I belong with the wolves.

I belong with the wolves. Not because I am hard or cruel, but because I value honesty over comfort and instinct over illusion. Wolves know who they are. They do not pretend to be harmless to gain access. They do not confuse softness with safety or politeness with integrity. They move with awareness, presence, and clarity, and they take responsibility for the power they carry.

What I do not belong with are those who act like sheep while wearing masks. The ones who borrow the language of healing while avoiding accountability. The ones who perform goodness while punishing truth. There is something deeply unsettling about people who insist they are safe while refusing to examine their shadow. Wolves understand their capacity for harm, which is precisely why they know how to protect. That honesty is what makes them trustworthy.

We have been taught that goodness looks like quiet compliance, that safety means never showing teeth, that power must be hidden behind humility to be acceptable. This is not wisdom. It is fear dressed up as virtue. True softness is earned. It comes after discernment, not before it. Wolves are gentle with their own because they are fierce with what threatens them. They do not confuse the two.

I was trained to shrink myself in order to survive. To stay agreeable. To second-guess my instincts. To doubt what my body knew long before my mind could justify it. That training did not make me safe. It disconnected me from myself. Instinct is not violence. It is information. Wolves do not attack without reason. They do not betray their own. They do not pretend to be innocent to gain access. They are honest about what they are capable of.

When I was thrown to the wolves, it was meant as a warning. A punishment for refusing to stay silent or play small. What no one accounted for was that I recognized the terrain. I had already learned how to listen to my body. I had already learned how to stand guard over what mattered. The wolves did not devour me. They taught me hierarchy, loyalty, and how to lead without apology.

I will never return to spaces that require me to dull my instincts in order to belong. I will not soften my clarity to make others comfortable. I would rather be honest and misunderstood than accepted for a version of myself that was never real. The wolves ask for presence, responsibility, and truth. I know how to meet that.

So yes. I belong with the wolves. Not the ones who posture or perform, but the ones who are awake enough to know exactly who they are and to live accordingly.

Hysteria.

Women Were Not “Too Emotional.”

They Were Responding to Harm.

For centuries, women’s emotional responses to abuse, betrayal, confinement, violence, and erasure have been reframed as pathology. Fear became hysteria. Anger became instability. Grief became weakness. Context was stripped away, and the reaction was diagnosed instead.

This was never accidental.

When a woman names what is happening to her body, her life, or her safety, the system has two choices: address the harm or discredit the witness. Labeling her emotional response as irrational has always been the faster and more convenient route.

Once her emotions are framed as the problem, the abuse disappears from the conversation.

She is no longer reacting to coercion. She is “overreacting.”

She is no longer expressing distress. She is “dramatic.”

She is no longer setting a boundary. She is “unstable.”

This is how women were robbed of their internal authority. Not by silencing emotion outright, but by teaching women to mistrust their own emotional intelligence.

The cost of that theft has been enormous.

Women learned to swallow anger to remain likable.

To override fear to remain agreeable.

To intellectualize pain to remain credible.

To dissociate from their bodies in order to survive environments that refused to listen.

Over time, this disconnection became normalized. Women were praised for resilience, strength, and composure, while quietly being asked to abandon their own nervous systems in the process.

Emotions are not flaws in the system. They are the system.

Anger is information.

Fear is intelligence.

Grief is truth moving through the body.

Distress is a signal that something is wrong.

A woman who feels deeply is not broken. She is aware.

A woman who reacts to abuse is not hysterical. She is responding appropriately to threat.

What has been labeled “emotional instability” in women is often the nervous system doing exactly what it was designed to do in unsafe conditions. The body perceives danger before the mind can justify it. Emotional responses are not failures of regulation. They are evidence of perception.

The real violence was never women feeling too much.

It was women being forced to endure too much without protection, witness, or repair.

Now, many women are no longer willing to carry the silence.

They are reclaiming their emotional language.

Their bodily signals.

Their right to name harm without apologizing for how it sounds.

Regulation is not numbness.

Healing is not compliance.

Emotional expression is not a liability.

It is evidence.

Once a woman trusts what her emotions are telling her, the gaslighting stops working.

Her truth becomes unfiltered.

The divine TRAP.

A cosmic setup dressed in love, but written in spiritual law.

I won’t shrink this. I won’t soften it.

This isn’t just a story.

