I was five feet away, his eyes were locked onto mine. My hands were in the air. I genuinely thought I was going to die.

But let me back up.

“I am worried,” I said to the group as we ate dinner. “Oh, Dean always finds her. He has a tracker,” Rachel replied.

Inside me, something was off. The anxiety was building, but I was sitting at a table with a bunch of people I had just met, and I didn’t want to “overreact.”

Then, hard footsteps came up the stairs. “Bulma is gone,” Dean quickly said as he came back 15 minutes later, empty-handed. Bulma is Dean’s 3.5 years old adorable dog.

“Okay, it’s time for a team search and rescue,” Rachel replied.

I quickly got on my sneakers, not my flip-flops, because something inside me intuitively knew I’d need sneakers.

We are staying in a beautiful house in the middle of the forest in Alma. A retreat filled with seven different beautiful souls, but I didn’t really know any of them. One of the guys had just arrived that morning, so I didn’t know him at all yet.

I started walking down the driveway, whistling. Forest surrounded us. It was dusk, and I was worried. It was so quiet you couldn’t hear anything.

I whistled.

Nothing.

I kept walking.

I got down to the end of the driveway and closed my eyes. “Universe, which way do I need to go?” My intuition said, “Left.”

Behind me, about 70 feet away, was this new guy, Chad. Very soft-spoken and kind from what I had learned so far. Now, I’m not sure why he chose to follow behind me, but I’m grateful he did.

“Bulma!” I yelled.

Silence.

Except for a few dogs barking in the distance. Chad looked at me and said, “Did you hear that? It’s so far away, though.”

We kept searching, but Chad kept a safe distance behind me, and I still don’t know why. Maybe he was trying to cover my ground. Or maybe, deep down, he was an angel sent to guide me.

We were losing light quickly. “Bulma!” I yelled again. And then I heard it. Rustling in the bushes.

“Oh shit,” I thought to myself as I ran toward the bush. And in that moment, my body froze.

I gasped as my hands flew into the air, as if I had a gun pointed directly at me.

My body started to tremble. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins.

And one thought immediately took over: “I am going to die right now.” It was the scariest, most helpless feeling I have ever felt. I have never been in a situation where I truly thought I could be dead in five seconds.

Now let me backtrack.

I hear the noise. I run up to the bush. And I am standing five feet, zero exaggeration, from a full-grown bull moose. This thing was ginormous. Which in itself is absolutely terrifying. But directly to his right side was his baby.

Now, that morning, I had been having a discussion with one of the other members of the group about what would be worse to go up against: a moose or a bear.

He said, hands down, a moose. And I said, “Hmm. I really don’t know.”

Fast forward 10 hours. I had come face-to-face with my nightmare. I had literally spoken this into existence.

I am an insanely powerful manifestor, and it can go both ways… good and bad. The bull moose was eating from the bush, and as I ran up, he lifted his head.

His eyes met mine. Locked in so hard that I will never forget that moment. His antlers were powerful and terrifying. I had seen Moose from afar but being this close to one was an experience I never imagined I’d be in.

Sheer terror dropped into me. You do not ever want to get close to a moose. But this close? This was reckless. And the fact that he had his baby within four feet of me?

Was I about to die or be air flighted to the hospital? And no, my entire life didn’t pass before my eyes. I was just fully paralyzed. I kept thinking: “Moose, I come in peace. I am not here to hurt you. I respect you. Please let me live.”

I don’t even know if I took a breath after that gasp. I slowly, as slow as a turtle, started backing up. Maintaining locked-in eye contact with the bull moose. Which honestly, I still don’t even know if that is what you are supposed to do. But “supposed to do” wasn’t really in my body anymore. I was in full survival mode.

I truly didn’t know if I was supposed to maintain eye contact or look away, so I followed my intuition. Those eyes, though. They were mesmerizing. He had a hypnotic lock on me.

Now Chad was still about 70 feet behind me, and he knew something was wrong. But if he ran toward me, he knew that could make it worse. He assumed I had run into animal life, and later he told me he thought it was a bear.

