The Person Is More Important

The Person Is More Important

It’s the day before my birthday and I’m in bed in the middle of the afternoon, blinds dark, trying to nap away the tiredness that is reverberating from the space behind my eyelids. Dunder Mifflin sweatshirt on (photo above from another day when Apollo wasn’t so bored of me). Hair a mess. How to Train Your Dragon may or may not be playing in the background - IDK. My skin shows no signs of living in a place where the sun shines. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror reveals little evidence of a life force being present within. I realized yesterday that there is always big energy moving in my life at this time of year. This year is no different.

Guys, it’s been a hell of a week. Last Tuesday I had a therapy session that unearthed some major trauma from my childhood. Something I’ve sensed for a while is in there but have been unable to access in the ways we normally perceive memory. All I’ve had for a good handful of years now is a sneaking suspicion based on some events in my earth twenties that got me wondering, and a series of recurring dreams that began around that time and haven’t stopped. There is no visual memory available to me, but my intuition is my most trusted informant and it’s been speaking up at a higher volume. I’ve been able to feel an awareness wanting to come through, poking holes in the floor of my subconscious to let the light in.

No Destination | Thoughts On Home, Leaving, and Thunderstorms.

No Destination | Thoughts On Home, Leaving, and Thunderstorms.

It’s hard to sleep in beds that aren't your own.

The clock reads 6:23 am and I’ve been up for about two hours now. The thunder rolling outside my window only just came to a close and I traded the sound for the white noise of a ceiling fan keeping me cooler than I’d like. My eyes aren’t happy about the light from my phone but I’ve been awake for too long with the chatter of my mind not to write.

In less than two months from today I’ll basically be living out of my car and I can’t stop thinking about that this morning. I think it was the thunder, and the accompanying realization that I’d be huddled with Apollo in the back of a Mazda 5 encapsulated in our little metal box in unfamiliar places during other moments such as this. He is so afraid of thunder storms. The projection of that moment in my mind makes the feeling of his trembling body against my belly seem real already.

What am I doing?

The Path to Intuition

The Path to Intuition

Intuition is an ability which is available to everyone. Strengthening our intuitive abilities can have a direct positive influence on our human relationships, business relationships and material relationships. The definition of intuition is a way to make a decision without analyzing or consciously processing. Our primal brain structures are designed to do just that, make decisions based solely on our environmental and bodily cues, without using the higher brain structures of analysis. I would define intuition as feeling guided through the ebb and flow of life.

Intuition always speaks first. All we need to learn to do, is turn down the dial of our analytical brain, cut out our already developed reasoning skills and allow the intuitive feeling to flow through. Sounds straightforward enough, right? Unfortunately, throughout our lives we are not taught to rely on this subtle cueing system but rather taught to reason and logic our way through a problem. This action can lead to challenges as we relearn the path to our innate intuitive understanding. 

Intuitive Eating | Words From An Un-Diet Dietitian

Intuitive Eating | Words From An Un-Diet Dietitian

What is Intuitive Eating? Loaded question. It looks different for each person. It is NOT a diet in any way. So, what does it mean exactly? Well, the authors of Intuitive Eating state this definition:

 “Intuitive Eating is a dynamic mind-body integration of instinct, emotion, and rational thought. It is a personal process of honoring your health by paying attention to the messages of your body and meeting your physical and emotional needs. It is an inner journey of discovery that puts you front and center; you are the expert of your own body.”

I read that the first time and was like…what the fuck?…

The Connection Cure

The Connection Cure

The N train that takes you from Manhattan into Brooklyn is pure magic–– between Atlantic Avenue and Canal Street the train moves above ground. It’s this epic opening from darkness into blue sky, grey sky, or rainy sky. During this time you’re gifted the most marvelous view of lower Manhattan, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty. I fall back in love with this crazy city every time I ride that train. It’s awe and wonder on a morning commute or a late night journey home.

Last week, I was riding the N train when I watched a small boy, no older than three years old, standing on the seat in between both his parents. He was fussy, irritated, and crying until that N train came out of the darkness. I watched his eyebrows raise and a sense of curiosity overcome him as the NYC skyline came into view. He turned to his mother who was looking down at her phone, grabbed her chin and pushed it upward to enjoy the scene, but she refused to look up. He turned to his father, poking him and pointing in the direction of the water, but his father was deeply engaged in his cell phone. So, the young boy just watched in awe alone, as the train retreated back underground…


“Was just letting you know the space is always open and here for you
if you ever need to twinkle in it, my starlight.”

