Manifesting isn't passive

A word vomit of how I got what I have / how I got where I am

I gave myself permission to receive the beautiful life I’ve always wanted.

It hasn’t been a passive happening, though.

I don’t have two kids because we decided we wanted kids and we snapped our fingers to get them.
No…I wish it were that easy.

I don’t have a house that feels like a home because I squeezed my eyes shut and pleaded with the universe “Oh please, please, please let us live in an inviting, inspiring and warm dwelling.”
No…I wish it were that simple.

I don’t have strong, impactful relationships because I trusted others would show up the way I wanted or needed.
No…I wish it were that straightforward.

I don’t have constant writing opportunities opening up to me because others read my words and have flocked to my corner of the internet.
No…I wish it were that straight forward.

The truth is, I had to completely fall apart.
I bled and collapsed like a building in the heart of war.
Rubble tumbled out of my gut, down my legs, as ash erupted from my eyes and mouth.
I lived for years as a pile of debris, knowing eventually I would have to rebuild.

I knew it would take time.
It needed to take time.

I have two kids because I let my desire of wanting grow larger than my complicity of not having.
I didn’t let the blood cascading down my legs hold me back.
I didn’t let the incisions in my abdomen rewrite the future I wanted.
I didn’t let the urns I’d pour my children into make me reconsider.
I knew there were two spirits out there that needed me as their mother.

I have a home that welcomes creativity, strangers, laughter and vulnerability because I’ve prioritized slowly making corners of our space reflect an environment that feels safe, enlightening and playful.
I’ve allowed the time to slowly chip away as needed.
The whole house doesn’t need to be painted in a day. I can paint that cabinet during nap time.
I didn’t rush to billionaire-owned outlets to create my vision in a quick timeframe.
I envisioned what I wanted, and then I met my neighbors. I talked with strangers at the park. I asked the grocer “How is your day?” with sincerity.
These actions evolved into relationships, which over time transformed into “I know someone who…” and next thing you know, we’re driving to pick up our dream patio set.

I have a strong circle of admirable friends that are hilarious, reliable, vulnerable, and present.

I found this unfold the more I stepped into these traits myself. The more I checked in on others, the more others check in on me. The more I surprised people with silly gifts, the more tiny packages arrived on my front porch. The more I reached out to people on their own challenging anniversaries, the more they reached out to me on my own.

I keep landing writing opportunities, meetings with literary agents, and interviews with activists because I decided to no longer hide. I’ve chosen the discomfort of becoming like glitter — throwing myself in front of everyone and clinging to them, catching the sun and sparkling in their periphery as a constant reminder until a phone call is scheduled, an article is accepted or a meeting is confirmed.

I hid for a very long time.
I hid myself.
I hid my story.
I hid my ability to dream. I even hid it from myself.
I knew there was no “going back” to who I used to be.
But I understood in time I would find my way forward to this new version of myself I was excited to know.

I have two incredibly wholesome, wonderful children.
I have a home where others feel they can exhale as they walk through the door.
I have relationships that are genuine and grounded in compassion and respect.
I have a writing career that is taking off at the speed of light.

It didn’t always feel like it, but I knew some day I would get to “the other side” of all of our hardships.
I miss what (and whom) we have lost along the way.
I cherish what we have cultivated thus far.
I can’t wait to see what the next few years deliver us.

✨ Abundance mode: Activated. ✨