Subscribe now

I went from knowing exactly what I wanted out of life (the husband, the job, the house, the money) to questioning everything, including my sanity and what actually mattered, when everything I was doing at work and otherwise started to feel so insignificant.

I went from stability, and responsibility, and being the good girl who always does everything right but somehow still gets it wrong…

to putting it all on the line in the name of my dream, and the life I know is meant to be mine.

It hasn’t been easy.

In fact, at times, it’s been excruciatingly difficult.

“But don’t you also think the process of being born is painful?” my life coach asked me back in 2021.

She encouraged me at the time to take a solo trip to the Jersey shore (God bless New Jersey) which turned into boarding a plan to Rome all by myself, and going from the first time i ever took a full week off from work, and writing about my dreams in the back of my work notebook in secret, to living very expansively and very out loud.

The cumulative “it doesn’t matters” add up over time, until you eventually find yourself collapsing under the weight of pretending you’re ok until one day you admit that you’re not.

Until one day, it all actually does become ok, only after you find yourself begging on your knees to some higher power to save you on tax day and someone actually listens and grants your wish, as if jesus christ himself whispered upon you “you’ve suffered enough my dear, it’s time to live” and somehow, from that moment forward, things actually start to work.

Some four months later, you find yourself trying on a $220 skirt, moved to purchase it by a force that can only be described as God. Understanding what it means to go without, understanding what it means to sustain yourself only on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, understanding that maybe in the logical sense this is a really f*cking stupid thing to buy…

except it wasn’t a choice.

it wasn’t a decision, but a moment you’ve come to recognize as divine.

When you meet another soul who mirrors God back to you in the way you/they continue to put themselves out there, after getting knocked down so many times you’ve stopped keeping count.

“Why is is the negative experiences linger, or we focus on our lows so much?” the designer asks me as I try on the skirt.

“I think we just need to learn to look at ourselves from the perspective of someone who really loves us” I offer back.

As I put on the skirt, the idea of wearing my $7 thrifted dress I’ve already worn doens’t feel so right anymore.. not for those reasons, but for the way my aura started to shine through as I twirled and imagined.

The way I felt different, moved differently.

the moment i felt the significance of money as a means of exchange and not a marker of worth, or some arbitrary status symbol that everyone interprets differently anyway.

I had to pay him.

I didn’t even try to tell my body take off the skirt the way I did with the Stuart Weitzman shoes, or waver, or pretend I didn’t want it.

You can live with regrets or you can live with reminders of those moments that you decided to show up as who you said you wanted to be…

and tomorrow you can catch me at the US Open wearing my God given skirt and Stuart Weitzman flats….

showing up as her.

xoxo,

Allison

Last day to sign up for Quantum Leap Week

Step 2: Pour two cups of tea, one for you, one for your “future self”

Step 3: Drink the tea together, and in a meditative state, ask your future self for answers to your most burning questions

…

I poured my future self a cup of tea, and sat across from her at my kitchen table with a second cup in front of me, following the instructions on the tiktok video I had just watched, line for line.

In my meditative state, tea poured, I used this opportunity ask my “future self” the burning questions I wanted answers to the most, like “what was it was going to take to finally make my business successful?” and “when am I finally going to meet my future husband.” And by the grace of God, “did we somehow get to keep the damn apartment?????????”

But she didn’t give me answers any of those questions.

Instead, my cat was meowing.

I was eager to quiet him, brushing his hair with my fingers, as was customary.. one of his favorite things in the universe was mediating with me, and I urged him to be quiet so I could hear what she had to say.

Instead, she quieted me.

“You better appreciate that little cat who is right in front of you” the internal voice shook.

I have never forgotten that moment, and that one sentence fundamentally changed my relationship with Meeko from that moment forward.

It provided the perspective of temporality.

This happened nearly 2.5 years ago, but this week, I felt the exact moment I became my future self.

I may not have the husband, or live in that freaking apartment… I’m starting to have the business….

But it was the week I lost my little cat; he crossed over last week.

During the height of my grief stricken state, I was hesitant to broach the topic of quantum leaping. My life had shifted so fast in such a heartbreaking and unexpected fashion, that I didn’t want to focus on creating a new reality the same way I did when I was desperate to escape my own.