It’s not written for shock value, sympathy, or likes.

It’s written for the woman who knows.

Who felt the shift in her nervous system before she had the words.

A woman who called it love…but now calls it what it really was: a trap disguised as destiny.

Let me be clear, this is long. It’s meant to be. I refuse to water down spiritual warfare into something palatable.

I don’t care if it’s messy. I’m not here to protect the image of the one who tried to spiritually assassinate me.

A false flame walks in like fate.

They mirror your dreams, echo your soul, speak your language.

Underneath the resonance? It’s interference.

It’s ritual. It’s manipulation.

It’s a spell.

They come to distract. To detour. To drain.

It looks like connection, but it tastes like confusion.

It looks like love, but it leaves you hollow.

This isn’t a twin flame. It’s a counterfeit.

A karmic test. A psychic leash.

Sometimes even a demon wearing a soulmate’s face.

Here’s the truth most won’t say out loud:

They don’t always show up as lovers.

Sometimes it’s a friend, a coach, a healer, a “safe space” that starts to feel anything but.

They don’t scream danger. They hum like home.

They’re familiar, but it’s not because you’ve met before.

It’s because your trauma has.

You’ll question yourself. You’ll doubt your intuition.

You’ll feel the pull and call it magnetic. It is a magnetic like quicksand.

Still… you’ll stay. Your body is screaming something’s wrong while your spirit is screaming wake up.

Let’s be honest: this was never love.

Even if the signs were there. Even if it felt fated.

Even if you swore it had to mean something.

It did mean something. Not what you thought.

This was not sacred. It was strategic.

This was energetic warfare dressed as divine union.

A hijack mission. A soul bind.

My love, you were the target and the solution.

You didn’t fall for him. You were summoned by the assignment.

You didn’t just survive it. You transmuted it. Alchemized.

You walked through that fire, barefoot and wide-eyed, and came out speaking a truth so loud the ethers couldn’t ignore it.

He wasn’t your mirror. He was your final test.

An echo of the wounds you swore you healed, but hadn’t fully faced.

You warned him from the beginning.

Your spirit said: Don’t cross this line.

But he did.

He underestimated the sacred ground he was walking on.

He thought you were soft. Naïve. Easy to control.

What he didn’t see coming was that you weren’t just a woman, you were a sleeper cell.

An Earth angel encoded with judgment, cloaked in tenderness.

The moment he tried to siphon from you?

He triggered his own destruction.

This wasn’t just karmic. It was cosmic.

When the divine says enough, it moves through women like you.

Through women who carry the kind of light that makes demons flinch.

So no, he didn’t get away with it.

Not spiritually. Not cosmically. Not energetically.

Judgment isn’t always loud.

Sometimes it looks like poverty. Isolation. Illness.

The unraveling of every timeline he thought he hijacked.

The gag is;

You didn’t even need revenge.

You were the medicine.

You were the prophecy.

You were the mirror he could never look into without it shattering his illusions of who he truly is.

So let this be known:

He failed the test.

And you?

You became the one thing he never saw coming, his reckoning.

What’s Actually In Your Control (And What’s Not)

For the longest time, I exhausted myself trying to manage things that were never mine to hold.

Other people’s opinions.
The outcome of a situation.
Whether they understood me or not.
How someone treated me—especially when I was kind.

Sound familiar?

We’ve been conditioned to believe that if we just say it right, do it right, give enough, or prove enough... things will work out the way we hope.

But here’s the truth:

There is so much that is out of our control.
And it’s not a flaw in you. It’s a fact of being human.

The future? Not in your hands.
The past? Already happened.
What someone thinks of you, believes, or chooses? Not yours to fix.

But here's the good news: There’s a whole world of power in what actually is yours to tend to.

Your boundaries
Your response
Your energy
Your self-talk
Your voice
Your attitude
Your healing process
Who you allow in your space
The way you treat others
The way you treat yourself

This is where your freedom lives.
This is where change begins.
This is where your power grows.

When we stop trying to control what was never ours, we make space to become the person we were always meant to be.

So today, if you’re spiraling in what-ifs or why-did-they’s—pause.
Come back to what you can choose.

Your peace is too sacred to outsource.

They say time heals all wounds.But what if time isn’t linear?

What if healing doesn’t follow a straight line, but spirals—looping through memory, emotion, and soul?

