WRITING FROM THE FERAL IN-BETWEEN
ABOUT MY WRITING STYLE
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My writing is intimate, reflective, and soul‑directed, blending poetic language with grounded, sometimes blunt honesty. It often reads like a conversation with you in the middle of a life threshold, using rhythm and metaphor to speak straight to your emotional and somatic experience.
FAQs
Who do I write for?
I write for those lingering in the feral in‑between—between identities, relationships, or seasons of life—who refuse to abandon their depth. My work traces how grief, motherhood, and wild Earth rhythms can become a language for rebuilding a life from the roots up, without rushing what wants to grow underground first.
Tone and voice?
My tone is raw, tender, and direct. I move between gentle reassurance and sharp, clarifying truth, and I’m not afraid to use a colloquial phrase or bit of humor to cut through spiritual abstraction and land us back in the body. I often speak to you as “you,” so it feels less like a lecture and more like being personally witnessed in your complexity, grief, and quiet power.
Form and structure?
I write in a hybrid form that weaves essays, brief poetic lines, and emphasized phrases, often using italics and line breaks to create a spoken, incantatory feel. Most pieces arrive as contemplative letters or “in‑the‑weeds” notes from the feral middle, where emotional pacing matters more than tidy arguments. It’s meant to be a sense experience as much as a writing experience.
Themes and content?
Core threads in my work include soul injuries more than “identity loss,” thresholds, life–death–life cycles, grief, resilience, and the rewilding of emotional life. I write for readers who feel spiritually overfed but soul‑starved, with an emphasis on integration, instinct, and precision in how we move through rupture—rather than generic empowerment or positivity.
Effect on the reader?
People often tell me the writing cuts straight to the soul and feels like an “uberly safe space” where complex emotions are allowed without bypassing. My hope is that the pages invite slow reading and reflection, offering contemplation as soul medicine rather than quick advice or surface‑level inspiration.
Nature imagery in her writing?
I use nature imagery as a living mirror for emotional states and life transitions, treating Earth as an active character and teacher rather than a passive backdrop. Roots, thresholds, decay and regrowth, and rewilding show up often, framing inner change as part of a larger Earth rhythm instead of a personal failure.
LIFE-DEATH-LIFE AND WILD REGENERATION
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My work explicitly centers the Life–Death–Life cycle. I lean on images of burning, decomposition, and later flourishing to normalize grief, endings, and identity rupture as necessary phases in a living ecosystem.
When I say things like nature reclaims anything that doesn’t persist, I’m linking emotional shedding and boundary work to the way landscapes take back abandoned structures or dead matter, turning endings into nutrients for new forms.
FAQs
Earth as teacher?
I often personify Earth, describing her as speaking “in thresholds” and holding a “soul song” we can remember and attune to when everything is falling apart. Landscapes and natural processes become guides for how to move through grief, liminality, and rebuilding with more rhythm and reciprocity, instead of trying to force ourselves back into old shapes.
Metaphors of rewilding and rupture?
I use images of nature reclaiming what isn’t tended—“nature reclaims anything that doesn’t persist”—to show how unattended pain or abandoned parts of self eventually surface for integration. Words like rewilding, muck, and roots sit right next to emotional work, because healing, to me, is composting and reshaping inner terrain rather than escaping it.
Cycles, thresholds, and elements?
Transitions are framed as part of the Life–Death–Life cycle, echoing ecological cycles of decay and renewal more than any neat, linear self‑improvement arc. Thresholds, voids, and in‑between seasons show up in elemental language—soil, storms, erosion, seeds—to normalize disorientation as a fertile, necessary phase.
Relationship to the reader?
The nature imagery is invitational. I’m often writing for people who secretly talk to the trees, using our shared affection for the more‑than‑human world as an instant point of connection. By rooting inner work in Earth metaphors, I try to make abstract spiritual and psychological concepts feel tangible, bodily, and woven into a larger living system.
Earth rhythm rather than a personal failure?
I return again and again to roots, thresholds, cycles of decay and regrowth, and rewilding to describe emotional processes and life transitions. These images let inner change be part of an Earth rhythm, not a personal failure.
Roots, soil, and taking toot?
I lean on roots and rooting to describe seasons of withdrawal, integration, and the kind of “stuck” that is secretly rooting down—as in pieces like “Rooted Motherhood” or the woman who is “taking root.” Rebuilding Roots itself is a central metaphor: after devastation, a life grows again from an underground, unseen system of support, memory, and wild resilience.
RECURRING THEMES
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I write mostly for people who already know they’re powerful and are wrestling with how to live that power in the middle of grief, transition, and systemic mismatch.
FAQs
Soul injuries and instinct?
I distinguish “soul injuries” from simple identity loss, especially in those whose instincts have been so injured they forget how to move from their own knowing. A core thread in my work is remembering and retraining instinct, so you move with clarity and self‑trust instead of chasing external approval or over‑explaining yourself.
Resilience, rage, and precision?
Resilience, for me, isn’t just coping. It’s a tenacious, sometimes rage‑fueled ability to rebuild after devastation without skipping over grief’s intelligence. I care a lot about precision in how we move through transition—integrating what’s actually real, not hoarding frameworks, and respecting our own depth.
Feminine leadership and reciprocity?
I keep circling back to feminine leadership that refuses hustle and hierarchy and leans into instinct, sustainability, and reciprocity. Rebuilding Roots and Earth Diaries both carry this: personal healing, Earth‑relationship, and shared support ecosystems are all roots of the same tree.
Directly Motherhood-Focused Essays?
“Both, Not Half: Why Women Must Never Be Forced to Choose Between Motherhood and Creative Life” – I argue that mothers are whole beings whose creative work and parenting have to coexist, challenging the split between “good mother” and fulfilled creator.
Essays Closely Related to Parenting and Feminine Initiation Rites?
“Maidenhood Suffering: A Rite of Passage” – While focused on maidenhood, it traces early wounds and expectations that later shape how women show up in motherhood and partnership.
“Sometimes she needs you to ‘stay off’ or ‘stay out’ because she’s taking root” – Speaks to those in relationship with a woman (often implicitly a mother) who is in a season of inwardness, setting boundaries to protect her emergence and capacity to mother from a deeper place.
Planetary Care?
I frame resilience not as hardening but as cultivating reciprocity, rhythm, and a rewilded relationship with your own emotional landscape and with Earth. Personal healing and planetary care feel inseparable to me—they’re different layers of the same remembering.
THE BEAUTIFUL MESSY MIDDLE
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I’m a writer, resilience‑worker, trail runner, mother, and founder of Rebuilding Roots and Earth Diaries. My work centers on walking with people through intense life transitions, grief, and the “messy middle” thresholds with more presence and grounded resilience.
I weave yogic practice, ultrarunning, entrepreneurship, and Earth‑based ritual into a trauma‑aware, spiritually rooted way of rebuilding a life after rupture—one that honors the whole, feral process instead of rushing to a clean before/after.
THIS IS A SENSE EXPERIENCE.
The courage to feel it all.
