologetic, silly, and bold. To dress in a way that makes us feel good and alive instead of small.

Yet we don’t give ourselves that permission in our daily lives…

The Clean Girl Aesthetic (And Millennial Grey Everything)

Somewhere along the way, we all started looking — and living — the same.

You know the aesthetic I’m talking about:

Neutral toned “elevated basics”, slick-back bun, minimal jewellery, the “no-make up look”. Everything meticulously curated, “effortless” and “clean”.

Millennial grey furniture with white walls. Neutral art, everything “aesthetic” and matching…

(Don’t get me wrong, if you’re pulling off the “clean girl” aesthetic, it slaps. You look amazing. And if you really love it, and it feels like you, all the power to ya sister!)

But for most of us, we embrace this style because it’s “sophisticated”. Maybe a part of us really does enjoy elements of it, it certainly simplifies our life, but does it really feel like you? Does it spark joy?

And not in the way we’ve been taught Ala Marie Kondo and minimalism — because joy isn’t meant to be minimal. What brings you joy, is unique to you. It doesn’t make you smaller, it amplifies your personality and who you really are.

Everyone embracing the clean girl aesthetic…and millennial grey everything…is the erasure of our individualism, our personality, and our joy.

We’ve convinced ourselves that neutral = refined. That beige = grown-up. That anything too bright, too bold, too expressive is childish, tacky, and unprofessional.

So we assimilate, tarnish our shine, and then we wonder why we feel so…dull.

This isn’t about fashion or interior design. It’s about joy.

By minimizing how we show up visually — in our clothes, in our homes, in our lives — we’re minimizing our capacity for joy.

We’re training ourselves that expression is frivolous. That aliveness is unprofessional.

We’ve made ourselves and our entire environments smaller. More palatable. Less threatening. More consumable.

And then we experience something like the Eras Tour or Love on Tour and we remember what it feels like to be vibrant.

The Beauty Standards We Internalized Without Consent

Like most millennial women, I grew up watching America’s Next Top Model. I watched Tyra Banks tell young women they needed to lose weight, change their hair, and shrink themselves into whatever box the (mostly male) industry wanted.

I absorbed the message that you, as you are, is too much. You need to make yourself smaller, literally and figuratively, in order to be acceptable.

And it wasn’t just ANTM. It was every magazine, every ad, every movie where the “before” version of the girl was always more vibrant, more expressive, more herself — and the “after” version was always more contained, more palatable, more acceptable to the male gaze.

Now, as a woman in my 30s, I’m realizing those beauty standards were set by men.

Men who worshipped “heroin chic” models that were so thin they looked skeletal, so young they looked prepubescent. The ideal wasn’t a woman, it was a girl. Powerless, frail, and unthreatening.

This wasn’t about health or beauty. This was about control. About making sure women — especially women coming into their power, their sexuality, and their adulthood — stayed small, stayed quiet, stayed “acceptable”.

We were taught to dress, move, and exist in ways that made us less threatening. Less powerful. More consumable.

We internalized it so deeply that even now, decades later, we still don’t know how to take up space.

Except in those rare spaces where we feel safe to be fully expressed, like at concerts and festivals. Before we go back to making ourselves small again.

No Longer Dressing to Make Myself Smaller

For a long time, I thought I needed to be a capsule wardrobe girlie.

You know where everything is neutral and everything goes together. It would make getting dressed easier. It would be more sustainable. It would be smart.

And there’s truth to that. I do grapple with the environmental impact of fast fashion. I do think about sustainability.

But here’s what I’ve realized: I like dressing for the joy of it.

I like shopping my closet and discovering new outfit combinations I hadn’t thought of before. I like having unique pieces that make me feel something even if they don’t all “go together” in some perfectly curated capsule.

So I’ve found my own middle path: I shop secondhand. Facebook Marketplace, consignment stores, vintage shops. I hunt for the pieces that make me light up — the things that feel like me.

And when I’m done with something? I consign it. I give it a second life. Someone else gets to feel that spark.