But as I slowly started moving backward, I said, “It’s a moose and the baby.” In the calmest tone, he said, “Get to your right. There is a huge tree about 20 feet behind you.”

As he finished his sentence, the baby moose started to walk toward me. And there was something about Chad’s calm presence that made me feel supported and not alone. I knew he couldn’t help me physically, but I was grateful for how he responded. He later told me he was feeling pure panic inside, but somehow he remained calm on the outside.

You could tell this baby was curious. And in and of itself, if the baby charged me, I would probably be hurt but not dead. But if the baby charged, you know the 600–800 lb dad, with his huge antlers, was right behind her.

My heart was beating as hard as it possibly could inside my body. And the only thought I could think was: “I come in peace. Please let me live.”

I continued up the street, backing up as slowly as possible, trying to be quiet. This street was uphill, and if anything was chasing me, I wasn’t about to get very far. As I backed away, I lost visual sight of the bull moose because he was behind the bush and, thankfully, hadn’t come out to the street.

But the baby was fully in the street now, staring at me. Eyes locked in for about five seconds as I slowly kept backing up. And then she began eating another bush. I passed the tree to my right.

“Do I hide behind the tree?” I thought to myself. “Or do I try to get myself out of this situation?”

My intuition said: Just keep walking backward. And do it calmly and slowly. So I did. As I passed the tree, the baby stopped eating and looked at me again. At this point, I was probably 25 feet away from the baby moose, and I had assumed the dad was still behind the bush, just out of sight.

Again, I thought: I come in peace. I am not here to harm you. Please just keep eating.

And then the baby went back to the bush. I was able to slowly back up and finally reach Chad, where he was shaking.

He said, “Holy shit. I am so glad you are alive. We need to get to the car to find Bulma. This isn’t safe.” We walked side by side back to his truck and then drove down to the road, and again took a left, the same direction we had gone before. Deep down, I knew we had to go this direction.

As he went around the corner, the moose and its baby were now across the street eating from the bushes. That was the first time Chad had actually seen the bull moose.

He looked at me and said, “Holy shit. That thing is huge. I can’t drive past that. It could wreck my car.” Think about those words. He and I were sitting in his huge pickup truck, and he is saying the moose could wreck his car.

My heart was still pounding. I was covered in sweat. But all I could think about was, okay… we need to find Bulma.

We only had about 20 more minutes before we lost light. We sat in the truck about 100 feet away from the moose, but they weren’t moving. Another car started driving toward us in the other direction, saw the moose too, and stopped their car.

Chad said, “I am going to back up. We have to go the other way.” So he backed the truck up the road into the closest driveway and turned into the driveway.

And then I saw her. “OMG, I think that’s her.” He said,” I don’t see her, are you sure?”, and forty feet away was Bulma. I screamed her name. She looked at me and jetted off into the woods. I didn’t think. I just got out of the car and started running as fast as I could into the woods.

She was gone. I was screaming her name. I ran about 200 feet into the woods and came out the other side to a construction zone. This was the construction zone located to the left of our Airbnb property.

I screamed her name again. And Rachel yelled, “I have her! She just got here!!!”

I ran back into the forest and screamed to Chad, “Meet me back at the house. We got her!”

And in that moment, my body went from full adrenaline to calm. It was the craziest feeling of relief. Relief to be alive. Relief that we found Bulma. And realizing that the way I currently live, living in the present, not always focusing on the future, is exactly how I should be living.

I sit in so much gratitude that I am here to share this story. And to the daddy moose who locked eyes with me…

There was a connection there that I didn’t share with anyone in this house because I didn’t want to come off as crazy. But when that moose locked eyes with me, it felt like he knew me. Like he wanted to tell me something.

And maybe that something was simply: “Back the f*ck up.”

But it felt deeper than that. I guess I’ll never know. Maybe it was just an animal protecting its baby. Maybe it was my intuition keeping me alive. Maybe it was something bigger.

