Soul Food
Soul Food: What Feeds Your Spirit?
A little over a year ago, in the middle of one of the hardest periods of my life, I did something unexpected.
I taught myself to DJ.
Not because I had dreams of spinning at clubs or becoming the next big thing. But because I desperately needed something to make me smile. Something that was just for me. Something that reminded me I was still alive, still capable of joy, still here.
And it worked.
What is soul food, anyway?
I'm not talking about the kind you eat (though a good home-cooked meal absolutely counts). I'm talking about the things that replenish you. The activities, moments, and experiences that fill your cup back up when life has drained it dry.
For me, soul food looks like:
Making art with my hands—feeling wool transform or watching wax resist dye on fabric. There's something deeply grounding about creating something tangible in a world that often feels out of control.
Walking through nature, paying attention. The way light filters through leaves. The sound of my feet on the trail. The reminder that I'm part of something much bigger than my problems.
Stargazing on clear nights, feeling small in the best possible way.
Cooking from scratch, hunting for new recipes, making my kitchen smell like home. The alchemy of turning simple ingredients into nourishment.
Dancing like no one's watching (because usually no one is, and even if they were, who cares?).
Time with the people I love—real time, not just scrolling past their lives online. Laughter. Conversation. Presence.
Music—listening to it, moving to it, mixing it. Sound has a way of reaching the parts of us that words can't touch.
Learning to DJ taught me something important: we don't have to wait for joy to find us. We can actively seek it out. We can create it. Even—especially—during the hard times.
Your soul needs food too
Here's what I know for sure: We live in a world that's constantly asking us to give, produce, perform, and keep going. We pour ourselves out for our jobs, our families, our responsibilities. And if we're not careful, we wake up one day completely empty, wondering where we went.
That's why soul food isn't selfish—it's survival.
It's not indulgent to do things that light you up. It's not frivolous to spend time on activities that seem to serve no "productive" purpose. These moments of replenishment are what keep us human. They're what remind us that life isn't just something to get through—it's something to savor.
So I'm asking you:
What feeds your soul?
What activities make you lose track of time? What makes you feel most like yourself? What did you love doing before life got so busy and complicated?
Maybe it's:
Gardening with your hands in the dirt
Reading a book that takes you somewhere else
Painting, drawing, knitting, building
Singing in your car at the top of your lungs
Baking bread and kneading out your stress
Sitting by water
Playing with your dog
Writing in a journal no one will ever read
Whatever it is—do more of it.
Not someday. Not when you have more time or less stress or when everything settles down.
Now.
Give yourself permission
Permission to rest. Permission to play. Permission to do things simply because they bring you joy, not because they're productive or impressive or Instagram-worthy.
Your soul is hungry. Feed it.
Life is hard and beautiful and short and full of both heartbreak and wonder. Don't wait for the "right time" to enjoy the beauty that's all around you. The right time is now.
So go ahead—learn that thing you've always wanted to try. Spend an afternoon doing something completely "unproductive." Dance. Create. Stargaze. Cook. Walk. Play music. Make art.
Find what lights you up, because in a very real way, it does.
What's your soul food? I'd love to hear what replenishes you. Drop a comment below or send me a message—let's inspire each other.
The Lost Art of Being Present
The Lost Art of Being Present: What Happened to Connection?
I returned from Asia with my daughter a few months ago, and I would like to reflect on what I saw.
Or rather, what I didn't see.
Then vs. Now
In the 90s, I spent 12 years working and traveling around the world. I supported myself as I went, immersing myself in local cultures, learning from locals, getting wonderfully lost and finding amazing things as a result. I roughed it—waiting endless hours for trains, sleeping on floors, using squat toilets. Every day was an adventure.
But here's what I remember most: the connection.
We travelers talked to each other. We shared information, stories, travel tips scribbled on napkins. We bonded over shared meals and missed buses. We sat with locals who were curious about us, and we were endlessly curious about them. Those years gave me some of the best experiences of my life, not because everything was comfortable or Instagram-perfect, but because I was fully present for all of it.
Fast forward to our recent trip, and I was genuinely shocked by what I witnessed.
The Modern Traveler
One evening, my daughter and I went to a hostel near our place for dinner. The common area was full of backpackers, young people who had traveled halfway around the world for adventure.