My style is always evolving as I continue to discover who I am beneath the conditioning. What I actually like versus what I thought I was supposed to like. What makes me feel alive versus what makes me feel acceptable.

A few weeks ago, I bought a pair of overalls.

Checkered, wide-legged, bold. The kind of thing that you instantly fall in love with, but at the same time your conditioning says to you “I could never pull those off.”

I tried them on “just for fun”, and was immediately obsessed. But then the doubt set in, “When or where would I even wear these?” And the fear “I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.” So I put them back.

Then, for 45 minutes, I walked around trying to convince myself I didn’t need them. They were impractical. I had nowhere to wear them. They were too much.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

So I went back and bought them. Reasoning be damned.

And when I put them on I feel that spark of joy, of aliveness. Because I honoured myself and chose my joy over containment, my expression over shrinking. My true self over the version I felt I was “supposed” to be.

How we dress is one of the ways we take up space.

When we wear something that makes us feel good, we move differently. We give ourselves permission to be more of who we are.

And when we dress to make ourselves smaller, we make ourselves feel smaller, in every way that matters.

Joy Shouldn’t Be Reserved for Special Occasions

Somewhere along the way, we decided that joy — real, unfiltered, expressive joy — was only for special occasions.

Concerts. Festivals. Weddings. Vacations.

Places where it’s socially acceptable to wear sequins on a Tuesday, to dance like no one’s watching, to be vibrant and alive without needing to justify it.

But in our regular lives?

Joy has to earn its place.

We’ve made joy something that needs permission. Something that needs a purpose.

Creating pockets of joy throughout our day is acceptable if it’s productive. It has to serve a function. It has to justify its existence.

Like mediation, red light therapy, or going for a walk. They all contribute to our overall wellbeing therefore, they are acceptable forms of joy.

But so does dancing in your kitchen for absolutely no reason.

Wearing something that makes you feel alive, like those bold overalls that don’t “go” with the rest of your wardrobe ;)

The problem is, we’ve turned our joy into another project.

And so concerts, festivals, special occasions became the only spaces where we’re allowed to be joyful, expressive, alive without having to explain ourselves.

Where we don’t have to justify the sequins or defend the dancing. Where joy doesn’t need a productivity metric or a wellness benefit attached to it.

Where joy is allowed to just be joyful.

But joy isn’t meant to be rationed out only for special occasions.

Joy is meant for you. Right now. On a random Tuesday. In your regular life.

The things that make you feel alive—they’re not reserved for when you have “permission.”

They don’t need to make you more productive.

They don’t need to have measurable benefits.

They don’t need to earn their place in your life through utility or function or justification.

Joy is allowed to exist for no other reason than that it makes you joyful.

What if you wore the thing that makes you happy even though it’s “impractical”?

What if you painted your wall a color you love even though it’s not “timeless”?

What if you put on music and danced in your living room just because it feels good?

What if you stopped asking “What’s the point?” and started asking “Does this bring me joy?”

Not productive joy. Not optimized joy. Just…joy for the sake of it.

The kind that doesn’t need permission. The kind that doesn’t need to prove its worth. The kind that just is.

It’s available to you now.

The Moment Hasn’t Passed

Though the Eras tour and Love on Tour may be over, the moment for joy hasn’t passed.

The invitation to step into your joy was never just about the concert, it was about remembering what it feels like to show up fully — as you are.

To be vibrant, alive, and unapologetically yourself.

The concert didn’t create that version of you. It just gave you permission to be her for a few hours.

So, what if you didn’t need permission anymore?

What if you bought the “cool kid sunglasses” you thought you weren’t cool enough for?

What if you signed up for the dance class you keep thinking about?

What if you painted your bedroom wall the colour that makes you happy?

What if you said yes to that cheeky drink at the bar with live music instead of convincing yourself you don’t have time?

What if you put on music and danced in your kitchen just because you felt like it?

What if you stopped minimizing your joy and started living like the version of yourself who shows up to concerts, vibrant, expressive, alive, in your day to day life?