But I do know this:

That night, I listened to my body. I listened when it told me to put on sneakers. I listened when it told me to go left. I listened when it told me to keep backing up. And I listened when every cell in my body told me: Stay calm. Keep moving. You are not done yet.

And maybe that is the lesson I was supposed to take from the moose.

Not everything in life needs to be figured out before you move. You just need to listen to the quiet voice inside you…and take the next step.

Yeah? I responded.

Mike calmly walked into the room.

“I heard about a breathwork session happening tonight. I’m going to go. Would you want to join?”

All I knew about breathwork was that you breathe in yoga. And I am not a yogi.

I quickly said, No thanks.

As 5pm rolled around Mike got his stuff ready. I watched him from across the room. And as his hand touched the doorknob to leave…

Spirit came to me.

YOU NEED TO GO.

Now if you don’t know me, I’ve been able to connect with spirit since I was a child. That’s a story for another time. All you need to know right now is this:

When spirit says go, I go.

“Babe. Wait. I’m coming.”

He turned around. “You are?”

I was never the one to make a last minute flop like that. But this time was different. I could feel it before I could explain it.

We got to the location. Ten of us in a circle.

The facilitator went around the room and asked each person for their intention.

Mine was simple…

“To experience whatever is meant for me on this journey.”

We began to breathe.

And before I knew it I had dropped into a state that was unlike anything I had ever felt. Beautiful. Expansive. Like every wall I had ever built around myself dissolved all at once.

Meanwhile, to the outside world, apparently I was speaking in tongues.

I was channeling. For the entire group. I have never channeled for a group before in my life.

But I was being given a message for each person, individually. And I knew exactly where each person was sitting. I am terrible with faces and names. But in that moment I knew exactly who needed what.

The facilitator thought I was seizing.

She was not a trained facilitator and apparently she smacked me across the face several times trying to bring me back.

Please don’t do that. Ever.

She was so panicked she grabbed Mike’s arm. But he was deep on his own journey and flung her off without even knowing it.

I know what you’re thinking. This sounds terrifying.

It wasn’t. It was the most alive I have ever felt. Calm in a way I hadn't known was possible. Like something in me had finally exhaled for the first time.

As I came back to full consciousness I felt completely different. Like I had tapped into a power I didn’t know I had been sitting on my entire life.

I asked the group if I could share their individual messages. Every single person said yes. And every single person was stunned by what came through.

In that moment, sitting in a circle of ten strangers, I knew.

I must become a breathwork facilitator. I must guide others to tap into their greatest gift.

Not because I’m special.

Because that night showed me something I have never forgotten,

We are all carrying magic we haven’t met yet.

You have it too.

The knowing you dismiss as overthinking. The feeling you talk yourself out of. The voice you override with logic every single time.

That’s not anxiety. That’s not sensitivity. That’s not you being too much.

That’s your magic. Calling.

And it has been calling a long time. Can you feel it?

If this landed somewhere in your body — subscribe. Every Tuesday and Thursday I write for the woman who is done talking herself out of what she already knows.

It’s time for your Unrockable Era.

PS: if you want to go deeper, my free community Your Unrockable Era is where the real conversations happen. Come in.

Someone brushed my shoulder in a hurry. I loved living in NYC but walking through Times Square to get to my corporate job was a pain in the ass.

I looked at my phone. Sh*t. I’m going to be late.

I was ten minutes out and three minutes behind. My boss was a stickler for timeliness — and I mean a stickler. Two minutes late and I was getting a talking to.

I remember the first time I walked into that building. It was my dream. Just like out of the movies… the security, the turnstiles, each floor laid out beautifully. I was 22 and I thought I finally made it.

Four years later I was sprinting through Times Square so I wouldn’t be one damn minute late and I was in the exact same position I was in on day one.

At noon every day my husband would call.

“Alisa… why is the walk on my lunch break the very best part of my day?”

I didn’t have an answer. Because I felt the same way.

