On Angels & Miracles; A Beach Story

Written Feb 26,2022


This morning we went to the beach early.

Like, sweatshirts and coats early.

My son was cold and I needed exercise so I got up and started running, playing with the dog and my son got off the chair and followed.

We were laughing and running around the empty beach and he said he wanted to go, so we started walking back toward our chairs.

He said, “Mom, did you say earlier that you’d seen a whole conch shell?” He’s been on the lookout for a conch shell.

“No, I said I saw a big whole grey shell.” (The kind that looks like a fan.) But I didn’t pick it up because he doesn’t care about whole shells like that.

“Oh,” he said, and then the dog started darting down the beach acting SUPER ODD. She doesn’t stray from us, but she was going at least 75 yards and then turning around and doing the same thing in the other direction, super fast like a greyhound, nonstop.

We stood and laughed and my son said, “WHAT?! What is she doing!?” And I felt the feeling of the animal showing us something, the animal being aware of something we weren’t aware of, and I encouraged him to stand, watch her, and wait. We stood facing the dog and the water where she charged back and forth at the shoreline.

When we turned around to get our chairs, there was a grey & white conch ON HIS CHAIR. 🐶🐚✨

“What!?! Did you do this?!” he exclaimed.

No, of course I hadn’t.

“No,” I said laughing.

“HOW?!” he demanded, totally elated. “HOW!?”

“Who knows!” I said.

A gift.

That was clear.

A miracle, even.

He said, “Honestly I don’t feel like this can be real right now.”

Tears naturally came to my eyes. If there is a distinct feeling of angels nearby, I felt it then.

Maybe someone we didn’t see walking by gifted my son what he wanted all week.

Or, maybe…. miracles are real.

What do you think, are miracles real? 😉🌟🌊

With great soul potential…

About a year ago, I was standing at a pot-luck in a conversation with a man who is a local shaman.

We were talking about the “next level” of our soul’s path and whether or not we were making progress.

Honestly, at the time, I didn’t feel that I was making adequate progress. Things got hard there for a minute.

I was telling him how, when I first had made the huge leap from a steady paycheck to becoming an entrepreneur, I was almost magically financially supported.

My career in education ended sort of badly and abruptly, with that extra “nudge” us soul-folks know happens when we drag our feet, and when I learned that I was going to have to leave sooner than later, I heard a message out of the blue that said, “Go refinance your house right now.”

It was SO clear and loud that I went to the bank that day. I had my employer sign my income verification about 24 hours before it would have been too late, and as a result, I had a $45,000 cushion when I was pushed out the door and into “spiritual entrepreneurship.”

I told this local shaman that story, and I told him how now I didn’t seem to be getting large sums of $45,000 or anything even close to that, and he laughed and said, “Because now it’s up to you.”

I knew what he was talking about, but it’s taken me a bit longer to really embody it.

The person who we are when we make a big leap is someone incredible! And then, we have to keep leaping! Our faith has to stay strong!

Recently, I’m learning two of those “soul lessons,” which are connected, and so I thought I’d share with you.

ONE: With great soul potential comes great responsibility.

So you’re a light-worker, an intuitive, a mystic, an artist who channels… YOU ARE A VERY SPECIAL PERSON. Great.

Now that we recognize that, what are we going to do about it? I think this recognition takes all but a holy moment, but if you’re like me, you want the recognition to last and last.

Spirit/God was like, “Yeah girl! Leap! Here’s $45K!” but why, if I don’t advance on my soul journey, would God be like, “Here, just have some more and more and more until you decide to keep going for it.” That’s like a God trust fund, which doesn’t actually feel good.

We have to continue to be an energetic match for that which we want to receive.

I’m not who I was five years ago, so I can stop expecting Spirit to treat me like it did five years ago.

TWO: When we’re waiting on God, often God is waiting on us.

So obviously these go hand in hand.

Part two of this is that while we’re waiting around for God to drop in another $45K, all pouty about why it’s not happening like that, we’re actually playing smaller than God knows that we are.

(When I say God, I’m saying Mother Father God, the 12D+ Unity force of Creation, btw.)

Recently I realized that I felt a wee bit abandoned by this Creational force. And then I realized, “Oh, God’s waiting on me to grow up and be the version of me that I now actually am.”

I was on this communal prayer call, and I thought, “I’m going to speak up for my prayer. Dang it – I’m going to do it. I never just say what I need. Here I go. I’m doing it!”

And then what happened was that it wasn’t spoken by the folks holding the call, which was *perfect* and hilarious. I went for a walk in the woods afterwards and was questioning God, a little sulky, and the message was, “Because you don’t need that! Every ball is in your court, Sarah! We’re waiting on you.”

That’s a reality check for you!

