Shh...your toes are speaking to you!

I'm going to get really vulnerable here for a minute. I want to illustrate the power of the feet and their ability to hold on to the pain of our traumas and the miracle of transformation and healing that takes place when someone creates a safe space for us to be heard. This story alone is why I'm so passionate about the work I do. In January of 2018 I called a friend of mine that I've known for several years for a ride home from a pub. My usual 2 glasses of wine were hitting me harder than normal and it felt safer than calling an Uber. It wasn't. He raped me.  The top picture are my toes 3 days after that incident. They were inflamed, hot to the touch, they literally looked like they were boiling with rage, seething. Most of the toes are not even touching the ground. This is a woman who desperately wants off from this earth. When being in the body feels too painful, the toes will literally lift off the ground, a physical manifestation of a spirit trying to leave the body. There's only 8 days between the pictures. It was during those 8 days that I attended several reflexology classes. During one class in particular, (Auriculotherapy, reflexology of the ear) I was asked to contribute my experience about something completely unrelated to this and I just kept saying how angry I felt but couldn't understand why.  My teacher/mentor Cheryl came over to me and somewhat like a playground bully, she began poking me in the shoulder, egging me on, "Come on Erin, you want to hit me?" Now, Cheryl and I had developed a beautiful, supportive rapport over the course of my program so I knew I could trust her fully, even though I had no idea what she was up to. But this woman holds mad, magical space for healing, so I just stood there letting her get under my skin. She grabs a bolster pillow to her midsection and keeps bullying me...the next thing I know I'm up out of my chair punching her with everything I've got, and then I'm kicking at her, screaming, a classroom of students looking on. At this moment I leave my body and am looking on in awe at the situation unfolding around me. I feel so much love and support. I suddenly am aware that I absolutely do not want to hurt this beautiful soul standing strong in my corner. I turn away from her and with my bare feet start kicking the wall. This experience lasts maybe 5 minutes, I don't know.  The bottom picture speaks for itself. This is the very nature of toe reading. Put simply, our toes hold the stories and traumas of our life. If I hadn’t been given the safety and support to move this experience out of my body, that trauma would start to grow. It would infiltrate my cells, my organs, my entire being. Something like this left unattended has the capacity to birth cancer in a person. This is the healing power of the human body. This is the power you hold inside of you, every minute of every day. Yes, YOU are that powerful! Not all shifts are this extreme, but they are all equally profound and powerful. A simple change in thinking has the power to move your life in a completely different direction. All it takes is one question to get you wondering, remembering, curious about that one thing you thought was over. The body remembers. When it is time to look at it again, nothing can stop the energy from moving. Your spirit longs for peace and freedom. You are always on the path towards that. Trust yourself. Trust your body. Trust your feet. They are not ugly or deformed, they are showing you something that is ready to heal. Give them grace. Love them as much as you can. After all, they carry you through each day. All my gratitude friends, Erin Christine Ps…how have you loved your feet today? Please share in the comments.

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Writing as Medicine

I have been writing for as long as I can remember. I wrote a short story in the 3rd grade titled The Talking Clock. It was 12 pages long. For a 9 year old, that was a lot of pages! I don’t remember if I received any positive feedback from my teacher, or even what grade I received, but I do know that I felt so proud of my work! Holding the pages in my hands felt like gold, a joy I’d never experienced before. Something birthed inside of me that day, a knowing, a vision, that one day I’d be a bestselling author. I also learned to read at the tender age of 3. The memory of sitting with my grandma at the kitchen table with her loving guidance and teaching feels as real as if it’s happening right now. I often wonder if her love of teaching and reading is what sparked my own. I fell in love with books and language. I loved building my vocabulary with big, bodacious words. It was filling my cup in a way that I couldn’t explain. I didn’t know this at the time, but I was preparing myself, nurturing my purpose, and building a support system that I would need years down the road.

I grew up in a house where self expression was allowed and celebrated, but only if it didn’t anger my dad. He and I did not have a healthy relationship by any means. I used to joke that all I had to do was take my first breath to trigger his anger. As sensitive as I was, I could feel everything going on in that house. But at the time I didn’t know that’s what was happening. I absorbed every negative thought and emotion that breathed in that house. When my body had had too much, it would begin to release in a flood of adolescent emotion. This is where self expression became the slow spiral dance into the disappearance of my spirit. My emotions were too much for my dad. His anger raged in response. I was no longer his daughter in need of support, but now a “moody bitch who needed to get the fuck out of his face.” I descended, quickly. I put my head down and shut my mouth. I no longer felt safe to express anything in my home. I started hanging out with older kids who I felt supported by. They accepted me exactly as I am, no questions asked. But they also taught me to drink. They showed me drugs. They touched me, and I let them. I felt at home in their presence. I was 14 years old now and couldn’t care less.

But when the sun went down and I could no longer hide under the cloak of fake friends, I went home. I went straight up to my room, turned on some favorite Depeche Mode and pulled out my journal. Writing had become my medicine. The tonic I needed daily to calm my inner battle. I used pencils only, freshly sharpened #2s were my favorite, but really any pencil would do. To feel the scratch of lead across the page was like a hug from heaven, bringing thought into form right before my eyes. I could move incredible emotion with that pencil, like magic scrawls across all space and time, grounding myself into the bones of my pain. Paper and pencil love me unconditionally. I could rage across the page, fight my demons, spit on my parents, and still there she was holding me, soothing me, whispering into my being, “Keep going baby girl, everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

While writing was my medicine, she was also my mama bear. She protected me fiercely, guarded my heart, and roared from her bones to anyone that tried to harm me. I found wisdom in her belly, warmth in her words, and I trusted her completely. My own mom was born of courage and grace, and she did her very best to keep the peace between my dad and I. But she hadn’t discovered the mama bear that lives inside of her yet, so her gentle ways were no match for the toxic energy that swirled through our house. She too grew up in a house where she was to be seen and not heard. I needed her to stand up and roar for me, but neither of us were ready for that yet. So on I wrote.

A Magical Day

Recently I had the great pleasure of attending my first plant sit. Those of you that know me well, know that I've been sitting and talking to plants and all things nature for almost 20 years. It's my weirdness, my gift come to life!

But this day was different, a magic like never before! I was joined by a group of extraordinary women, healers, sacred souls who like me, connect with nature so deeply that it has changed who they are. Together we are bringing voice to our great mother and changing this world one vibration at a time.

I was blessed to connect with my 5 year old self and heal a wound I didn't know I was carrying. It was one of the most beautiful, profound experiences of my life!

In honor of Miss Georgia, my mama tree

Full hug, legs too forehead to bark. Ancestral roots crossing time just to love, just to heal. My tears become cradle, Shh, baby girl, shh, Mama's here, Mama's got you. You are safe. You are enough. Just breathe baby girl... I got you.