Mindful Eating

At one point in my life I was a mindful eating coach. I supported women in making food choices that supported their mental, physical, spiritual and emotional well being. It was fun times.

A few days ago one of my favorite questions (what are you really hungry for) popped up in my head. Ironically, I was in the midst of devouring chocolate cherry ice cream. I laughed at the question and realized what I was really hungry for I couldn’t quite have– or so I tell myself.

I tell myself that I can’t have time to myself. Then I proceed to fill every free moment of the weekend with activities that only I can do. I tell myself I can’t have any expression outside of motherhood as I neglect all sorts of reading, study and activities that have nothing to do with children. I tell myself that there is no room for “feeling like a woman again” as I complain that I’m too tired to twist my locs and neglect wearing my lipgloss of power.

Fuck all that noise. It’s easier to eat ice cream and be miserable. At least for today <3

Hope you are being good to yourself!

Proud of being angry

It was a lovely day. I spent most of it napping in the bed with our youngest son. When I wasn’t sleeping, I lazily read my favorite manga. I did much of the same for the afternoon. By the evening, I felt enlivened and revitalized. I was actually able to respond from a space of love rather than exasperation. However, within an hour all that went to shit and I got angry.

I was angry because it actually takes will power to chill because there is always something to do. I was angry because it takes work and space to calm myself down. I was angry because I was actually peaceful for once and that shit felt good! Peace radiated from my heart, infused my being and reminded me that despite everything I love. Man, I was so angry.

Then it dawned on me, I love this anger. I love this anger that protects me so fiercely. I love this anger that guards my connection to my loving self. I love this anger that wants peace, goodness and sweetness for me. I love my anger and it feels so good.

Loving my anger has allowed appreciation for other emotions to blossom as well. Anxiety is my invitation to slow down and annoyance is my reminder to use my energy and time more selfishly. I no longer feel burdened by my many many emotions. I feel cared for; which is amazing and new.

Loving and caring for myself allows me to love from a space of love rather than from detriment. I don’t really have to give until I can’t give anymore. There is no shame in caring for myself  because there are ways to refill my cup that are easy for the whole family <3

We’ll see what bubbles up next..

Take Precious Care



ISO: Sweetness

I sniff the sweet tea steaming on the stove and decide to add more sugar. I need something with just the right amount of diabetes; something sweet enough to prevent me from raiding the eldest son’s jellybean stash. I’ve been out of control lately. So out of control that I’ve been eating gluten too. Normally I avoid gluten. I know that gluten isn’t sweet, but it is good. Foods with gluten break me out and give me a spare tire. They’re also super fucking good.

So, why am I eating sweetness that rots my teeth and gluten that clogs my digestion? I have lots of different reasons:

  1.  I want more physical and emotional space. I feel like if I eat enough, I can create a safe space for me to hide in my body where no one will find me, ask me shit or want to suck on me.
  2. Did I mention emotional space? The eldest is three. He’s going through all sorts of big emotions, working through expressing his will and figuring out how to communicate. I often spend so much time trying to help him process and work out his shit, I don’t have time or space for mine. His shit reminds me of mine. The same is true for the youngest. By the end of the night, I’m exhausted and there doesn’t seem to be space for sorting out my own shit.
  3. I’m fucking tired and my body hurts. I’ve returned to my yoga practice and that has helped. However, my body is wrecked and my eyes are red.
  4. A civil war rages on within me. There are parts of me that want to Mama the fuck out. That part needs no personal time or space. It just needs to be loving, cooking, cleaning and tending. There are other parts that want Mama-me to hold the fuck up. There are rituals to prepare for, a business to re-establish, friendships to water, herbs to care for and a whole other host of shit to do outside of fucking with my kids.
  5. Did I mention that ritual freaks me out a bit? Don’t get me wrong, it feels right for me to do and I’m excited about it. I just wish that I had more space and quiet to hear. The odd thing is that my ears are full. More so than usual. I hear my ancestors, a few old friends and other things that watch me. More so than usual. It’s nice but also…. well.. a little more intense than usual 🙂 At least my dream life has calmed down 😀

Too much discord and a lack of space to sort it out leads me to eat. I eat to remind myself that I’m not processing my life. I eat to remind myself that there is sweetness in my life, but to enjoy it I need more balance. I eat to ease the pain of abandoning myself to care for people and situations outside of myself. I need to honor more of myself than just the part of me that is mother to the boys.