When it’s not happening for you, it may be because you are not actually being all you were sent here on Earth to be.

So, let’s check our inner victim and our inner pouty-pants, and let’s ask ourselves “Given who I am and the mission my soul is on in this lifetime, what is mine to do in this moment?”

And then we do it. Without the hand-hold, we do it. We leap into our next soul assignment, our next version of who we are meant to be and embody.

We acknowledge the responsibility of being all we came to be. And the beautiful, incredible opportunity to actually be it.

Spirit will meet us there, no question.

To the leap!

In love,

Write like an elephant.

The invitation was to tell the story, to tell it in as many different ways as it wants to be told.

I moved houses again recently, and in the process decided I would no longer have a storage unit. I asked the movers to bring all that old, extra stuff into my living room and I spent a day going through it.

I found two elephants. One I remember from my childhood and another clay elephant I’d bought at a craft show years ago that promised to signify abundance.

I asked my mother, who I’d just recently reconnected with, if the older elephant had been hers. She didn’t remember it and that’s okay.

These elephants tugged at the mystic in me. Why two in a row? Why were they showing up now and why was I feeling this connection to my mother through this elephant she didn’t even remember? I sat them in my bedroom on the shelf that is my altar of sacred things, but my altar wouldn’t flush out with my usual sacred items for a few more weeks. It felt like the message in this last move was, “Just clear. Just allow things to settle before filling anything back in. Have blank space.”

If I’m being real – with myself, with you, with anyone at all – to be honest I had just moved twice because I was playing small. I was. I took a job to help “start a community” and it was such a sham, but I let myself get into that situation and also, there was so much soul material in that experience that I really needed to integrate.

This is the Sacred Remembering path – it’s mystical, messy, full of real life “initiation” and the potential to reflect and grow. Thankfully, life seems to be reflecting to me that there is a new steadiness and pace in my journey. Maybe like the swagger of an elephant.

But try explaining this to my fourteen year old who thinks his mother is providing him with an unstable upbringing… that’s another story.

It was all a divine reroute, let’s say that. On that reroute, one day I felt the “ping” (intuition) to drive to Pennsylvania and knock on my parents’ door. I knew that my mother wasn’t there and my father likely was. I hadn’t spoken to him in nearly five years, and my mother barely at all. I had been so scared of my father growing up, this deep imprint of fear inside of me that went down into spaces unknown and here I was at a space and time in my life when I just knew that something in me had been running from that fear, landing me in shitty situations, and I just turned around and faced it. My soul was letting me know that it was done, and I was to drive ten hours, knock on his door, and literally just face it. So I did that.

What happened? Well, we spent about five minutes together and in those five minutes, and in front of my teenage son, I heard the two things from my father that I think my girl/woman self never before wanted to hear. One, that I wasn’t his daughter anymore. And two, a denial that he had ever been my perpetrator. Something I’d finally named publicly to the family at the age of 40.

Those things sound huge, but to me at this point in my healing and life journey, they were just words. I had turned to face the things I’d run from – rejection and denial – and then I heard them, and I was still who I am. It was so beautiful. It was such a gift that my soul had “pinged” me to go and do that, so that I could experience that feeling of freedom.

And then after that we saw my grandmother and got in the car and drove ten hours back home.

Two weeks later I moved into a clean-slate apartment. My mother co-signed because my credit is shit. In all the times before, I would have stopped myself from admitting that, but if I’m going to write like an elephant, I can’t stop myself anymore.

My credit is shit because I have decades of struggle with money and finance, which links to deep childhood trauma, every kind of emotional manipulation and abuse, and then being a single mom trying to be a spiritual entrepreneur, which was going pretty well until 2022 when I called out family secrecy and somehow had a flair up of rape trauma and loneliness that resulted in a cocktail of circumstances. Including, obviously, taking a “job” to start a “community” that wasn’t even a real thing.

I’m not a victim. To any of it. I’m just naming what it all is – and it’s all got a soupy quality to it….

But what I’m getting at is that my family all the while has no idea the work I’m actually doing – to ensure no more children are hurt, to heal the lineage of reptilian bloodlines, to clear the earth grids – those are the unmentionables. But I haven’t even told them anything about anything in five years because when I became this spiritual entrepreneur, obviously a part of me was extricating myself from the family system of silence and dysfunction. And I just felt I couldn’t have a family anymore if I took this path, given the nature of my family.

Uuuuggghhhhh, I’m sick of writing about this shit and also feel like I haven’t even begun if I’m going to truly write like an elephant.

So back to the elephants.