And almost every single one of them was glued to their phone. Sitting alone. Not talking. Not bonding. Not connecting with the other travelers around them. This obviously wasn’t the only place, and is common just about everywhere around the world now.
I watched girls wait in line for 40 minutes—forty minutes—to get that perfect Instagram shot. Not to experience the place, but to prove they'd been there. To curate a moment rather than live in it. My daughter wanted that photo too.
The locals? They barely looked up anymore. They've seen too much tourism now. Too many people passing through without really seeing them. The curiosity that used to exist between travelers and locals, that beautiful exchange of cultures, felt lost.
And honestly? It broke my heart a little.
What We're Missing
I have a phone too. I get it.
But somewhere along the way, we've confused documentation with experience. We've traded connection for content. We're so busy capturing the moment that we forget to actually be in the moment.
And in doing so, we're missing the entire point of travel—of life, really.
Where the Magic Still Lives
Here's what gave me hope during our trip: the experiences:
We had the chance to connect with an old friend in Bangkok and stay at his home, meet his family and experience their day-to-day life. On one of the islands, coincedently, I reconnected with two more friends from my traveling days.
We attended a Thai cooking class where we chopped, stirred, tasted, and laughed with the locals and other travelers. Real conversation. Real learning. Real connection.
A silversmith workshop where we learned an ancient craft from someone who'd dedicated their life to it. Our hands working metal, and leaving with new jewelry.
Batik classes, yes, multiple—you know I can't resist! Learning from locals and getting to know more about their culture.
Watching my daughter surf while I sat on the beach, striking up conversations with locals. No agenda. Just presence. Those beach conversations—waiting, watching, talking—became some of my favorite memories of the entire trip.
These are the experiences I'm bringing home. Not perfect photos. Not curated moments. But real connection. Real presence. Real life.
Face-to-Face Matters
This isn't just about travel. It's about how we're living every single day.
We're more "connected" than ever, yet so many of us feel profoundly alone. We have hundreds of online friends but struggle to have a real conversation with the person sitting across from us. We scroll through other people's experiences instead of creating our own.
And I believe—deeply—that we're losing something essential to our humanity.
Human beings are wired for connection. Face-to-face, eye-to-eye, in-the-same-room connection. The kind where you can read body language and hear laughter and feel the energy of being with someone, not just connected to them through a screen.
This is exactly why I created Living True You. Why I'm so passionate about bringing women together for workshops. Yes, you'll learn batik or felting. But more importantly, you'll sit shoulder-to-shoulder with other real humans. You'll talk. You'll share stories. You'll create together. You'll be present with each other.
No phones. No curated moments. Just real women having real experiences and building real connections.
My Challenge to You
Put the phone down. Not forever—just more often.
Have dinner with a friend and leave your phone in your bag.
Take a class where you learn something with your hands.
Strike up a conversation with a stranger.
Get lost (literally or figuratively) and see what you discover.
Travel somewhere and actually be there, not just document that you were there.
Create experiences, not just content.
The world is full of beauty and interesting people and amazing things to learn. But we'll miss all of it if we're too busy staring at a screen.
Life is happening right now, in real time, in three dimensions. Don't miss it.
Be present. Stay curious. Connect deeply.
Those 12 years of travel taught me that the richest experiences come not from seeing famous landmarks or getting perfect photos, but from genuine human connection. From being fully present. From immersing yourself in the moment and the people around you.
That's what I want for all of us. That's what our souls are hungry for.
So let's create more spaces—online and offline—where real connection can happen. Where we can look each other in the eye, work side by side, laugh together, and remember what it feels like to be fully alive.
When was the last time you had a truly present, phone-free experience with someone? I'd love to hear your stories of real connection.
Surrender
It all begins with an idea.
When Surrender is the Only Way Forward
There are moments in life when everything you thought you knew—every plan you made, every dream you held—gets ripped away in an instant.
For me, it happened in the space of a few months.
The Life I Thought I Had
We were living in our dream home overlooking the Pacific coast in Oaxaca, Mexico. Ocean views. The life I'd imagined for us.
And then my daughter developed severe OCD.