Not because it’s practical. Not because it’s professional. Not because you’ve earned it.

But because joy doesn’t need a reason to exist or be expressed.

The moment hasn’t passed. It was an invitation to embrace all of who you are more fully — not just in that moment, but in the wholeness of your life.

So here’s my question: What would you do if you gave yourself the same permission you give yourself at concerts?

What spark would you chase? What invitation would you say yes to? What small act of aliveness would you choose?

And more importantly: What’s stopping you from choosing it today?

P.S. If you’re realizing you’ve been making yourself smaller and minimizing your spark, I want to invite you to join me for Ignite Your Spark — a free 90-minute workshop on March 3rd at 3:30pm MST.

We’re talking about what keeps you from showing up fully and how to actually change that pattern. Because your spark isn’t reserved for special occasions. It’s meant for your whole life.

Via a voice note that said, “maybe you’re excited to have your time back.” As if this wasn’t my full-time job and primary source of income, that was suddenly gone…

As I stood there, I scoffed in shock, but not in disbelief.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. After five years of working in this role, treating this business and the clients (that I adored) like my own…it was ripped away. With no notice, and no reason given.

I felt both adrift, panicked, and yet oddly free.

In truth, I had seen this collapse coming months before it happened. But I’d been somewhat in denial, and I thought I would be the one giving notice that I was leaving. Because a year prior, I had made the decision that I needed to build an off-ramp.

But in that year...I hadn’t done anything.

Looking back now, I know why I’d stayed. In part I was committed to the clients I was supporting in the vulnerable space we had created. But in truth, I was also scared to take the leap into the unknown. To go all in on myself and my dreams.

The Familiar Poison

I was operating from a place of what felt “safe” and familiar. Even if in reality, it was poisoning me.

Isn’t this so often the way?

We stay in situations that are unhealthy, even toxic, because it’s what we know.

On the outside it may have looked like I was living my best life, working remotely, travelling around Europe, and in many ways I was, but my working environment was draining the life out of me.

I felt like I couldn’t even breathe.

What had once felt like a safe place to land had become a cage disguised as “comfort”. Every day the gap between what was being presented to the world and what I was experiencing internally grew wider. The collaborative relationship I had initially entered into became isolating and emotionally draining. And that was slowly killing me.

This isn’t the only time I’ve been guilty of this. In fact, it’s somewhat of a pattern I’ve found myself in over the years — relationships, jobs, friendships, living situations where I stayed long past the expiration date.

Thankfully, with each experience, my awareness has deepened and my tolerance for the familiar poison has lessened. I’m learning to recognize the difference between what feels safe and what’s familiar but is actually killing me (not so softly).

The Relief of Letting Go

In the immediate aftermath, I cycled through every emotion.

Panic about money.

Anger and hurt at how it was handled.

Grief over losing the clients I’d built relationships with.

Embarrassment about what people might think.

But after getting over the shock of it, beneath it all was relief.

I felt the weight lift from my shoulders, and was able to take a deep belly breath for the first time in honestly…years.

Writing that makes me feel for my past self, the one who didn’t feel safe to stand up for herself or go all in on the life she desired.

The one who would have considered herself a boundary queen, but was unable to uphold the boundaries she needed most. For fear of getting in trouble, or worse, confirming the fear that I wasn’t good enough.

But you know what, even the things we’re experts in aren’t always easy — especially when we’re operating from a place of fear rather than feeling grounded in who we are.

And while I’ll never be someone who says “everything happens for a reason”, I do believe that we can find meaning in everything that we experience.

Because I know now that while in the short term it would have been easier if this hadn’t happened, it would have cost me more in the long run.

My energy.
My integrity.
My dreams.

Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are one and the same. And sometimes, we need the universe to step in and make the move for us in order to be able to see with clarity.

The Gift of Learning to Leap (Again)

Being freed from that job gave me something I’d been too scared to claim for myself: space.

Space to grieve what once was, the friendship, the job, the connection with clients that I cared for deeply.

Space to enjoy my life without the feeling of a constant looming threat hanging over my head.