I got curious about it. It’s now week-four of living in this new place, I’ve listened to the voice of Spirit (Soul, Source – the voice) tell me to get back to my life’s mission work. To reestablish Sacred Remembering in the community and the podcast offerings. To lay a new groundwork. Okay, I did that. The new podcast intro is out for edits and thank God my executive functioning is coming back online after about a year of f*ckery. (My friend Keely, side note, recently joked with me as I told her that my brain was coming back online from my trauma and she said something like – great, just in time for natural degeneration. Yeah. Nothing like being 42 and needing your mom to co-sign for your apartment.) Voice of shame! Keep going! Write like an elephant!

I looked up elephant medicine. As in, what is the spiritual significance of these elephants showing up in my life? I saw a few things. Elephants symbolize nurturance, deep feminine essence and maternal nature, steadiness, abundance, and it is the destroyer of obstacles. It is also known to steer you in the right direction. One book said, “Trust this gentle, noble creature… it illuminates the way with the light of self-knowledge.”

At this time, other divine “pings” have included:

  • Get off social media for a week (that was amazing)
  • For the love of all things holy, stop looking at people’s reactions on social media (a forever habit)
  • Stay focused. There’s this sweet, “Tunnel vision” sort of feeling that God’s got me, like “Woman, if you stay in your lane right now and just listen to me, steady on, we’re going to bring this new part through together.” Very elephant-like, come to think of it.
  • Write. Write creatively, write your books, write.

And I’ve been listening! I have been non-traumatized, empowered, faithful, grateful, in the light… “I’m back!” Really, though, I have totally rocked this “get back on track in a new way” period of time I’ve been in. It’s so refreshing.

So then I hear Spirit say after yoga one morning this week, “Write a letter to your mom and tell her what you do.” This was coming from something she had said weeks ago in one of those conversations my inner child never wants to hear where she’s telling me that I might just need to go get a school job. I heard her say, “I don’t know what you even do, but maybe you need a job.”

I understand that this is her coming from what she knows, and a generation that sacrificed a lot of true desire for steadiness. I’m not opposed to working or steadying myself and my child with a “job” of some kind, but I’d always rather my soul work carry us, which could look like long-term contract work, consulting, project management, or these various things I feel coming.

And I realized I was still holding this fear that related to the family split from five years ago that said something like, “Maybe your own work won’t carry you, and you’ll need to go back and get a job.” Key words: go back. If you’re afraid to not have to “go back” to something, you run away from it. So I was doing a bit of that the entire time.

So the voice said, “Well, tell her what you do.”

I wrote her an email that was like a spiritual coming-out. I wrote down the kinds of things that I get paid for that she may not be able to even fathom. I acknowledged my healing capacities, told her I talk to ancestors including her father, help women heal sexual trauma, help couples, on and on.

I gave myself full credit in the most gorgeous way. I had never even given myself this acknowledgement before. It was like another “turn and face it” moment. In my early entrepreneurial years, I was always wondering who was looking, who would approve. If I was running from disapproval and rejection, then if I was going out on my own to build this coaching business, I sure as heck needed to receive those things from the business. But guess what? I wasn’t allowed to pull that kind of shit and have it work out. 😉

After I wrote the list to my mother, I had a good cathartic cry. I went into the woods with my dog and I noticed that my breath and heartspace were very, very relaxed. Hmm. Healing.

Last night before I went to sleep, Spirit reminded me, “Get that ornament that your mother gave you out of that box.” The ornament was shipped in a Christmas box in late 2018. We didn’t have much of a relationship then either, in part because I truly felt like I had had to be silent for so long about abuse in order to have a family, and then I decided not to be silent, and my mother stayed in her marriage to my father. But she sent this ornament and it was a decoupaged heart with glitter and glass and said, “Your story matters.”

Your story matters. Encouraged by my mother.

So this morning, early before the sunrise, I went to the box in the other room and got out the ornament. I set it on the (now full) altar, beside the elephants, and began to journal.

I just want to say – that feeling, the one where we listen to the voice of Spirit which is really the voice of US – it’s a great feeling. Kind of the best. And, the very voice that trauma interrupts us from listening to because we frenetically think we have to be doing something else, or we’re just fighting like hell for our brain to hang with us in task and clarity throughout the day.

So I’m journaling, about elephants and this letter to my mother and spirit telling me to write… and I realize… I need to write like an elephant.

That’s why things have been stuck.

The way through obstacles, for me, is to write.

To tell the stories that I haven’t known how to tell. To tell them even though every flippin time I do, I think someone judges me for being weak. Or they thank me for my vulnerability and I think, “Does that mean you think I’m weak!?” And then I want to tell you all the shit I have figured out, I’m on the other side and strong and there’s a happy ending, and I try to write a blog or social media post about something I’m smart about, and then I look, and guess what, no one has read it.