Not the kind you see in movies where someone checks locks repeatedly or needs things perfectly organized. This was contamination OCD, but not about germs or dirt. She felt contaminated by an invisible "ickiness" that took over everything. Our home. Our belongings. Our town. Her friends. Me.
Especially me.
When Your Child Can't Touch You
As a mother, there is no pain quite like watching your child suffer and being powerless to fix it. But imagine this layer: your child believes you are contaminated. Everything you touch becomes unsafe to her.
She couldn't use the same kitchen. Couldn't share a bathroom. Couldn't even touch the door handle I'd touched to come and go. She couldn't take money from my hands or ride in our car.
We couldn't hug. Couldn't sit together. Couldn't exist in the same space without invisible walls between us.
The house we loved—our dream home—became a prison of contamination in her mind. We had to leave it behind.
Alone in a Foreign Country
I was navigating this nightmare alone. In a foreign country. In a new town where I barely knew anyone. No family nearby. No support system. Just me, trying to hold it together for my daughter who was trapped inside her own mind.
Every single day required a level of strength I didn't know I possessed. I had to stay positive when I wanted to scream. Stay grounded when everything felt like it was crumbling. Stay patient when my heart was shattering into a thousand pieces.
I couldn't break down. Not yet. She needed me to be strong. She needed me to believe she would get better, even when I wasn't sure I believed it myself.
The Art of Radical Surrender
Here's what I learned in those dark months: sometimes survival means letting go of absolutely everything.
I had to surrender:
The dream house
My plans for our life
My expectations of what motherhood would look like
My need to fix things
My illusion of control
The future I'd imagined
I had to trust—without evidence, without guarantees—that somehow, some way, things would change. That my daughter would heal. That we would make it through.
Surrender isn't giving up. It's the opposite. It's finding the strength to release your grip on how you think things should be so you can deal with how things are.
It's standing in the rubble of your life and saying, "Okay. This is where we are. What now?"
You Are Not Alone
I'm sharing this because I know, deep in my bones, that I'm not the only woman who's had the rug pulled out from under her.
Maybe for you it wasn't mental illness. Maybe it was:
A devastating diagnosis
A relationship that fell apart
A financial crisis
A loss that changed everything
A dream that died
A child struggling in ways you can't fix
A life that looks nothing like what you planned
Whatever your curveball was, I want you to know: You are not alone.
Life can be brutally, unfairly hard. It can ask things of us we never thought we'd have to give. It can strip away everything we thought was solid and leave us standing in uncertainty, terrified and exhausted.
And somehow—somehow—we find a way to survive.
Not because we're superhuman. Not because we have all the answers. But because we dig deep and find reserves of strength we didn't know existed. Because we take it one day, one hour, one breath at a time. Because we learn to surrender to what is, even when what is feels unbearable.
What I Want You to Know
If you're in the middle of your own impossible situation right now, please hear this:
It's okay to not be okay. You don't have to stay positive every moment. You don't have to have it all together.
Your strength doesn't mean you can't break down. I held it together during the day and sobbed on the beach when I was alone. Both are valid.
Surrender isn't weakness—it's wisdom. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is stop fighting reality and start working with it.
You will survive this. Not because I can see your future, but because you're already doing it. Every day you get up and face what's in front of you, you're surviving. That counts.
There is life on the other side. I can't promise it will look like what you planned, but there is beauty and joy and meaning waiting for you. Even after the worst has happened.
The Journey Continues
I'm writing a book about this experience—the full story of what we went through and how we found our way back. But I'm not waiting until it's published to tell you the most important part:
We made it through. My daughter is healing. We're rebuilding.
And I'm here now, creating Living True You, because I understand something I didn't before: We need each other.
We need spaces where we can be real about our struggles. Where we can create something beautiful with our hands while our hearts are still healing. Where we can sit with other women who get it—who know what it's like when life doesn't go according to plan.
This is why I'm so passionate about bringing women together. Not just to make art (though art is deeply healing), but to remind each other that we're not alone. That we're stronger than we know. That even in our darkest moments, there is still beauty to be found, joy to be reclaimed, and life to be lived.
You Are Stronger Than You Know
Whatever you're facing right now—whatever curveball life has thrown—you have more strength inside you than you realize.