I am a full human being. I deserve expression outside of cooking, cleaning and playing with children.

We’ll see how things come together <3

Take care of yourself


Marriage as a Mirror : Self Love & Expression

I want to start this post when I met my husband, but it goes further back. The roots of this post are in my childhood. Quite often, I had to abandon myself to feel loved. Who I was was not acceptable. So, the parts of me that didn’t fit and that weren’t loved had to go. I never learned to love myself whole.

When I met my husband (Frenchie), I was teaching lots of yoga around the city while working at a charter school. My life wasn’t perfect, but it was manageable. At this point, I had begun to hear voices, see the Earth breathe and was working with it. I had no desire to be with Frenchie or anyone else. I’d just gotten out of a 2 year relationship and didn’t want any sort of love affair. My plan was to go to the west coast and slut it up. A few weeks after meeting Frenchie, he sat down on my sofa peered at me with his big green eyes and said: “where are we going”. You see, he was returning back to France in a few months. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m pretty sure I was non committal. Six months after being non committal, I was boarding a plane to France. The rest is history.

Or not. History lives in the present moment. It constantly repeats until we learn from it. My lesson is that I don’t have to abandon myself to be loved. I don’t have to bury, shed, destroy aspects of myself to be loved by someone. Yeah, France was fun. I continued to connect with the Earth and have all sorts of intuitive adventures. I learned French and taught yoga. I ate, drank, danced and made friends. It was beautiful. However, I left large parts of me here to do that.

Today we live in a beautiful house in suburban dc with the most awesome children. Frenchie loves his work and I am at Stay at home Mom. As I navigate wifely, motherly and household duties, I realize that I am missing something. I am missing myself. All the aspects that I swore I buried, ignored or set to flame are popping up like dandelions. I miss the self I never knew. However, It’s a completely different thing to pull myself together with two kids than when I was young and free. If I love myself, I need to do it.

Here are my commitments to myself:

  1. Forgive myself: I wish I could have not abandoned me. I did though. I need to forgive me and make different decisions in the present moment.
  2. Have compassion for myself: I didn’t know that I didn’t have to give up me to be with him. Now I know. I can make different decisions in the present moment.
  3. Express myself: I need to do and be all the things are are in me to do and be. Then I need to love me as I am. I can also trust my husband to love me as I am.

None of this shit is easy. The youngest is 6 months old and teething. The oldest is three. I hoped to go through this shit in a about 2 years. Oddly enough life had different plans <3

We’ll see what emerges from here<3

Be good to yourself,


Can’t run away

The past two weeks have been crazy. A large mysterious hole popped up in the front yard. The lovely smell of rats and mice began wafting through the house and my dream life got crazy. The only thing that was stable were the children; which is very much like them. *sigh* Hooray for Earth Signs <3

Here’s what I’ve taken away from the past few weeks of tom foolery and fuckery.

1.  If you don’t get it the first time, you get to try again.

Me and rodents..I swear they often show up when fate is about to strike or I need to be doing something. The something I need to be doing is my life purpose. I had to talk to quite a few folk to learn something I kinda already knew, but had been ignoring. I mean, I’m lactating. Ain’t that all I need to be doing– damn 😉 Like a mouse in the house that I never knew was there, purpose has been here all along.

2. Life is much kinder & supportive than I imagined. 

I freaked the fuck out about the rodents. My deep anxiety was met with compassion, support, wisdom and kindness. The odd thing about all of this is that they really aren’t in the house. (Or if they are they are now playing nice.) As soon as I began to address my soul purpose, I stopped smelling them. With all that I was smelling, one would think there was an infestation. No infestation, the rodents and Mother Earth just wanted me to get to work.

3. You can’t escape what you are here to do. 

At least I can’t. When I was an astrologer I always worked from a space of intuition, because I hadn’t studied all that deeply. Oddly enough I was always right on the money. I was in France when I did intuitive readings for friends. Once a week I’d have at least one call lined up. I’d offer whatever my intuition could pick up, they would offer whatever they were guided to offer. France also taught me to listen to the Land. There I began working with herbs to clear stagnant energy, rid myself of spiritual attachments and set up boundaries. However, Portland, Or was where I really began to hear plants (not just the Land) clearly. Now, in the DMV, I find myself face to face with my purpose again. This time, I’m integrating all the experiences I’ve had: offering intuitive readings, working with plants and Mother Earth, anchoring space clearing energy, while learning new things…  to well… use my intuition to help other women because that seems to be what I do. No matter where I go…

We’ll see what’s next.