Because that wasn’t the invitation. The invitation was to tell the story, to tell it in as many different ways as it wants to be told. And yes, it might be a bit messy at first, because I’ve got a backlog inside of me. But maybe if I write like an elephant, I can make some art out of it all.

So, here I am. Steady on. Channeling my inner elephant.

If you are a woman on a path of remembering who you truly are, simultaneously healing and ever-evolving while you stand in your present-moment truth, you may enjoy the Sacred Remembering Community for support, solidarity, and the Sacred. Learn more here: https://sacred-remembering-community.mn.co/

Thanks for reading. If you choose to comment, I’d love to hear how this piece impacted you, your process, your day, your sensations. You.

Thank you.

Saying the “R Word” triggered an old trauma. This is a soul story of choosing Unity over separation.

Acknowledging the truth of a trauma ultimately allows us to integrate more into our own wholeness. But the real-life path of this is messy. Trust me, I know.

It’s been a year since I said the R-word. I remember because today is 2/22 and I sent the letter right before this date last year, because I was going to the beach the weekend of 2/22 and I wanted it to be sent before the three days I’d spend beside the ocean. 

I hadn’t ever thought of it as the R-word. I’d said, “childhood abuse” and “sexual trauma” for years, but not the R-word. 

Once last year, a counselor and healer I’ve seen for fifteen years was talking to me about the work I do and is my purpose to do in the world, and she was saying how I take all these life experiences and alchemize them into something to offer for others. And she said encouragingly, “You’re not meant to talk directly about incest, you’re meant to talk about love and all the things you’ve found on the other side.”

I hadn’t ever said “incest” either. 

But then my sister got pregnant in 2021, with this baby that actually came to me three months before she was even pregnant, and it had said, “I’m coming, you have to tell her.” Yes, I’m talking about hearing from the Soul of the baby before it had incarnated. I heard it loud and clear, but I hadn’t spoken to my sister in a long time – nor my other sister or parents, and I waited to take action, wondering what exactly to do. Then, six months later, I found out that she was three months pregnant. I had stalled, and now it was time. 

I’d asked to speak with her, but likely knowing what it was about, she declined. I pressed  a bit, said I had to, and she drew a boundary. 

I started to panic, actually having the first panic attacks in years. In my apartment, I have a meditation cushion inside a walk-in closet and one day I was in there just panting and praying, “What to do?!” and the voice said, “Well, let’s start with breathing.” 

I was panicking because I couldn’t keep this child safe if she wouldn’t listen to me. And it was coming from the same deep-down knowing that came without words for all those years as a child that I wasn’t safe, and then the first years of my son’s life when I would keep him away from my father at all costs, because that was my instinct, but not ever directly saying why. The family just went on pretending like nothing was ever, nor had ever been, wrong, and that was why it had been such a mind fuck for decades about whether or not I was going to even believe myself. But why would your full and basic instinct be, “Keep the children away from your father” if that instinct wasn’t warranted? Don’t anyone dare try to negate or explain away that rhetorical question. 

There was a fierceness that arose after the panic attack in the closet. If I had to drive ten hours and knock on her door, I’d do it. I was going to do whatever was needed. But then, I was in a session with a practitioner about what was happening, and afterward I knew what I needed to do. I didn’t need to drive to her house, I needed to expose this. It was almost a blessing that she wouldn’t listen, because if she had, then this silenced, festering thing would just stay among two women and still be protected. I had to expose the truth the whole way. 

It was a knowing, a deep-down, clear as day knowing, the feeling I get when there is not another way forward. 

I’d known since I was fifteen that something had happened to me. When I had my first boyfriend, memories came back, and clearly. But I don’t remember what exactly they were, because when I confided in my mother at that time, she told me not to be silly. I remember the day. It was summer time and she was driving and I remember her stoic face, looking forward focused on the road, telling me not to be silly. To say it more clearly, I told her that my father had sexually abused me, and her response was, “Don’t be silly.” 

And so I spent about fifteen years trying not to be silly. 

My mother says she doesn’t remember me ever telling her that. This is called “dissociation” and my mother has it. Big time. Because in the years that I’ve been uncovering and honoring the truth of what had happened to me and to my family back through the generations, for the purpose of healing, I have tried to sit and talk to my mother. I’ve asked her to sit on Zoom so that I could see her eyes and expression as I asked her questions. She denied ever knowing, or ever remembering me telling her, and yet, when I finally said the R-word, nothing changed then either. 

This showed me that I was right all along. It’s an incredible thing to try to reconcile or even wrap one’s head around – that your mother may have known and didn’t protect you. That you were somehow her sacrificial lamb. It’s almost impossible to fathom, and I’ve been grateful to women like Eve Ensler over the years who named such choices of some mothers – to ignore the thing that would have to tear a family apart if acknowledged, in order to secure one’s own resources by acting as if nothing had ever happened. “Don’t be silly,” she’d said, as she discounted the thing she didn’t want to look at. 