Space to rest and recharge, and to create for myself, without expectation.

In that space, I was able to figure out what I actually wanted in my life, my business, and the kind of relationships I wanted in both facets of my life.

Now, I won’t sugar coat things, it took some time for that spark to fully return. To have the capacity to actually start giving life to the vision of a truly liberated life that I had for myself.

And it didn’t necessarily get easier, because going after what you want and what is aligned for you doesn’t necessitate ease. It is still challenging, and requires you to face your fears — but I was finally willing to face them head on. To build something that was truly mine.

The gift wasn’t that the path forward became clear or simple. The gift was that I finally stopped resisting the discomfort of not knowing and started embracing the challenge of figuring it out.

Walking the Talk

Doing this work is extremely humbling. Anytime you think you’ve got it figured out, another layer surfaces that needs tending.

Logically knowing the work and actually doing the work are two very different things.

Knowledge doesn’t make the fear evaporate. Understanding your patterns doesn’t automatically give you the capacity to break them. I’m subject to the humanness of this experience, just as much as you are.

I support people in moving through their own resistance, building their capacity to hold discomfort, and taking brave action toward their liberated life every single day. And yet, I still get stuck in my own resistance at times — unable to move through my own recurring patterns.

Because our brains and our parts are really good at convincing us we’re being strategic when all we’re really doing is stalling. That we’re “waiting for the right time” when really it’s just an excuse for our fear to keep us “safe” — stuck in what’s familiar, even if it’s poisoning us.

This work isn’t easy — even when you know exactly what you need to do. Maybe especially then, because you can’t hide behind ignorance.

And here’s what makes it even trickier: as we uncover layers of our fears and move through them, our protective parts get smarter too. They adapt. They find new ways to keep us safe, new stories to keep us stuck.

That’s why, at each new level, you’ll often have the thought: “Didn’t I already heal this?!”

And you did. But it’s not a one-and-done process.

There’s a reason this pattern kept showing up for me — staying too long in spaces, jobs, and relationships that had long expired. Each time, I thought I’d learned the lesson. Each time, a deeper layer revealed itself.

Since this happened nearly two years ago, I’ve gotten much better at recognizing when I’m minimizing myself in order to stay “safe” in a familiar hell, rather than allowing myself to leap into the potential of an unfamiliar heaven.

Not perfect. But better.

And that’s what this work is really about — not perfection, but progression. Not never getting stuck, but getting unstuck a little faster each time. Not avoiding the patterns, but recognizing them sooner and having more capacity to choose differently.

The cage will always be there, whispering that it’s safer inside.

The difference is whether you believe it.

It all began on a sunny fall day in Toronto in 2017, a day I’ll never forget. I was riding my bike down College Street, feeling the sun on my face and the crisp fall air around me, thinking how great life was and how everything felt like it was finally falling into place.

Little did I know that mere hours from that moment, everything would change.

The first of many towers would fall with a phone call that would leave my life forever altered.

“Your dad’s been in an accident,” my step-sister-in-law said shakily over the phone. “He didn’t make it.”

With those words, my world began to crumble.

I don’t remember anything else from that conversation. I froze, unable to comprehend a world without my dad. He was my rock, the one who anchored me in reality while always supporting the bigness of my dreams. It was unfathomable that he was no longer here.

So much so that when I got on the phone with my brother afterwards, I remember saying something about how I couldn’t come home right now. I had just started a new job and had a massive project due at school in the morning…

As if any of that even mattered now.

I was in complete and utter shock, struggling to wrap my mind around the truth of this reality. My brain was trying to protect me from what was to come.

The Nature of Crumbling

It’s human nature to try and prevent the crumbling — to hold on for dear life to what we know.

But once the tower begins to crumble, no matter how hard you will it not to, you can’t stop it.

Following that moment, I found myself in a seven-year cycle of towers crumbling. That one was by far the worst, and the one I had the least control over. But it’s the one that changed the course of my life forever and set in motion the path I would walk for the next seven years.

Every tower moment I’ve experienced since then, I’ve tried to control or prevent from happening.