Inside I knew I was built for something else.

Then one day the director called me into his office for my annual goal session. He leaned back in his chair and asked me where I saw myself in five years.

I looked at him and said… “I’ll be on a beach sipping a margarita.”

He laughed. Right in my face.

I filed that moment away somewhere quiet and kept showing up.

A few months later he called me in again. This time it was about my promotion. He’d promised it two years in a row… but we were in a recession, so I understood. I let it go. Twice.

This time was different. He looked me dead in the eyes and said: “100%. You are getting this promotion.”

I believed him. I was excited. Like genuinely, stupidly excited.

So when he called me back in and said — and I will never forget the look on his face — “I just couldn’t pull it off”...

I looked at him and said “F*ck you.”

Out loud. To his face. In 2011.

I slammed the glass door shut, grabbed my stuff and walked out.

With that said — I did go back into work the next day, 100% thinking I would be fired. I knew I shouldn’t have said that. But it all happened so fast. And I knew nothing about regulation.

I didn’t get fired. He actually apologized. And because I am an empath who apparently cannot help herself even when someone has just destroyed her for the third year running, I accepted and kept working.

But the second I walked out of that office I knew it was over.

I went home to Mike and said it out loud...

“Let’s quit our jobs and move to the Caribbean.”

He looked at me like I was absolutely insane, but he is an amazing husband and said “Let me think about it.”

And then he disappeared into the bedroom for a few hours.

I just sat there. Waiting.

He came back out and said: “I’m in.”

That was it. We were doing this.

We got strategic about it. Timed everything to line up with our lease ending. Mike arranged a consulting gig with JetBlue so he could exit on his own timeline. And me — I’m intuitive AF — I knew deep down my company would ask me to stay. So I told them early. Gave them two months instead of two weeks.

Called it.

And then everyone had something to say about it.

One of my girlfriends gave me a bag of clothes and said “this is for you because you’re going to be homeless.” My dad told me he was extremely disappointed. Family said we were insane.

And honestly? All of it just made me more sure.

The day I actually put in my notice?

Liberation. Pure, terrifying, electric liberation.

I remember thinking — I should record this moment. So I did. I have no idea where that audio recording went. But I can still feel it in my body. That feeling of a life cracking open.

That was the beginning of everything.

But liberation is just the first feeling. What nobody tells you is what comes after — when the freedom hits and your body has no idea what to do with it.

It took me over a decade to find the practice that changed everything. The one that made it all finally make sense. The first time I did it I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t cry. I channeled. I went deeper than I ever had in my life. And I have never stopped since.

Subscribe. It’s time for your Unrockable Era.

I wanted to be sad when they said it.
I wanted to cry, to collapse, to feel something familiar.

But all I could feel was excruciating pain.

My body was attacking itself.
My organs were swelling.
My extremities were on fire.
My skin was covered in softball/soccer-sized welts that burned relentlessly.

It felt like I was being burned alive, not for hours or days, but for weeks.

I remember lying there, unable to move, fantasizing about being a fish.
Because if I were floating, swimming, weightless…
maybe there wouldn’t be so much physical pressure on my body.

That’s how far gone I was.

This happened the day I left the Caribbean.

I had already quit my corporate job.
I had already chosen a life outside the rules.
I had already lived barefoot and free in a way most people only dream about.

And then my body collapsed.

We already had plans to go to Australia.
Those plans weren’t impulsive, they were hopeful.

But after those words were spoken to me, everything shifted.

Suddenly the plans felt reckless, the distance felt terrifying everyone had opinions about what I should do.

And still… we went.

Not because I was fearless.
But because I knew if I didn’t, I would spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been.

When I said goodbye to my family, I didn’t know if I would see them again.
I didn’t say that out loud.
I just carried it quietly.

For ten years, I lived with what doctors called Idiopathic Chronic Urticaria.
“Idiopathic”… a word that means we don’t know why. “Chronic” meaning… it is lasting more than 6 week. “Urticaria” meaning hives.