Love yourself for me



Attachment to crazy

Here I sit…

With a six month old sleeping on my back and a three year old spending the morning at summer camp I ponder my attachment to crazy.

How many times do I choose stress, anxiety and doing too much over joyful simplicity? How many times do I put too much on my back and on my plate to with the hopes of feeling like a “good mother”? Shoot, how many times do I deny myself support in hopes of feeling like a “good mother”? What are the boys learning from my choices?

Sometimes I make stress inducing decisions in hopes of satiating “little me”; meaning I choose things that I missed as a kid. Other times, I’m moving too quickly to see the results of my decision. Or, I just think that this is the way that Motherhood is and I should just get the fuck over it. In this moment, I am realizing that nothing has to be any specific way.

In this moment, I can see that when everything has it’s place, peace is the result. My challenge is allowing things to find their space so that peace can flow.

Do I allow space to hear how to best structure life? Do I allow wisdom to guide my parenting? Am I committed to peace or attached to the idea that Mothering has to be a stressful struggle?

Who knows. All I know is that in this moment all is well and I am glad.

Hope all is good with you <3

How to Mother… the Mother

This week, I had the honor of reconnecting with a good friend. As she shared all the good going on in her life, I watched the youngest son sleep peacefully. When it came my turn to share, I wasn’t sure where or how to start. Too much was going on. Before delving into all the Motherhood shit going on, little me’s posse grabbed the mic and spoke.

We miss smoking weed, excessively drinking red wine, dancing to live music and occasionally hoe’ing. Regular yoga was nice too. Every now and then my inner Grace Jones pops up, sneers at me and asks what the fuck am I doing with myself. I should be out in the world conquesting and shit. My friend listened and then reminded me that I could still do all those things, but I wouldn’t like the consequences. Truer words have never been spoken. I love my husband and children. I choose them over the single life.

After we got off the phone it dawned on me that a large part of me has refused to grow up. It’s angry for a childhood it never got and misspent teen years. It feels odd because I am not a running wild sort of person (—that may be part of the problem).  I think it’s more honest to say that I never really felt safe or supported in fucking around. I’ve always felt responsible to or for something.

Whether responsibility meant anchoring a household at a young age, being the flag bearer for all black folk, upholding communal order or making sure that my drunk ass friends got home safely without fucking that dude, I was always about it. I’m not sure that I consciously allowed myself to be young and dumb. Instead I chose to be “old enough to know better yet too young to give a fuck” for far too long. I look back at my life and see a stubborn toddler, angry teen or depressed college student that clearly said fuck all this adulting shit. I want to play!

The fucked up thing is that being responsible is in me. It’s me on default. It’s what I do. I’m secretly 80 years old, too old for this bullshit and will help you solve your problems. However, I’m not sure how to bring these younger aspects to heel. I wish we could run the fuck amok, but that time is over. Those days have passed. There are children who need their mother and shit to do.

These aspects remind me that I don’t want to leave the same holes within the sons…. somehow I need to bring these parts of me to peace… we’ll see…

Stay tuned…


Who am IIIIIII????

Since having a second child, I don’t know who I am anymore.

When there was just one child I had space to do shit. We lived in an affordable space with a great babysitter. I was in a space of stability. Regular sleep, regular sex, folks I dig, work that paid… All the things that seemed to anchor my sense of self were present. Then, I got pregnant. Then we found mouse poop under son #1’s chair. Suddenly we purchased a house and had a baby.

Fuck, I am lost.  I don’t sleep regularly. I don’t have sex regularly. I know awesome folks, but have no energy or time to socialize. I’ve stopped working. There is really nothing to anchor me except for being Mom. I think being Mom is cute, but I also feel like there is more to me. Or at least there was more to me this time last year.

I need to figure out who I am with two young children. It’s a bit of a daunting task. I always thought that I am what I do and how I spend my time, but I have to be more than that. I must be more than a milk machine that chases a toddler all day. Raising children has meaning, but I want more than that. When they leave I don’t want to be empty. With every age, a woman changes. Someone new emerges within me all the time. I am looking forward to seeing who emerges next, because I am feeling lost.