Unsurprisingly, after the loss of my dad, I didn’t feel safe in the uncertainty of the crumbling.

It looked like I’d had an epiphany about how short and precious our one life is — and I wasn’t wasting any time. I dropped out of school, started my own business, travelled the world, and moved to a new country, all within the span of a few months.

I was living out my dreams in honour of my dad’s memory.

But in reality, the foundation of my support system had collapsed when I lost my dad. And beneath the fear of having the rug pulled out from under me again, I was creating instability in my own life — a twisted form of control. If I was the one creating the chaos, at least I couldn’t be blindsided by it.

I was white-knuckling anything familiar, terrified of losing anything else.

Beneath every bold leap, I was drowning. Gasping for air. Grasping for control.

Clinging to the Familiar

This led me to hold onto things that were clearly not meant for me — nor were they good for me — simply because they were familiar.

I stayed in a relationship long past its expiration date, because ending it felt like a loss I couldn’t handle. And my dad would never know anyone I dated beyond this point…

I kept working in jobs that were draining me because at least they were financially stable, even if they were an emotional roller coaster.

I held onto friendships that were no longer aligned, and in some cases were toxic, simply because they felt familiar, and it felt “easier” to hold on than to let go.

Truthfully, life felt hard. Like, really fucking hard.

Sure, there were still moments of joy, purpose, and belonging. But the truth is, I was poisoning myself.

The root cause of my pain wasn’t the other people or situations. It was my inability to let go and trust in the crumbling.

Eventually, the universe stepped in and pried them one by one from my hands.

But even so, I resisted. Afraid of what people might think. I was clinging on for dear life to maintain the appearance that I had it all together — but in reality, I was exhausting myself even further.

The Space to Rest

After many years of living this way, a realization hit me: I was only inches above rock bottom. If I let go, it wasn’t going to be some tragic fall to my death.

So I let go.

I let go of the fear of how others might perceive me. I let go of the fight to control it. I let myself hit rock bottom.

And what I found in doing so was a space to rest.

I realized it’s in the resistance of the crumbling that we tire ourselves out. In the fighting against it, we cannot see what is meant to be built in its place.

In the letting go, as the dust settled, space was created for me to be in trust of what’s to come. I opened myself up to the possibility of more, of life being better than I could ever control it into being.

When the Lightning Struck

So when the lightning struck, telling me to move to Alberta (somewhere I’d never even considered), despite it being a hard right from what I thought I wanted and was working towards these past two years — I got the undeniable feeling that this was it.

To ignore it would be to continue clinging to the familiar suffering, the discomfort I knew so well, where I could keep walking the path I was accustomed to, even though it no longer fit.

Or I could trust my intuition and follow the path being laid before me — one that didn’t make logical sense, but felt right in my bones.

This was my lightning strike.

The Rising

I first wrote this piece in April of last year in a cozy little writing group (shout out to of Every Little Thing). I was in the final stages of surrendering and trusting the crumbling. The dust was still settling, and I was just beginning to see what was on the other side.

Now, nearly a year later, I'm writing to you from the other side of it all.

Those final pieces I was clinging to? Letting them go created space for more joy than I could have ever controlled into being.

That lightning strike that didn’t make logical sense? It led me here — to a life that feels more aligned, more alive, more truly mine than anything I was clinging to before.

I met my person.
Found my dream apartment.
And built a foundation I can actually stand on.

Not because I had it all figured out. Not because I stopped being afraid.

But because I finally learned to trust the crumbling instead of resisting it.

I’m sharing this now because if you’re in your own tower moment — if you’re clinging to something that’s clearly not meant for you anymore because letting go feels too terrifying — I want you to know:

The fall isn’t as far as you think it is.

And what waits for you isn’t destruction. It’s the space to rest, to see clearly, and to build something new.

Sometimes the lightning strike doesn’t make logical sense. Sometimes it asks you to make a hard right from everything you thought you wanted.

But if it feels right in your bones? That’s your inner fire calling you forward.