I spent my twenties in a codependent relationship with one man, which was a way my psyche sought safety because both he and I knew that I’d been abused, but within the relationship, we could deal with it. I spent my thirties reclaiming my body from trauma patterns, reclaiming the truth and my power, reclaiming the health of the gut with “inexplicable” lifelong stomach pains and trouble digesting. Reclaiming, reclaiming, reclaiming.  I had the worst digestive issues when intimacy with a new man would become a possibility. I learned to identify how I was overriding trauma symptoms and entering relationships with men too quickly, and I learned how and why I was attracted to men who seemed to love me but then would discard of me – not surprising since my father stopped talking to me long before I said the R-word, but when I stopped taking his money and removed myself from the power dynamics. 

When I gave my TEDx and started telling even a little bit of the truth that had been kept behind the curtain, I lost contact with them more and more. I always had the sense that owning the truth would mean losing them. It did, and I knew I had to keep choosing my path. I also knew that to exist within the family unit meant to participate in a great pretending. I instinctively knew this, but I had no idea how right I was. 

I spent years reclaiming my ability to tell my own truth, and to even use my voice, as it had been stuck in my throat for so many years. I spent over a decade in various therapies trying to figure out my trauma-ridden brain and its sense of enoughness, lovability, worthiness, and just where all of the tendrils of coercion and abuse had reached. It was an extensive search. And a maddening one. Eventually this coincided with a rich spiritual, sacred journey as well. 

In 2020, I wrote and delivered an original monologue for the classic Vagina Monologues V-Day event on two stages in Asheville about the sins of the Father (double entendre) and the hidden abuses in the church. Because the R-action had actually occurred at least once in a church. IN the church. I was under five, and he broke me, on purpose. Very much on purpose. 

He was raised in a satanic cult as a child. No one in my family talks about this, nor do they really know – another reason I’ve stayed kind-of quiet. My deep spiritual journey whereupon I asked questions such as “Why does patriarchy and separation even exist in the first place?” had lead me to actually discover the truth of the S R A in 2019. History explained through good vs. evil and the systemic mechanisms of keeping people away from unity and a unified Source – the S R A has been very instrumental in that. 

And then I found out that it had infiltrated my family lineage, and that my father had been affected very, very directly and personally. Isn’t it amazing how life just lines up the pieces for you to discover the truth of who you really are? I had been healing trauma for over seven years at that point and was living a life committed to the journey of the soul when I found this out. In the beginning, I wouldn’t have been equipped to handle the news. In fact, I spent about a year even integrating what this even meant. It explained so much, and yet, now I knew the tendrils went much, much deeper. Because if he had been raised in a cult, then he had also raised me with cult-like mind control and tendencies of coercion, abuse, and soul-breaking. I knew a lot about trauma at that point and began trying to wrap my head around the potential effects of intergenerational trauma from cult abuse, let alone sa ta nic rit ual cult abuse. Most people dismiss that this even exists, because it is so hard to accept and because it involves far more people and people in power than anyone wants you to know, and I found one psychiatric doctor who validates patients who have these stories. He was too busy to talk with me about my intergenerational curiosities. 

I was raised by a man who was raised in the most horrific circumstances, who witnessed brutal, indescribable things. The worst of human behavior. They broke him. And he never had the therapies, the trauma interventions, the parenting classes, or anything that would prevent him from passing on what he had learned, and from using the cult tactics on his family. He’d married a teacher and I was their first born daughter. He had the devil inside of him and I know he wanted to do well also, because he spent a lot of time in church, gave a lot of money to charity, and tried to give us a good and prosperous life. So we didn’t talk about the devilish parts, because my mother wanted the white house on the suburban street with the photos of a normal family in frames in the stairwell. So she kept it looking good and we didn’t talk about his episodes. In the same “don’t be silly” strategy, she’d go on serving dinner if there had just been a fight or if he had disappeared again and she didn’t know where her husband was.

My body was always confused about what it felt and sensed, the inexplicable fears and digestive issues, the fierce rebellion I felt. And as an adult, I spent many years breaking free – slowly at first, and then fiercely as if my life depended on it, and then, just when I thought I was pretty regulated about it all, this letter had to be written and that sent an unexpected fire alarm to my brain. Fuck if it doesn’t take so much longer to heal than you think it will. Even after years of reclamation, and teaching other women to reclaim their voice and truth from patriarchal traumas and silence, I wasn’t exempt from a deeply embedded trauma reaction, probably in response to a deep threat made long ago about what might happen if I ever told. No doubt, and I remember many such incidents now, it was a threat on my life. 