I wouldn’t necessarily say I handled grieving Meeko well; in a lot of ways, losing him brought out the absolute worst in me. I don’t say that to be self depreciating, but from a place of pure observation. Grief made emotional regulation nearly impossible, and I found myself saying things I knew I didn’t really want to say, but I couldn’t catch them before they came out of my mouth.

Grief is unbearably painful, but it also provides perspective.

It made me realize that nothing is granted, and while time isn’t necessarily real, it is limited. I was told less than 2 months ago that Meeko had 4 years left; he didn’t.

This past week has certainly felt like a year, grief turning the dial, and making things feel like they’re moving forward in slow motion.

At the very least, I hope you throw yourself a tea ceremony, to see what your future self has to say.

The message from mine these days is very direct:

Did you really ever believe that this wasn’t going to work?

I’ve incorporated this tea practice into my annual Quantum Leap Week (same time every year.. with the timing of all of it, how could I not?) along with other resources and modalities to help you reprioritize yourself and your dreams and releasing everything that’s kept you stuck in the process. Details here.

Fall / Winter 2026-27 Planners are also available on preorder- purchase here.

xoxo,

Allison

ps- I made a free 12-page “before the leap” guide- if that feels like where you’d like to start, click here to download. I’d recommed incorporating this into the tea party.

This week contained some of the highest highs.

I hit a new threshold on Instagram, took the stage at the Boston Writer’s Salon and hit a substantial business milestone. I also partied at the Disco Barn with the most incredible group of female writers in Boston.

For the first time in years, it felt like everything I had been wishing and praying for was finally happening.

Then, life presented me with heartbreak in a way that I was very much not ready to face.

Typical, right?

I’m not saying that “bad things” need to happen to quantum leap your life.

But why is it that the two often coincide?

In those moments of tremendous loss, like when you get unexpectedly let go, or someone who felt like forever leaves, there is a lot of energetic opportunity in the space that follows.

This tender time reiterates the importance of believing in a future that supersedes your current circumstances more than ever.

A life you live fully, and look back and feel proud of the person you became in the process.

When you think about all the alternative timelines, don’t you want to experience the sensation of undeniability that you’re on the right one?

The path to your dreams will require letting go of parts of yourself who you’ve been in the past.. and it often requires being willing to get really honest with yourself about what’s not working… so that you can finally start to align to the future that reflects who you know you you’ve always been meant to be.

Get my free “Before the Leap Guide” that will help you to create clarity on what you desire most (not what you’re supposed to want), give you the vibey-ist dance party playlist, a list of my prized journaling resources and a sacred agreement between you and you- access it here.

xoxo,

Allison

At the risk of sounding pathetic or shallow or self absorbed, the times in my life where I’ve lost it all (yes, even during my peanut butter and jelly era…) I’ve never once regretted spending money on clothing.

Even the time I dropped $4000 at trunk club in one shopping session back in my Chicago Tech Girl Era… those clothes sustained me through the tremendous loss that was the career pivot that took me 7 years to complete.

I felt like Alexis Rose (from Schitt’s Creek) wearing my Alice and Olivia dresses in Waxhaw, North Carolina, my clothing the only part of life that still resembled me when everything else had been stripped away.

I didn’t regret the $800 Stuart Weitzman boots, or the $1490 Louboutins, my closet serving as a mausoleum of who I had once been, while simultaneously becoming some sort of physical reminder that I was still very much.. that girl.

Today in Nordstrom Rack felt different. I explained it to my friend this week, my proverbial hierarchy of needs rearranging itself after financial trauma;

food, experiences, then clothes.

Before the PBJ-E, Clothing had always been my staple; my nourishment.

When all was lost, at least I had my closet. When I lied to myself about not needing to leave New York and got a storage locker, my clothing was the first thing I freed from the shrink wrapped palette in Jersey when it turned out we weren’t coming back as soon as I thought.

I still cringe about the outfits I wore to visit a boy in Ohio when all I had to wear were the random ass clothes from my mom’s house. I did kind of pull it together for the Avril Lavigne concert, though.

In recent years especially, Shoes have have come to represent an uplevel. A literal representation of stepping into the next level version of yourself.