The crumbling isn’t the end of the story. It’s the beginning of what comes next.

I wish I knew you — all of you
beyond affectionate titles,
beyond the vague anecdotes passed down
and the hazy memories I carry from childhood.

I want to know the details,
both ordinary and extraordinary,
that made you – you.

Did the blooming of lilacs ever tell you
you were in the right place at the right time?
Did you eat spaghetti when you needed
the comfort of something familiar?
Was music your balm when your heart ached
and words could no longer hold it all?

I wish I knew the parts of you that live in me
to see where we align,
where we differ,
and what we might still have to teach one another.

Though the years kept us apart,
if I could sit with you now,
I’d want to know who you were at your core
not the version of you that the world demanded,
but the one who emerged
when you no longer felt the need to perform.

Did you live the life you desired,
or the one that was expected of you?
Did you follow your dreams,
or did they die quietly beside you?

And if you could whisper a single piece of wisdom
into my ear
would it be practical,
or something that spoke straight to the soul?

I long to hear your stories
of what you overcame,
of what you cherished most deeply,
and of the moments that made you feel most alive.

Though I may never know your stories in full,
I feel you woven through me
the quiet echo of resilience and grace
that hums beneath my skin
reminding me I am part of something vast.

And while it saddens me to know that our line will end with me…
I feel convicted in this choice
held in the knowledge that lineage is more than blood alone.

Your strength is the soil my life grows from,
and I honour you by living
boldly, honestly
and in my own way.

I hope that the choices I make for myself,
may honour you
and in some small way
liberate the paths you were never free to walk.

Take your coat off, make a cup of tea, and stay a while. It’s about to get cozy and real AF in here…because I am a complete and utter yapper and also not one to sugarcoat things.

The truth is, I’ve been thinking about creating this space for wayyyy too long. And it feels SO good for it to finally be landing in the here and now, but there’s a lot that had to happen for me to get here. Which we’ll get into the nitty gritty details of soon, I promise ;)

For now, all you need to know is that I was being my own bottleneck. Preventing myself from moving from dreaming about it to actually doing it. I was standing in my own way because a part of me knew this space was going to stretch me — and that left me completely frozen.

Has this ever happened to you? Where you know you want to do something, but you just can’t seem to take a step toward it? It’s so unbelievably frustrating, and brings up a whole host of emotions and fears…

If you’ve experienced this, I need you to know three things: (1) you’re not alone, (2) there’s no shame in it, and (3) together we can walk through the fire of our fears and get sh*t done.

Because even as your self-proclaimed bold leap bestie (hi bestie!), I’ve been there too. No one is immune to the resistance that shows up when we’re on the edge of something that matters most to us.

So Why Am I Here — and Why Should You Care?

I’m navigating my own fire, learning to trust my inner knowing even when it doesn’t make sense, and taking the messy, imperfect steps to move from dreaming to doing. Over and over again. Because it’s not a one-and-done process, my friend.

And I want to share the journey with you — not from some polished pedestal of “I’ve got it all figured out,” because believe me, I don’t. It’s an ever-evolving process. I want to be right here in the trenches with you, side by side as we walk the path toward our respective dreams, together.

Because here’s what I’ve learned after 8 years of supporting bold, unconventional souls to ignite the spark within them and walk through the fire of their own fears so they can finally claim the liberated life they’ve been dreaming of…

Transformation doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens when we’re witnessed. When we see someone else walk through their fire and think, “Oh. Maybe I can do that too.”

That is what this space is for.

What You’ll Find Here

This is a space for full spectrum expression.

Here you’ll find my musings on life, poetry, my artistic expression, stories of my own experiences, and the tools and practices I find supportive for moving through the fears and resistance that show up when you’re trying to be yourself and go after what you want. It will be real, raw, and 100% authentically me.

I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that we can find meaning in the experiences of our life. That’s what I’m here to do — make meaning, share the process, and walk this path alongside you.

I’ll be sharing:

The messiness of my own journey — The wins, the failures, and everything in between. What I’m navigating, creating, and learning as I walk this path.