I sent the letter it to everyone in my family my generation and above. I sent it to the parents of the daughter I’d placed for adoption at birth. I said, “He raped me.” I said, “I believe she knew about it.” I said, “Do not leave children in their presence.” I did not feel fear when I sent it, I felt clarity. I knew it had to be done, and I would do it a thousand times over so that the lineage of secrecy and child abuse stop. And it did. It feels a bit, in hindsight, like willingly stepping in front of a train that has been picking up cargo and momentum for a very long time. Thankfully, I suppose I was strong enough at that point to not even realize the personal risk. That train just had to stop. 

My aunt wrote me a card with hand-drawn heart balloons that said how sorry she was that she hadn’t known and didn’t protect me as a child. I heard from my cousin, “My mom believes you….” and then the trailing off of that sentence made me realize that others didn’t. 

Oh. Well, I suppose denial is a strategy that’s been at play for a long time, so I wasn’t necessarily surprised that they just “opted out” of believing me. I’m not necessarily offended by this, but I also have no time or tolerance for it. Some never reached out at all. 

The letter did elicit a reply from my sister and we scheduled a phone call. While she wouldn’t directly talk about it, I was able to ask her a series of yes/no questions such that I finally understood that she understood me, and that this child would be protected. That’s all I cared about. This was the first grandchild born into the family since my son thirteen years prior. I’d protected my children but I wasn’t going to be there to directly ensure the safety of my niece or nephew. 

But then interesting things happened. The sex I was having with a partner began to feel rammy at best. I didn’t feel his heart and I felt a lot of his anxiety in the sex. Because he struggled with erectile dysfunction, I tried to be loving and kind, and yet the sex was not connected enough for me. I tried to work with him through it – always the coach, always the one to see some soul-potential and hope they walk through that door, always the one to give too much or stay too long. (Former habits, I’m now happy to say.) Eventually he stopped trying to find access to his heart by ramming himself into my vagina and he left. Not great timing in the grand scheme of things. Ram-ram-goodbye as a pattern was a significant trigger for me, and it contributed toward a… well, a breakage of sorts. A deep heartbreak occurred from it all. It was all too much. 

My family was so far gone. I still haven’t met my nephew. My other sister is pretty much best friends with my parents, and no one acts like I ever said rape. My grandmother served him Thanksgiving dinner and my mother sat beside him, which I was surprised to find was another hit to my heart. I didn’t know that I’d care about the added layers of loss and I didn’t see them coming. 

I had always been the strong one. I was resilient, strong, ran on adrenaline when I had to. In my years of deep reclamation that felt like survival and liberation both, I got a lot of black tattoos. At first, I got big black flowers on my shoulder blades and around my shoulders, and then realized that I’d subconsciously given myself self-protective armor. So I got more tattoos down my arms so it didn’t look so much like armor, but I did look like a badass. I was frequently called a badass. 

People have told me things like: they assume I’m always fine, they assume I am always able to make money, they assume I don’t need anything because I don’t ask, that I’m always strong. Because that’s how I learned to be. I learned from my mother to pretend like everything was under control even when it wasn’t. I’m writing these things in retrospect, as I realized them while looking in a really authentic mirror this year. 

This year, amidst all of this, the most beautiful things also happened. I went so deeply into the gaping hole of unlovability that I felt – a foundation that had been set long ago – and there I sat, not self-abandoning. My friend Audrey recognized where I was and sent me homeopathic potions and love notes for support. I did the emotional freedom technique, hiked in the woods in the mornings with my dog, treated my body with care, and increased my nutrition – every day. I did parasite cleanses, enemas, kundalini yoga, EMDR, energy healing and more. These are a few of my favorite things to get free of abuse frequencies and lingering wtf cult mind control programming. 

I aligned with Source. I partnered with the Divine. I healed with the Earth and with the earth grids. I lived Heartland – this work that I began calling “my dharma” during this time. I was pissed I wasn’t finishing writing a book and it felt like an eight-month set back in the journey. Of course it wasn’t. 

I deeply cared for myself differently than I ever had. I wasn’t surviving anymore. I was loving myself and wanting to know how I felt truly free and beyond what had been. I stopped being defined – energetically and otherwise – as the one who this had happened to. It was done. 

I found myself in an uncharted place – the territory of my true heart. It was messy and pure. I took down the guards and learned more deeply how to have clarity about what gets my resources without having to defend myself. As a result of childhood abuse, including emotional and though it’s an overused word, narcissistic abuse, I had a habit of giving myself to things in hopes that I’d be valued after the fact. This resulted in habits of over-giving or what I call “giving to get” which are both unsustainable and inauthentic. I believe I have learned authentic love, and what do you know, straight through the authentic portal of my own heart as the pathway to God. 