The quote above is the actual words from my friend Jen. She talks like that - in pure poetry always and not at all trying. She is a poem, through and through. I texted her this afternoon and said “I’m sad and my insides are aching and I just wanted to say that to someone. Thank you for being available.” She responded with that ^. Annnnnd cue tears.

This weekend was a tough one for me. Conversations that were too long, words that cut too deep, emotions rising to an intensity that prevented two people who care about each other a lot from really hearing one another at times. I came home from a weekend away wrought with an indescribable exhaustion. Each one of my bones was tired. I could hear them. All of them. Begging for rest. For quiet. I cried like I haven’t cried all year.

You know when babies cry because they’re tired? I felt like that. Like I was weeping not only for my emotional pain, but for how unrelenting my exhaustion was and the distance at which rest seemed to wait. I posted a photo of my face swollen with tears saying not a whole lot more than “I’m so tired” and “I’m so human”.


I’ve been getting messages about it ever since.


“What’s going on? You ok?”

“I love you.”


“Me too lately”

“Feeling for you”

“Hope everything is okay love”

“Are you ok? Do you need to talk?”

“Squeezing you with a hug from afar”

“You okay Stef?”

“I hope everything is okay Sauce! This too shall pass.”

“And beautiful” (in response to “I’m so tired”)

“Sendin’ you the lovin’”

“Need a chat?”

“If you ever need anything, I’m always around.”

“Sending you light!!!! Lots of shifts & shit happening in life due to eclipses and new moons & all that jazz. Hang in there and value all that you'll learn. It serves purpose.”

“Love you, Stef.”


Some of those are from my best friends and some of those are from people I hardly know and everything in between. The intention of the post wasn’t to trigger this response. I was more or less saying that I hadn’t been posting anything like I said I would and offering some indication (that I don’t actually owe anyone) as to why. But man, did I need all the love I got that night and the love I’ve continued to receive in the days that followed. Considering that this month’s theme is connection, it’s a lesson that is naturally - right on time.

It’s easy for me to forget how wide my net is. Leave it to a moment of such resounding humanity, something as universal as emotional pain to remind me that I am held in community. Everyone might call me Sauce, but it’s a tremendous gift to be tapped on the shoulder in moments of such searing discomfort, by the sound of my own name.

I tend to prefer not to be given advice in moments like this, and I tend not to offer it to someone else when they’re moving through their own stuff. My belief is that what we seek is so rarely a solution to our pain, but to just be witnessed in it. To have someone give a damn about your heart. Or to simply be reminded that we are equipped and strong. Or that we don’t have to be that at all and that there are couches to sit on and shoulders to cry on when that’s where we’re at. I needed that.

The day I got home I went almost straight to my friend Steph’s house. I called her when I picked up my car and she asked if I wanted tacos. I did. I loved her for that. For knowing me and not asking anything harder than “do you want tacos?”. When I got there her husband Joey had bought a giant cinnamon roll - he asked Steph what I liked for dessert. I loved him for that. For not needing me to say anything at all and just offering care and safety in the form of something as pure as a cinnamon roll. We watched The Office. I didn’t talk a whole lot. I just sat there and laughed when I felt like laughing and ate tacos and a cinnamon roll and let myself be held in my sadness by my friends.

Never underestimate your potency when someone else needs witnessing.

Never underestimate the power of tacos.

Or a cinnamon roll.

Or an emoji.

Or a couch.

Or connection.

Or a space for starlight to twinkle, if they need it.

Or love.

*PS. words in bold above are live links - click em.

The Language of Connection

The Language of Connection

You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy. When skies are grey.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.

I whisper those words into a scruffy black neck and watch his eyes softly open and close as tears come streaming down my cheeks. My eyelids are heavy dams that are breaking to allow the release of the salty waters of my heart. With my nose nuzzled against the familiar slopes of his forehead, I wonder for the millionth time if he understands these words I sing to him. A lullaby that tugs so violently at the strings of my heart to match the sensations of having been saved by being so tenderly and unconditionally known and loved. Melodies delivered from my lips into soft ears in moments of swollen gratitude for the gift of being healed by connection…