If you’ve ever felt like you were living in two timelines at once, you weren’t crazy.
You were.

That ache in your chest?
It wasn’t just about the past.
It was a version of you still frozen there, still holding the breath she never got to exhale.
Still waiting for someone to say, “I believe you.”

That intuitive pull you couldn’t explain?
It was your future self, whispering back through the veil, reminding you of what’s already yours.
Your wholeness. Your power. Your peace.

Time folds in on itself.
Memories resurface. Lessons echo.
Your soul doesn’t follow the ticking of a clock, it moves in cycles.

This is why a scent can transport you decades back.
Why grief can crash into joy in the very same breath.
Why you can feel peace and panic at once.

The past isn’t behind you.
It’s within you—woven into your cells, your stories, your nervous system.

Waiting to be felt.
Honored.
Alchemized.

And the future?
It’s not some far-off dream.
It’s already vibrating in your field.

You just have to become the version of you who can hold it.

You are the bridge.

Between lifetimes.
Between versions.
Between what was and what will be.

And every moment you choose to show up for yourself again—despite the fear, despite the doubt—is a moment you collapse time.

You bring the future closer.
You release the past.
You become now.

Your Empathy Should Not Make You Blind.

There’s a part of me that used to feel guilty for pulling back.

For saying no when someone was struggling. For not rushing to rescue the person crying loudest. For closing the door on people who said they were hurting, but kept hurting me.

I used to believe that being a good person meant helping everyone.

That empathy required me to be endlessly available.

That if someone was in pain, it was my job to soothe it, no matter what it cost me.

But here’s what I’ve learned the hard way:

Not everyone who is hurting wants healing.

Some just want access.

If you’re not careful, they’ll wrap their wounds around your light, until you can’t tell where their story ends and your suffering begins.

Pain is Not a Permission Slip

We live in a world where trauma is worn like a badge and sometimes, like a mask.

Not all suffering is sincere. Not every sob story is a soul in alignment.

Some people use their pain to manipulate, to distract, or to disguise intentions they’re not ready to own.

That doesn’t make them evil—it makes them unwell, however unwell doesn’t mean you owe them your energy.

Your compassion doesn’t have to come with a leash.

Boundaries Aren’t Cruel—They’re Sacred

Helping others is powerful. It’s part of why we’re here & helping without discernment turns into rescuing & rescuing often turns into self-abandonment.

You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove you’re kind. You don’t have to bleed out emotionally to be seen as supportive. You’re allowed to walk away without guilt, especially when staying means you’re betraying your own needs.

You Can Love People From a Distance

Let this be your permission slip:

• You can be loving and discerning.

• You can be empathetic and boundaried.

• You can be a healer and say, “Not this time.”

The truth is: love without boundaries isn’t love- it’s leakage.

You deserve relationships that don’t drain the very life you’re working so hard to rebuild.

For the Ones Who Feel Too Much

If you’re someone who’s always seen the best in others, who’s given more chances than you received, who’s stayed when you should’ve run, this message is for you.

You’re not wrong for caring deeply, it’s just that now it’s time to care for you just as deeply, too.

Be kind, but be wise.

Your empathy should not make you blind.

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We Begin Where the Performance Ends

It was about finally telling the truth. My truth.

For years, I was known.
Admired. Desired. Booked.
But it wasn’t really me they saw.
I built a persona to survive in the spotlight—because I didn’t believe the real me was worthy of being loved without performance.

I mastered the art of becoming who others wanted, needed, paid for.
And for a while, it worked.
Until it didn’t.

Because the truth doesn’t die.
It waits.
And eventually… it rises.

Her Truth Unfiltered is the space I never had when I was performing.
A space where no mask is required.
Where women don’t have to sell versions of themselves to feel seen.

Mary Magdalene has always been with me.
Not as a cautionary tale, but as a guide.
Misunderstood, yes. But never broken.
She reminds us that even the most misjudged women hold divine truth inside them.

This is for her. For me.
For every woman reclaiming her story on her own terms.

We begin where the performance ends.
Welcome to Her Truth Unfiltered.

Want to walk this path with me?
I send out sacred letters, journal prompts, and offerings for women who are ready to stop pretending and start becoming.
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Fifteen years ago, I had Mary Magdalene tattooed on my skin & today we honor the divine feminine- entirely.