What’s next…conjure..maybe

I sat and listened to my relative. My eyes bulged. I started to sweat and for the first time in a while my intuition kicked in. I could sense “the green”, or various nature spirits listening in on our conversation. I noticed an entity attached to my relative looking at me and could see/feel some of the phenomena they described enduring.

Always in the know, my eldest boy decided to see what Mommy was doing. Somehow the playground with Daddy wasn’t so exciting anymore. My conversation ceased, my intuition turned off and I went back into Mommy mode. It was lunch time anyway and we could only stay here discussing this for so long. Besides, I didn’t have any of my accoutrement with me. There wasn’t much I could do in a park during the daytime anyway. My mind wasn’t blown by what my relative said, but by how long they had endured and that my obtuse ass hadn’t picked up on it earlier. We related. Why am I only hearing this now?

I spent the rest of the day spinning, planning and plotting. On the ride back to where I, my husband and sons were staying, a potion to make for my relative came to me. It should be applied to the hands and feet daily and nightly. I also pondered what could be discreetly done to clear space and whether I should covertly do some work to help the situation. I also thought about what ancestors to ask for help because there is a lot going on. For the rest of the trip I focused on holding sacred space. On the way back home my mind spun. It spun It spun It spun. When it stopped,  I was a bit in awe.

I freaked out. How did a potion come together so quickly and easily? It was like breathing. I call myself a herbalist, but I don’t really care about medicinal application (heh heh). Possessed or Cursed? I can help. Shit, I’m excited to help! Even before studying herbalism I remember asking hyssop for help with my own deposession work, which is a long entertaining story if you are into that sort of thing.

I love this part of me; this arcane self that knows and does interesting shit. The type of shit you do when God or Nature is working with you to set things right. Old black shit that runs through my veins and coils in my dreads. Shit that feels like it has been flowing through me and my folk for quite a few lifetimes. However, to be honest, this part of me scares me.

I don’t know how she fits into raising children, going to the grocery store, giving my husband blow jobs and mundane shit like that. Oddly enough though, she’s all I ever wanted to be. She laughs with plants, dances with the wind and listens to the stories of her ancestors. She does things because Mother Nature, her Grandmother/father or a Deity asked her to. She doesn’t really move for anything/one else. Fuck, I love her. She’s so self possessed. I just don’t know where she fits, comes from or how she emerges. I guess if flowers bloom in their own time, she will too.


Take Precious Care over there




What if?

What if all the stories I told myself about what love is and looks like aren’t true? I believe that in order for me to love I must abandon myself completely to it. And by abandoning myself I mean leaving myself stranded in my lover’s arms. No job, no friends, no family, no savings, no community, no sense of self. In the past, love has demanded this of me, but what if I didn’t need to love like this anymore?

If I don’t really need to be so empty to be loved and loving what do I want to fill myself with? Who do I want to be? How am I in love? Who am I, really? And how does this new self jive with all the responsibilities of my current self?

In love, I constantly find myself following the wisdom of a hurt, scared and isolated 5year old. She’ll do anything for you if you love her. This five year old is emotionally and energetically tuned in. She can tell what you are feeling, even when you can’t (usually because you don’t want to). She is fabulous at assessing needs, wants and desires. She is even creative enough to get you the experience you most want, if she likes you enough. This 5 year old has impeccable boundaries that don’t quite work with the rest of me because she is a hardass. Children are fierce and honest in ways adults choose not to be. However, but 9 times out of 10 she’s on the money in her analysis of a situation.

While my 5 year old is awesome at identifying and maintaining boundaries, she’s not so helpful in taking care of me. She asks demands that I love in detrimental ways that kept me safe when I was her age, but aren’t a good look now. The same demands she makes of me, she makes of others. As you can imagine, this doesn’t end well. She’s often hurt, disappointed and confused. Not everyone can love with the ferocity of a 5 year old. I’m no longer a little girl; even though I can’t help but act like one upon occasion.

I’m not quite sure what to do with my 5 year old self. I’ll just take my jasmine flower essence and woman up into shit. I mean jasmine is the essence of divine, intoxicating womanhood. There should be some harmony there. Me and my little five year old have been tussling for years. I don’t want to tussle anymore. I can see her wisdom. It’s just finding the right avenue for it so other parts of me, hopefully more adult parts can express.

We’ll see what happens here..

Take precious care