call it luck? I’ll call it a miracle.

do you believe in luck?

what about miracles?

I (mostly) always have and always will.

which is probably why I’m no stranger to experiencing them— miracles, that is.

and why it feels like a personal tragedy when someone doesn’t believe in the magic of this world.

how could you not?

do you not feel the sunshine the same way as I? the rain? hear the birdsong? feel the beat of your heart?

life is nothing but a series of miracles, my friend.

but if you still need convincing…

listen here!

once upon a time

there was a wee young girl who couldn’t even seem to pronounce her own name correctly— yet she undoubtedly and confidently knew of the life she wanted.

shobby… aka shelby,

didn’t grow up in the idealistic setting she dreamed of, but that was okay with her. the contrast gave way to the inspiration that would then fuel her life’s desires.

and so, she used her barbies as a recapitulation of her hopes and dreams— creating pretend lives with such depth and intensity that she felt emotionally connected to the make-believe love that was weaved through these toys' stories. heck she cried when Ken joined the army and went overseas.

what she envisioned was nothing extravagant…

she wanted a simple life with simple luxuries— a garden, a husband, good friends, good food, babies galore, a real family, a cool job, nice hair… lol.

all the things I hope little girls still dream of.

but the wee young lass, shobby, grew into her name, shelby, and outgrew imagination land.

and it was traded in for less favorable mentions.

that’s growing up, though, right? it's like a rite of passage—forgetting the miracles around you for some time.

until one day, you remember.

personally, it took me much time to remember.

and even when I did once again notice the miracles all around me, I was left with remaining vulnerabilities.

scars.

deep, deep scars.

so, that’s why—

if you had asked me now if I wanted to have children, I would've plainly said, "nope."

that part of my hopes and dreams was long forgotten in the times where miracles were traded for miserables.

but… no??

I think it shocked people to hear that response.

I don’t know— am I that maternal? I still feel 5.

besides that, truth be told… "no" was just easier than what I really wanted to say.

"no” was safer. cleaner.

"no" was more polite than confessing what I had spent years burying.

"no" was easier than admitting I had let too many hands, too many voices, too many memories carve themselves into my body, leaving me feeling broken and unworthy.

"no" was less invasive than explaining that my periods had been controlling my life since the age of 13, leading me to believe something was wrong with me—something unnameable, something I never wanted confirmed as a label of my shame.

"no" was less painful than looking into my husband's eyes, month after month, and telling him, not this time.

"no" was certainly more jovial than saying, fuck off.

so I said no.

and ignored were the miracles to be had.

ignored were the thousands of women that came before me, that are me, that have yet to be— yelling, screaming, crying:

yes. yes. a thousand times, yes.

healing, listening, remembering

then, I would go on to joke about how much I loved being a dink (dual income, no kids).

and hey, I do very much love that.

I would rattle off plans of becoming a world traveler and show you ways I could convert my car into a camper.

I would tell you how much I love my work, how fulfilling and meaningful it is.

and it is.

but underneath it all, I could hear the cries of the thousands of women, and I would shush them like a baby.

reiki, massage, mary magdalene, meditation, retreats— all of the healing work I have done— has been set around my sacral chakra and mending my relationship to my physical body, my femininity, my yoni, the ancestral patterns of guilt and shame passed from the thousands of women.

because under all of the fears, I knew the thousands of women were right.

so recently, as I’ve evolved very much in the attunement over the years, I decided to kick it up a notch.

I partook in a plant medicine ceremony, led by me— my favorite wannabe shaman to ever exist.

and it just so happened that this particular journey was the kind that never leaves you.

see, the key to psychedelic exploration is knowing that it means nothing without integration.

another measure of my growth.

and while I was stepping into this higher realm— one that exists right smack up against ours, one that is more pure, crystalline, and true…

I had this wave of emotion take over me.

I laid down and took in the images playing so vividly behind my eyes.

it was the faces of my grandmothers, the thousand women, going from birth to grave.

an innocent sweet baby to a wrinkled old lady.

over and over and over.

as this played out, my hands found their way to my yoni and, in a curious way, explored the landscape as if it were sacred grounds.

as I breathed into this strange, strong frequency, I physically felt holy water being poured over my crown chakra— the cool wetness flowing down my face, my neck, my chest, blessing my solar plexus, my sacral, my root… until finally, something within me cracked wide open.

this holy water I felt, quite literally poured out of me in this sacred release, as if my body had been waiting for this moment for lifetimes.

I screamed, yelled, cried with the thousands of women.

everything that is not of me is leaving me.

everything that is not of me is leaving me.

everything that is not of me is leaving me.

I laid there in shock, awe, astonishment… shaking and crying at the sheer magnitude of what had just happened.

a miracle. a spontaneous healing. a kundalini awakening.

and then… the miracle

in the days that followed, I felt drained, quiet, hollowed out in the way that only real transformation can do.

I figured, well, it must be my period brewing.

except, it never came.

but I still waited.

because why would it be different this time?

why would my body, after years of saying no, suddenly say yes?

why would a miracle find me?

but something in me knew.

something in me knew before I even held the test in my hand, before I even saw the word.

pregnant.

and it was like time folded in on itself.

all the versions of me— the little girl dreaming with her barbies, the broken woman who whispered no because it was safer than the truth, the thousands of women who came before me and screamed yes—stood in the room with me.

watching.

weeping.

a miracle had come knocking, and this time, I let it in.

this time, I said yes.

yes, a thousand times yes.

and my sweet little miracle is to arrive in my favorite season ~ late summer.

never stop seeking the magic around you my friends. never.

I love you all and am so honored to share this story with you.

homegrown, indeed.

🌞🍀💫