I was told, if I lived, I would live with it forever.

Years later, I finally got the real answer:
Alpha-gal.

One Lone Star tick bite had been the root cause the entire time.

It didn’t mean the pain wasn’t real before.
It meant my body had been misunderstood.

Healing didn’t come from eliminating every symptom.

It came from regulation.

From learning how to calm my nervous system.
From understanding my triggers, physical and emotional.
From creating a life that didn’t keep my body in constant survival mode.

Over the last few years, I’ve become healthy.
Not in a “never flares again” kind of way…
but in a stable, grounded, resilient way.

I still get the occasional breakout.
And when I do, I listen.

I rest.
I regulate.
I don’t panic or punish my body anymore.

Because my body isn’t the enemy.

It’s the compass.

Here is the point of this story:

Life is fucking short.
And you don’t get a timeline.

Waiting for the perfect time before you start living is a trap.

So live now.

Live while your body is learning safety.
Live while your nervous system is finding balance.
Live without waiting for certainty.

Because choosing yourself creates safety.
And safety is where healing begins.

Today, I guide others to regulate their nervous systems… not to fix themselves, but to feel safe enough to create.

To build lives that feel good.
To make magical things.
And yes to make money from a place of safety, not survival.

You don’t need to be perfectly healed to live fully.

Life is fucking short.
So live.

My keys, my phone, my credit card, every single pair of sunglasses I’ve ever owned, and on that particular day, it was my car keys. Twenty minutes into panic-mode, tearing apart my house, sweating, late, spiraling.

Then I stopped.

I took a deep breath.

My body softened.

On the exhale, the keys literally fell out of my own hand.

It was funny, insanely overwhelming, and also the moment I stopped pretending.

Because for years I lived in this reality of:

“How is everyone else doing life so easily?”

The forgotten appointments.
The sensory overwhelm.
The unfinished ideas.
The hyperfixations.
The perfectionism that made no sense.
The emotional intensity.
The need for novelty and freedom.
The chronic late-ness.
The losing things… always losing things.
I didn’t have a language for any of it.
I didn’t know that a nervous system can be in survival mode while still being high-functioning.

So I assumed it was just a me thing… that I was messy, lazy, flaky, dramatic, “too much,” “all over the place,” or whatever label people threw at me when they didn’t understand.

When a licensed professional finally said, “You have ADHD,” I didn’t feel broken.

I felt seen.
|I felt relief.
I felt my entire life click into place.

It explained why I could quit a corporate job on a Tuesday and move across the world… but struggle to cook myself a homemade dinner.

It explained why I could channel spirit, intuitively read a room, and create entire worlds in my head… but lose my phone ten times in a day.

It explained the masking, the decades of trying to “act normal,” to not talk too fast, think too big, or feel too much.

And it explained the unmasking, the sudden life pivots, the big moves, the career changes, the “I refuse to live a life that feels dead” energy.

It made sense of my need for freedom, my sensitivity, my intuition, my chaos, my creativity, my rebellion, my depth.

ADHD didn’t define me, but it gave me a map.

The part that healed the most was realizing it was wiring, not weakness.

No wonder breathwork changed my life. I didn’t know it then, but my nervous system was wildly dysregulated, and breathwork was the first practice that made my body feel like home.

So hi, I’m Alisa. I’m 41. I’m late-diagnosed. I’m intuitive, multi-passionate, emotionally intense, and allergic to small boxes.

If you’re here, you’re probably some variation of:

late-blooming
intuitive
neurodivergent
freedom-seeking
sensitive
multi-passionate
masked for way too long
building a life that fits your wiring

If so, welcome.

In this space I write about regulation, freedom, identity, money, and what it looks like to build a life that actually fits your brain and your soul.

You’re not alone here.

You’re not anxious. You’re not weak. You’re not dramatic.

You’re a high-achieving woman who has been performing okay for so long that your body finally started sending the bill.

Tight chest. Clenched jaw. Racing brain. The freeze that hits right when you need to move.