You might not feel strong. You might feel like you're barely holding on. But the fact that you're still here, still trying, still getting up each day? That's strength.
And you don't have to do it alone.
If you're walking through something difficult right now, I see you. You're not alone. And if you need a space to create, to connect, to just breathe with other women who understand—that's exactly why Living True You exists.
My Morning Ritual
It all begins with an idea.
My Morning Ritual: How I Set Myself Up for the Day
Let me tell you about my favorite time of the day.
It starts at 4:30 AM.
I know, some of you think I’m nuts. But hear me out. I'm an early-to-bed kind of person, and those early morning hours? They're mine. Often the only time of day that belongs completely to me.
And I've learned that how I spend this time shapes everything that follows.
Coffee & Contemplation
The first thing I do is make myself a cup of coffee. No rushing. No scrolling. Just me, my coffee, and some quiet reflection.
This is when I practice my daily affirmations—seven simple statements I learned from Tony Robbins that have genuinely changed how I move through the world:
Today, I choose to be happy.
I am so grateful for everything I have in my life.
I am capable of achieving amazing things.
I choose to focus on what I can control.
I am committed to continuous improvement.
I embrace challenges as opportunities for growth.
I choose to make a positive impact today.
But I don't just recite them robotically. I take time to really feel them. I reflect on the previous day and recall everything I can remember to be grateful for—the big things, the tiny things, all of it.
Starting the day by consciously choosing gratitude and possibility? It's a game-changer.
Moving This 56-Year-Old Body
After my coffee, it's time to move. I've been doing some kind of morning movement for decades now, and at 56, it's more important than ever.
I always start with stretching. My body needs it, especially my lower back and shoulders. I've learned to really listen to what my body is asking for each day.
Then I practice Wim Hof breathing exercises. If you've never tried breathwork, I can't recommend it enough. It wakes up everything—body, mind, spirit.
From there, the routine varies depending on what I'm feeling:
Sometimes I use my back Mitra tool for some heart opening
Sometimes I put on music and just dance. Music really can help me to truly feel, especially when I’m not feeling it.
Sometimes I flow through extra yoga poses
Lately, I've started doing headstands again! And I'm excited to say I'm holding them for well over a minute now. At 56, that feels like a victory worth celebrating.
Meditation & Manifestation
After movement, I settle into mediation. This is where I get quiet, turn inward, and just be.
And then I end with my favorite part: visualization.
I close my eyes and visualize my life exactly as I desire it to be. But here's the key—I don't just see it, I feel it. I feel it in my heart. I feel the joy, the peace, the fulfillment, the connection. I feel the gratitude for it as if it's already here. Many of you will have heard about this technique, taught by Joe Dispenza and many others.
This isn't just wishful thinking. It's training my nervous system to recognize and move toward what I truly want. It's aligning my energy with my dreams, and after all, it can’t hurt!
Why This Matters
Starting my day like this—with intention, gratitude, movement, and visualization—makes a tangible difference in how I show up for everything else.
This morning practice isn't about being perfect or spiritual or enlightened. It's about giving myself the gift of intentional time before the demands of the day take over. It's about remembering who I am and what I'm capable of. It's about choosing, every single day, how I want to experience my life.
You Don't Need Hours (But You Do Need Something)
I know not everyone can dedicate over an hour to their morning routine. And that's okay. You don't need to. Some mornings I need to get out of the house early, and all I have time for is my cup of coffee and some affirmations in the car.
But I do believe we all need something. Even if it's just three deep breaths before your feet hit the floor. Even if it's just one moment where you consciously choose gratitude.
The point isn't perfection. The point is intention.
How you start your day matters. It sets the tone for everything that follows.
What About You?
Do you have a morning routine? Or have you been thinking about creating one but haven't started yet?
Here's my invitation: Start small. Pick one thing that feels good to you—maybe it's affirmations, maybe it's stretching, maybe it's just two minutes of quiet before the chaos begins.
Your morning doesn't have to look like mine. It just needs to feel like yours.
Give yourself that gift. You deserve to start your day feeling grounded, grateful, and ready for whatever comes your way.
What does your ideal morning look like? Or what's one small practice you'd like to add to your mornings? I'd love to hear!