Stories from the fire — The pivotal moments when I’ve made bold leaps and the stories that have shaped who I am today. Like dropping out of school, quitting my job, starting a business, and buying a one-way ticket to South America all in the span of a month. But more on that later ;)

Moving from dreaming to doing — Not the pretty Instagram highlight reel, but the unsexy honest truth about what it takes to go after the life you want.

Permission slips — For the things you think you “shouldn’t” want. For choosing the unconventional path. For disappointing people in service of honouring yourself. The reminders you need when guilt or doubt creep in.

Somatic tools and practices — Tangible practices you can use when resistance shows up, fear spikes, or you need to come back to yourself before taking your next brave step. These are tools to help you hold the both/and — taking brave action even when fear is still present.

Becoming Sovereign AF — What it means to liberate yourself, reclaim your choices, and dismantle the conditioning that taught you to play small so you can finally take up the space you deserve and live fully aligned with your truth.

Who This Is For

If this is all sounding good so far, then this space is for you, my friend!

If, like me, you’ve got that restless pull toward something more…

If you’ve achieved the things you were “supposed” to and yet you still find yourself asking, “Is this really it?!”

If there’s a vision for your life that feels bold, unapologetic, and out of the ordinary — one that’s burning a fire in your soul but you’re scared to admit to yourself, let alone anyone else…even though it won’t stop calling to you.

If you’re done letting fear write your story and you’re ready to stop rehearsing your life and start living it.

This is for you.

The creatives who haven’t picked up their pen in months because life got too busy.

For the dreamers with a vision burning in their soul, but a notes app full of reasons why “not yet”.

And for the seekers who’ve followed the “right” (aka expected) path but still feel the call of that inner voice saying…there’s something more for you.

Welcome — I’m delighted to be walking alongside you!

What You Won’t Find Here

In this space you won’t find yet another 10-step formula or morning routine that will “change your life.”

I’m not going to tell you it’s easy. And while it does become more easeful as you build your capacity and resilience, this work requires real acts of bravery. I’m all for “delulu is the solulu,” manifesting, and I truly believe there is real magic in this world. But it’s not as simple as thinking positive thoughts and waiting for the universe to deliver. You have to meet the magic halfway with brave, aligned action.

And I’m definitely not going to pretend I have it all figured out — because I don’t. After over a decade of doing this work, I’ve created a solid foundation to build on, so I’m not starting from square one each time — even though it may sometimes feel like it... Because the truth is, I’m still learning and growing with every day and every experience, just like you.

What I will do is show up honestly. I’ll share the real, unglamorous work of transformation. I’ll offer the perspective shifts and truth-telling that might be exactly what you need to hear — even when it’s uncomfortable. And through my stories and process, I’ll walk beside you as you navigate your own fire.

Because that’s what we need — not more gurus on pedestals, but more people willing to be honest about the journey and what it really takes to live the life we want and go after our dreams.

We’re In This Together

If you’ve felt that pull toward something more...

If you’ve questioned whether this is really all there is...

If you’ve stayed up past midnight researching, planning, dreaming about the life you want to live...

You’ve been building toward something, even if you haven’t pulled the trigger on bringing it to life yet. My hope is that this space will inspire you to start taking brave action toward what you really truly want out of life.

I don’t know exactly where this is all going. I don’t have the next 52 posts planned out or a content calendar mapped to perfection. (Very on brand for me, honestly.) Because for me, that’s not what this space is for.

What I do know is that I’m committed to showing up here regularly — to share my process, my fire, my truth — in hopes that it inspires you to take the bold leaps you need to move from dreaming to doing. This is a space for artistry and expression — real and raw, in all its forms.

So welcome. Pull up a chair. Get comfortable.

Let’s walk this path together.

With love,
Rachael — your new bold leap bestie ;)

P.S. — I’ll be showing up in your inbox weekly (at least that’s the plan!) with stories, tools, and truth-telling. Some posts will challenge you. Some will hold you. All will be honest — because I don’t know any other way to be.