I know that feeling. I lived in it for years… running businesses, crossing oceans, building a life that looked incredible from the outside while my nervous system was quietly on fire.

Nobody taught me how to actually calm my body down. Not think my way out of it. Not push through it. Actually calm it.

These are the tools that worked. They’re weird. They’re simple. And they speak the language of your body — not just your brain.

Nobody ever taught me how to calm my body down.

I knew how to “think positive,” how to “power through,” how to “be strong,” and how to “get over it,” but none of that ever did anything for the actual physical sensations happening in my body. Before becoming an embodiment mentor I was a mindset coach. But there was a missing piece. Nobody was talking about the body.

My chest would get tight.
My jaw would clench.
My heart would race.
My brain would get loud.
And I’d either freeze… or sprint into chaos mode.

If you get that, these tools are for you.

They’re the things I do when I’m overstimulated, overwhelmed, anxious, or stuck. They’re not about mindset. They’re about getting back into your body so you can actually function again.

Here are the weird ones that work:

1. The Genie Twist

Cross your arms like a genie and twist side-to-side slowly.

It sounds dumb, but it almost instantly slows down the buzzing feeling in my body, like my brain stops shouting and my body goes, “Ohhh okay, we’re safe.”

2. Sprint, Then Stop

If my body feels like it’s vibrating or on edge, I’ll literally run in place or up my stairs for 20 seconds, then stop and breathe.

It’s like my body wants to “do something” with the stress, and once it does, the tension drops.

3. Cold Sink Hands

When I’m spiraling or overheating emotionally, I put my hands in cold water for 20–30 seconds.

It brings me out of my head and straight into my body.

4. Lizard on the Floor

Lie on your stomach like a lizard and look out in front of you.

Something about stomach-on-floor makes my body settle. It feels grounding and heavy in a good way, like my system is saying, “We’re not in danger.”

5. Name the Room

I look around and name:

• 5 things I see

• 4 colors

• 3 textures

• 2 sounds

• 1 smell

This pulls me out of the overwhelm tunnel and back into the present moment without forcing anything.

6. The Big Sigh

I do this constantly:

Inhale through the nose, then take a tiny extra sip of air at the top, then sigh out loudly.

It feels like letting steam out of a pressure cooker.

7. One-Song Cleaning

I put on one song and clean or organize until it ends, then stop.

My brain LOVES this because there’s a clear start and stop. It gets me out of freeze without overwhelming myself.

8. Text a Friend for a Timer

I send a text that says:
“Can you give me a 10-minute timer? Tell me when to start.”

They say “go,” and suddenly I can actually do the thing.

Humans were never built to regulate alone, sometimes we need a body next to ours, even if it’s just over text.

9. Face Melt

I rub my hands together until they’re warm and slowly drag them down my face and jaw.

When I’m anxious, I store everything in my jaw and neck, so this feels like unclenching from the inside out.

10. Horizon Stare

I go outside and stare at the line where the sky meets everything else.

Looking far away relaxes my whole body. It opens everything up and makes me feel less trapped in my head.

Quick Reminder

Regulation isn’t about becoming a peaceful monk.
It’s about giving your body enough capacity to do life without melting down or shutting down.

If you’re someone who:

• feels intense

• gets overstimulated easily

• shuts down when overwhelmed

• looks “fine” on the outside but buzzes on the inside

• needs movement or sensory input to think clearly

There’s nothing wrong with you.
Your body just has its own language.

We’re all learning how to be humans in bodies that sometimes feel louder than our brains.

If you’re figuring it out too, I’m glad you’re here.

Follow along if you want to build a life that actually fits your wiring… one breath, one hack, one tiny win at a time.

But this photo right here… it’s a full circle moment.

Back in 2011, my hubby, Mike and I quit our corporate jobs to travel the world.
At the time I worked for Time Inc. in the Licensing & Syndication department, negotiating rates for US photos in international magazines. I was surrounded by incredible photographers, and I remember thinking, “One day, I want to do that. I want to create something breathtaking.”

