01/01/2026
✨ The Year That Changed Me
This year broke me open in ways I never expected.
In March, I lost Logan. My sweet, sweet baby girl, she was my spirit animal.
In June, I lost Duke. My sweet boy, Soul mate dog.
Both soulmate animals.
My constants.
My home.
Logan taught me how to slow down.
How to be present.
How to play.
How to love deeply and without condition.
She showed me that joy isn’t something you earn — it’s something you allow. That love is meant to be expressed fully, not rationed or postponed. Being with her was a daily lesson in presence and devotion to the moment you’re in.
Then there was Duke.
Duke was with me through one of the most traumatic experiences of my life — being hit by a drunk driver. (Sept 2018) Our recovery happened together. Side by side. Body to body. Nervous system to nervous system.
As I learned how to move through trauma stored in my own body, he was doing the same. We were healing in parallel, learning how to trust movement again, how to soften again, how to feel safe again.
That shared healing forged an unbreakable bond.
From Duke, I learned about loyalty. About resilience. About the kind of love that stays when things are hard, slow, and uncertain. He taught me that healing doesn’t happen by force — it happens through patience, consistency, and deep trust.
Both Logan and Duke taught me about trust — the kind that’s built through presence, patience, and shared truth.
Losing them within months of each other shattered me. A deeper grief, that I did not understand.
And the loss didn’t stop there. It felt that the waves of grief hit me every 3 months throughout the year in a new loss..
In September, an old friend (old soul) ended life through assisted help. I want to say this openly, because silence around this kind of loss only deepens the isolation. His passing traumatized me in ways I’m still integrating — grief layered with shock, regret,love,anger,especially anger at the whole situation and people involved and questions that don’t have clean answers. A whole other story. If you feel this way, please please know you aren't alone in your pain.
There are things I wish I had said. Moments I replayed.Conversations I still carry in my body.
Following this, two family members on my husband’s side passed as well. My poor hubby..
It was loss stacked on loss stacked on loss. Waves of grief after grief, with no time to recover.
I didn’t talk about it much.
I didn’t post through it.
But I lived inside it.
Most of this year was spent quietly grieving — not in words, but in nature. Long walks. Long bike rides. Sitting on the earth with my journal. Meditating. Crying softly where no one could hear me. Letting my nervous system catch up to the loss my heart already knew.
I was broken open.
And slowly… reshaped.
That silence — the surrender, the rawness, the devotion to healing — changed me. It changed how I listen. How I hold space. How I relate to pain. How I work. How I serve.
It deepened my connection to animals, especially in the wild. It’s why I trained in animal communication. Why I listen differently now. Why I trust what’s subtle, nonverbal, and unseen.
So if you’ve noticed my business looks different… it’s because I am different.
This next chapter isn’t about pushing or proving.
It’s not about productivity, performance, or pretending resilience is linear.
It’s about presence.
Depth.
Integrity.
And work that actually matters.
As we move into 2026, I’m stepping forward with new sessions, a new direction, and a deeper devotion to what’s real — shaped by love, loss, healing, and everything this year cracked open inside me.
If you’re still here, thank you for witnessing this part of my story. If you’re new, welcome.
Follow along, like this post, and stay with me as this new beginning unfolds 🤍
P.s if you made it to the end of the post comment below what you are leaving behind for 2026
