Irreplaceable

I spent 15 years teaching visibility while hiding in plain sight. Sure, my business was visible. But I was still playing small, nourishing others' art and ambitions while neglecting my own.

Turns out, my art isn't something separate I need to get to when I have time. My art is the integration itself - refusing to split myself into the successful businesswoman OR the struggling human. The wise teacher OR the confused seeker. Ambitious visionary OR highly sensitive perimenopausal woman. The artist and healer OR the strategist. The mother, lover, friend, change maker, artist, OR the entrepreneur.

I'm all of it. You're all of it. And pretending otherwise is what's hurting us.

Twice a month (sometimes more), I send a letter that holds space for the whole truth:

• The $30K launch I ran during the worst perimenopause flare of my life (and what that taught me about timing)

• Why I sometimes ignore my own best business advice (and when that's actually the right choice)

• Real numbers from my real life: income, expenses, and the price of groceries

• The remedies keeping me upright: herbal, financial, spiritual, and relational

Why am I telling you this?

Because every time I tell the truth about my life, I get emails that say: "I thought I was the only one."

Because when I wrote about standing in front of the bathroom mirror, not recognizing my own face after years of perimenopause, my inbox flooded with women sharing their own stories of identity vertigo.

Because when I wrote about having a migraine during a $10K sales call and doing an amazing job anyway, someone said: "This is the first time I've seen proof that success doesn't require perfection."

Because when I shared what it's like to mother four humans - from my 15-year-old daughter navigating this wild world to my three young adult sons finding their own ways - while still learning to mother myself, someone wrote: "Finally, someone admits that mothering never ends, it just shapeshifts.”

Because when I admitted that some months I make $30K and still struggle to pay all the bills, the response wasn't judgment - it was recognition. “Thank you for saying the quiet part out loud.”

That's when I understood: My stories aren't mine alone. They're ours. Our struggles aren't personal failures - they're systemic realities. And when we tell the truth about them, we break the spell that keeps us isolated, ashamed, and playing small.

These letters are evidence that you can build a real business with a real body in the real world - messy, imperfect, and profitable all at once.

And here's what matters most: In a world of AI and algorithms, of disconnection and doom scrolling, every truth we tell is an act of resistance. Every real story shared is a thread in the web that holds us together.

The machines can mimic our words but they cannot live our lives. They cannot mother. They cannot break spells with their tears or build worlds with their hands. This is our medicine now - to be so fully, messily, beautifully human that we are entirely irreplaceable.

These letters aren't just about surviving late-stage capitalism. They're about what we're building in the cracks of what's crumbling. They're evidence that care is the technology that will save us.

This is for those of you who are tired of being told to pick a lane when life doesn't work that way.

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