So when we left to travel, I bought a Canon T3i and promised myself I would figure it out.

And let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.

Shoutout to Mike, who sat on mountaintops reading while I spent hours taking way too many landscape photos, trying to learn my camera. He never once made me feel silly for dreaming big. He supported me from day one, and that’s something I’ll never take for granted.

One of our stops during our world traveling adventure was the Monkey Forest in Ubud. I snapped hundreds of monkey photos, so excited to see them… and then realized almost every single one was out of focus.

Fast forward 12 years.

This time, standing in that same Monkey Forest, I had over a decade of experience under my belt. I had built a multi six-figure photography business from scratch. I had taught myself everything I know. I had refused to give up on the vision that once felt impossible.

I’ll never forget when my dad asked me after our travels, “So what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to be a professional photographer,” I said.
“You’ll never make money from that,” he replied.

And maybe those words were the spark I needed. Because here I am, being flown across the world to photograph retreats, empowering women through my sessions, and creating priceless memories for families who cherish every single image.

I’m proof that you can take a dream that everyone else doubts and make it your reality.

I’m proof that you can teach yourself the skills, create the opportunities, and build a life you can’t stop pinching yourself over.

And I’m proof that you don’t have to put yourself in a box. Photography will always be part of my soul, but I also have so many other passions, and now I get to build a business that holds all of them.

So here’s my message to you.

Do the thing they say you can’t do.
Follow the dream they roll their eyes at.
Keep going when it feels impossible.

Because one day, you’ll look back at the girl with the shaky hands and the out-of-focus photos and realize… she became everything she said she would be.

It was ninth grade.

The school was buzzing with hallway whispers, locker slams, and one big question:
Who are you going to ask to the T-Dance?

This dance was different. The girls had to do the asking.

I was terrified. I wasn’t the bold one… not back then. I was the girl who laughed too loud with her friends and fell hard for boys who didn’t even know I existed.

But I had made up my mind.

There was this boy who made my heart pound like it was trying to outrun my fear.
And so, I did the bravest thing I could do at 14.

I walked up to him in the commons, my heart thudding in my chest so loud I swore people could hear it. Palms sweating. Voice shaking.

“T… would you want to go to the T-Dance with me?”

He smiled.
“Yeah, of course.”

And just like that…fireworks lit up inside me.
My brain couldn’t keep up with the rush of adrenaline.

I had done it.
I had asked.
He had said yes.

For two whole days, I floated through the halls in a dream. I replayed his words over and over. He said yes. He said yes. It felt like I had cracked some secret code of courage and been rewarded with my crush saying yes back.

Then came the whispers.

“T said yes to N.”

What? No, that couldn’t be right.

But the looks on their faces told me everything.

I found him between classes.
Didn’t even know what I was going to say, I just blurted it out:
“Are you still going with me?”

He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even look uncomfortable.
Just said,
“No… I’m going with N instead.”

That moment imprinted itself in me.
The burn of shame. The punch of confusion.
I had been brave… and now I felt invisible.

I didn’t cry in front of him.
But I cried at home.
Sobbed, actually.

And I asked the questions girls aren’t taught how to answer:
Why wasn’t I enough?
What did she have that I didn’t?
What did I do wrong?

That memory stayed tucked away… until recently.

Because even as an adult, someone who’s built a life rooted in expansion, honesty, and polyamorous love, I still found myself staring rejection in the face.

And for a moment, I was 14 again.

Holding my breath.
Waiting to be chosen.

But here’s what I know now:
That girl didn’t get it wrong.
She just hadn’t grown into the woman who would never again ask someone to validate her worth.

Because the woman I am now?

She doesn’t shrink for approval.
She doesn’t beg to be seen.
She doesn’t chase love that runs.
She chooses herself.

And if you’ve ever been there… heart open, only to feel discarded… this is for you:

You’re not broken.
You’re not unlovable.
You’re not too much or not enough.

You’re becoming.