During this time, my business both financially failed and there was a wisdom to allow it to disassemble its previous structure in order to be rebuilt on different energetics. Even though I have had (before this year?) a knack for holding things together and making it look like I was successful, after the letter and the rammy sex trigger, my money stopped flowing. Spiritual people say, “You’ll always have what you need.” Well, I didn’t. And I also couldn’t push myself to “sell” anything anymore because I just wanted to do things authentically, with people who wanted the same. So I let go. There are different energetics at play regarding money when you have had this kind of trauma, which I now understand better and am devoted to helping women get free. Rape trauma, combined with psychological trauma around safety and money, is a different beast that is not going to be easily overcome with positive thoughts or affirmations. It is way, way more than that and getting through it, I have found, requires focus and devotion. I couldn’t beat this before when I’d tried toughness or resiliency or manifestation techniques or spirituality alone. It has required a daily grit inside of a daily love inside of a daily faith. This I will share in Heartland – we have to be able to clear the residual trauma energetics that steal our life force and make it difficult to secure or hold money, and we get to be prosperous in our own Source-Alignment. Our Soul is enough. In fact, it’s so powerful that that is why we were harmed to begin with – to make us forget. 

My father had used money to manipulate my compliance in more fucked-up ways than I can even figure out, and so my psyche never wanted to need help, but this past year I did. I had the opportunity to really undo patterns of both believing I needed the rescue while simultaneously fearing it, learning that to receive help was safe, and doing the soul work of trusting that my business, finances and psyche were all likely perfectly reorganizing themselves in tandem with the divine. But it was a mess and I had to face the fears I thought were long-past about having enough and being supported. Hint: it comes from within. The more aligned I am to my authentic frequency, sacredness, creativity and soul, the more fulfilling and resourced it all gets. 

The other thing that happened was that I became far more loving and graceful, and this continues. My business became a ministry. My membership stopped being an aspect of a sales funnel and instead a joyful community with growing purpose and cohesion. I stopped sharing unless I really had something to say. I started creating again – like, real, soul-activating, right brain electrifying, eros-derived creativity. I’m still diving into that, most recently with a frame drum. On all those walks in the woods, I was more and more deeply activated into gridwork, earth relationship, my divine sight, and how the fucked up earthly circumstances are all part of the bigger invitation to return to love. I deeply realized the human need for belonging, on the other side of all of that fierce independence, leadership and resiliency. I need connection and belonging. I need it still. 

I have known for years that I was walking a “soul journey” that I was then meant to share back, but I took a break in that. I didn’t know if I was done or broken or unmoved or what, but I honored the time to go inward and had no idea when or if I’d come out. And what I want to say about this space is that it is a holy mess. It is a holy becoming, like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, at the risk of sounding cliche. I’ve known that I’m on this walk that quests, “What does Union actually look like in this lifetime?” and yet, actually exiting the matrix reality of “I was violated by my father and it didn’t stop there” is a wild ride in the lived experience. It is a story of separation, for certain. I call finding our way through these 3D “realities” in a separation matrix and then allowing ourselves to choose love, to be who we landed on earth to become, the Sacred Remembering path. 

Maybe it was the reality of losing family seemingly once and for all last year, or maybe it was a little invisible string in my brain, implanted long ago by an old, satanic threat, that got pulled when I spoke out that said, “If you say this, you will be killed and the people you love will be killed.” Maybe it was the pattern of abandonment showing up again from men. I didn’t realize what had happened as it was happening, but my brain just got stuck.  I just did the best I could do to love myself in the day to day. 

And then Spirit pulled me forward. My friend Lisa began walking beside me daily on the spiritual path helping to activate me toward strength and an integrated high-heart and monad. My kundalini yoga practice became a daily practice as I watched my brain changing for the better, clearing the fog and patterning of mind control. At the turn of this year, my soul said, “Enough EMDR, enough therapy and trying to figure it out, look forward.” Special miracles happened. I heard Spirit say, “It is done.” I heard the guidance, “Go beyond your Earthly parents and realize that you are a child of the Divine.” When I said yes to that, I realized something new called the Holy Daughter Template, which is more divine information about the feminine beyond patriarchy and what this actually feels like. 

So why am I writing this? 

Well, it’s 2/22 and something in me said to do it. I realized that I subconsciously pulled the red shirt out of my closet that I’d worn for our Sovereign Womb Ceremony on 2/22/22 where over 80 women and men joined for the remembrance of the sovereign feminine before the Fall of Lyra – before separation. I’d sent the letter right before that ceremony, and then something in me committed as I led the ceremony, and as I stood on the beach in the following days, something in me knew to open Heartland again for a group of women, which I did. 

Spirit’s always there. 

The soul is always trying to integrate truth, light, and wholeness. 

