12/17/2025
There are so many dead people in my baby book.
For a long time, I thought this meant I was surrounded by loss. That grief was the inheritance I was given before I could speak. But grief was only the doorway. What waited on the other side was memory.
Through past life regression therapy, I began to remember who I have been — not as stories to impress, but as patterns that explained everything. Why I learned to read rooms instead of entering them. Why my voice felt safest when it stayed quiet. Why I carried light but kept myself in the shadow.
In life after life, I learned how to survive by observing. By supporting. By holding space for others to shine while I remained just outside the frame. Those lives taught me wisdom, sensitivity, and devotion — but they also taught me how to disappear.
This life followed the same script for a long time. I stood in the back of rooms. I softened my truth. I waited to be invited forward. I confused humility with hiding.
Until the remembering became impossible to ignore.
This life is not asking me to survive.
It is asking me to be seen.
I am no longer the shadow.
I am no longer the cocoon.
This is the life where I step into the light — not to perform, but to illuminate. Not to be admired, but to be honest. Not because I am fearless, but because I am ready.
So Many Dead People in My Baby Book is the story of the lives I’ve lived, the memories that shaped me, and the moment I chose to stop hiding from the one I am living now.
I’m writing this book in real time.
If you want to follow along — I’ll be sharing passages here.