It took me years and a lot of unlearning to realize that love doesn’t have to look like possession to be powerful.

I’ve built a life that doesn’t fit in a box.
But back then, all I knew was heartbreak.
Let rejection refine you—not define you.

Because the girl who was once told no?
She’s the woman who knows her damn worth.
And that kind of woman?

She soars.

⸻

I used to think rejection meant I wasn’t wanted.

I used to make it mean something about me.
But now I know better.

Now I know it just means I was never meant to settle.
So no, I’m not asking to be chosen anymore.
I am the damn prize.

And anyone who can’t see that?
Doesn’t get access to me.

Truth is spiritual.
Desire is spiritual.
And so is the courage to say: “I want more.”

In the last 24 hours, two people I barely know, in long-term, committed relationships, reached out to me.

They weren’t making small talk.
They were looking for advice.

For answers.

For language around a feeling they couldn’t ignore anymore.

And they both said the same thing:

“I love my partner… but I want more.”

They haven’t said it to their partners yet.
They don’t know how.

They’re scared, not because their relationships are bad, but because they’re good.
And admitting this desire feels like a threat to everything they’ve built.

But the desire itself?
It isn’t about escape.
It isn’t about disrespect.

It is about craving more depth, more expression, more connection.
It is about not wanting to live the rest of their lives wondering what if.

When I came out publicly in 2022 sharing that my husband and I were polyamorous and had been for years
my DM’s exploded.

Not just with curiosity…
but with confessions.
With aching.
With women and men whispering truths they hadn’t even said to themselves out loud.

“Is this even possible?”
“Do you get jealous?”
“How do you tell the person you love that you want more?”

Here’s what I’ve learned:
Craving more doesn’t mean something is wrong with you.
It doesn’t mean something is wrong with your partner.
It means something inside you is ready to be seen.

And most people don’t have models of how to do this without betrayal or destruction.
So they stay quiet.
Or they cheat.
Or they numb it out and pretend it doesn’t exist.

But there’s another way.
A way rooted in truth, expansion, and communication.
A way that requires emotional maturity, nervous system regulation, and a hell of a lot of honesty.

For me, being polyamorous is about giving myself permission to hold more than one truth at once.

Yes, I’ve had a long-term boyfriend and a husband.
Yes, I’ve navigated jealousy, grief, beauty, and freedom.

No, it hasn’t always been easy — but it’s been real.

So if you’ve ever craved more and then shamed yourself for it…
If you’ve held a truth so big it rattled your entire foundation…
Let this be your permission to stop hiding.

You are not too much.
You are not wrong.
You are not broken.

You’re just waking up.
To the full spectrum of your desire.
To the truth you buried to stay safe.
To the wild, expansive love your soul knows is possible.

And that awakening?
It’s not something to apologize for.
It’s something to honor.

It’s not selfish.
It’s sacred.

Curious how I told my husband I wanted to love him & others and how we navigated it together? Let me know below. I’m happy to share.

But here’s what I’d say:

I came into this world connected to spirit and got told I was making it up.
I saw visions. Real ones. And then I watched them come true.

I kissed girls in classrooms before I even had the words for who I was.
I cracked open my marriage because I craved truth more than tradition.

I burned the corporate blueprint, built my freedom, and carried my soul across the world.
I’ve built businesses.

Heard things I wasn’t supposed to hear and said them anyway.
Helped people find clarity they didn’t even know they were waiting for.
Held them while breathwork broke open what ten years of “doing the work” never could.

I haven’t healed it all. But I’m healing.
And it’s working.

This space isn’t here to inspire you.
It’s here to interrupt you.
To wake up the woman you were before the silence. Before the softness.
Before the polished pretending.

You won’t find tips here.
You’ll find truths you were told to tame.
The sacred. The sexual. The unspeakable.

This is where the healer stops whispering.
Where the woman you’ve been hiding becomes the woman you lead with.

If your voice feels too loud, too much, too raw?
Good.

That means you're home.

xoxo,
Alisa