Life is always life and then it is so much more. 

Was there a turning point? If I had to say that there was one, it was realizing (again) that what the destroyer energy of domination, patriarchy, and control does is to interrupt love, to try to destroy it, and to separate union. It is the greatest pain I can imagine, and I’ve felt it very deeply in this lifetime and countless others. My heart has been working some deep, deep alchemy in recent years to heal the pain of separation. To say that it’s hard sometimes is an understatement. 

To be resilient in the nervous system is not enough. It is not enough to fight these forces of separation, and to fight them only exhausts you.  It requires an epic re-connection to Source, a re-devotion of the entire soul, and to source strength from Source. Otherwise, and I know from experience, one will be knocked down, again and again, in an attempt to stop Union from happening. I don’t doubt that they especially seek to attack those who carry the light of the Christos Sophia, those of us on the Unity team. It is absolutely true, and we have to be strong through Union, through Source. 

To name the truth to keep the next generation of children safe (and yes the lineage lines were cleared, and yes it was worth it), I ended up experiencing more separation than I’d ever known to expect. With the end of another relationship that borderline triggered my sexual trauma and all the way triggered the pain of unlovability, I got to alchemize the pain and know the heart and love in a new and reclaimed way, and to know the Beloved beyond form.  

And then I realized – the pain of separation is how the bad guys win. It’s their whole, cowardly gig. And so I choose love. I choose to move beyond the energetics of separation, and I choose to remember the frequency of pure love and try to live inside the integrity of that as many moments of the day as I can remember to do so. More and more, I touch the spaces beyond separation. My gut is healing another layer of tension that I recently discovered. My mood and my blood sugar don’t tank anymore. I’m calmer. I don’t get as caught up in triggers and I re-Source back to the Divine.  My nervous system is pretty regulated thanks to Kundalini yoga. My mind is strong and beyond gads and gads of mental programming that I didn’t even see until I was ready to go beyond it. 

I will never again feel shame or silence about my past, I will hold it like sacred, swaddled truth, and I will create with it, because of it, because of it all. I will no longer live in separation. 

I’ve said this so many times in my work, and I have to remember it myself – this year being one big example. In the old template of separation, we orient and operate as women in response and reactivity to external masculine. If we are living our lives watching what patriarchy is doing, watching what men are doing and protecting ourselves from how they might take from us, we are living in response to the perpetrator. Any real-life perpetrator can be long gone from your life and the remnants still there. Isn’t that just how the evil works? Controlling you long after they are gone. When we orient to that, we define ourself as “the child who was raped,” “the woman who has endured trauma,” and so on. We become defined in the fight against it. But there is another freedom and another template altogether, when we realize and leave that all behind. When we set it free, and remember it is Union that we came for and Union that we ARE. 

It’s been a year. And that’s enough. I am sacred, I am sovereign, I am free. I am the child of the divine. My creation doesn’t depend on the external, rather my womb creates with the light of God. 

I am the Holy Daughter. I am love. I AM.  

*** Blessing this space within the love of the Unified Field and within the clear and sacred grids of Gaia.*** 

How a woman heals her relationship to the masculine.

Healing the relationship with the inner & divine masculine is the foundation of our own inner safety, provision, space holding, and discernment.

Last weekend, while hiking in the very cold woods with my pup, I listened to an interview I did with Artemis Rose for her Embody U Podcast. She asked me to come on her show and talk about how a woman heals her relationship to the masculine.

I actually really love this topic. As she says, it’s not talked about enough. But, I do think that it is some of the most crucial work a woman will ever do on herself.

Women often want something from men and judge men for not being able to give it to them.

Or, we spend a lot of time and energy looking for a man that embodies certain characteristics.

No doubt, we are doing what’s called “projecting” our inner, unmet needs of the masculine onto men. It’s very common to do that in our culture, especially as women have been oppressed as a gender for a long time. In the psyches of women, we are very hungry to know and be in relationship with the “sacred masculine.” But what does that mean?

It starts within.

Listen to the episode HERE. This is an important transmission.

Artemis writes, “In today’s episode, Sarah dives deep into a discussion around healing our relationship with the masculine (our own inner masculine, men, and our relationship with God).

How do all of these relate to embodying who we truly are? How does this relate to the feminine? You must listen. She does a beautiful job of simplifying, defining, and articulating how our sacred remembrance rests on the Truth of us diving deep within to reclaim both the sacred feminine and masculine for our own homecoming and inner union.

However, in this episode, she focuses on how important it is to see our relationship with God and our inner masculine as being the foundation and sustenance of our own inner safety, provision, space holding, and discernment.”

To access the Modern Women’s Pathway to Feminine / Masculine Reunification, CLICK HERE.