Magic sings in our veins. Pain is not who we are.
Beneath the layers of hurt, shame, and all the ways the world tells us not to be ourselves
There are vast and unharmed meadows
Filled with bright wildflowers, busy bees, and the gloriousness we are made of.
What is it to think of ourselves as the beloved?
Our own lover.
To peer into these incredible places inside of us
That are never, ever lost. No matter the shit we’ve been through…Read More