When I bought said $1490 shoes in London, the hotel I stayed in next in Portugal (after the face rash.. iykyk, and if you don’t, hang around here for awhile and you’ll find out soon enough) had a giant stiletto in the lobby. It felt like it had been set there just for me.

I wear those shoes to every Ziggy photo shoot; I couldn’t bring myself to sell them, even when I had nothing else to my name.

“They’re one of the best purchases I’ve ever made” I said to a friend yesterday.

Even still, I spent an hour in the Nordstrom Rack today, my body physically refusing to put back the sparkly Stuart Weitzmans I couldn’t find online that just so happened to be in my size, and my size only.

They were *only* $99.97.

But I love the way I feel when I look at my bank account and see it growing.

I love how it feels to *finally* have savings again.

For these reasons, I decided against the shoes, and went to put them back on the shelf, but my body wouldn’t let me, my arms refusing to extend and put them back on the shelf, instinctually cradling the box like it was a baby.

I continued pacing the aisles so many times that I got dizzy. I tried to put them back for the next 45 minutes, making peace with the idea that they were meant for someone else.

I got in line.

“Aren’t these the cutest shoes you’ve ever seen in your life?” I asked the associate who was ringing me up.

“Eh, they’re really not my style.” He replied back.

“They’re too… glittery.”

That’s the moment I knew.

When I got home, I put them on, and filled out the 12-page guide I made “Before the Leap.” Today’s the Lion’s Gate Portal (8.8) and it has great power and potency for fueling your manifestations.

If you’re into that sort of thing, it’s free and you can grab a copy directly from my website here.

I’m also going live tomorrow on Instagram at 9am, so if you want help anchoring in your intentions and want to start your day with vibes and gel pens.. join me. On the gram

I may not be the most responsible person. I’m not the person you go to for the “practical advice” and I’m not the person you come to when you want to be realistic. But I do believe in creating a life that looks and feels so good because it is truly and uniquely you, and I wouldn’t be me if it weren’t for saying yes to myself in moments such as these.

In my formative years, I had an abusive stepparent. I distinctly remember her saying how one day, I would end up in a trailer filled with clothes, which at the time, was some sort of reference to how my prepubescent self was bad and irresponsible…. I guess she was right about the circumstances I would one day find myself in, but she was wrong about who I was capable of becoming.

I think that’s why I wavered so long. It wasn’t about the $99 or even the shoes.. it was about being brave in the face of something that I wanted.

I am so proud of who I’ve been able to become in the face of life’s greatest challenges (many self imposed by the inability to ignore my dreams) and to the disapproval of people like my ex-stepmother…

I will never be the girl who brags about not buying the shoes.

xoxo,

Allison

What if creating the life of your dreams didn’t need to take forever?

What if the experience of the things you truly, deeply want wasn’t some fantastical “years from now” manifestation?

The message came to me through the most eloquent download of words a few days ago...

“The things you want aren’t out of reach due to circumstance; it’s due to consciousness.”

This quote came to me as I was pondering how much better life had gotten in such a short time.

I thought about the version of myself who had been manifesting the things I have today, and while what I’m doing now was always technically possible, it was blocked due to limiting beliefs that lived within my own psyche.

As soon as your shift your energy and your perspective, you open yourself up for miracles. (A miracle is simply anything that defies logic.)

Miracle or not, I’ve stopped affirming good things with words of disbelief.. replacing my “shouldn’t be possibles” and “I can’t believe this” with “but of course” and “well duh, everything always works out for us.”

I try to remember this even when the manifestations are so good, it feels like your dreams have quite literally started falling out of the sky.

I know what it feels like to try so hard and get nothing in return.

I also know what it feels like to finally surrender, and align, and to create a life so good, you wouldn’t have even known to ask for it.

In my experience, in order for life to go from a struggle to magically aligned, a few steps are required:

1. You need to decide you’re really done with the way things have been.. it’s surrender, and letting go of attachment to things happening in the exact way you think they should

2. After the surrender comes the release- either in the form or crying, or breathwork or some sort of energy exertion from the body, making space in your nervous system for more by releasing what’s outdated or no longer serves you

3. Start acting on the things your heart is calling you to do.. and say yes to the things that feel right

I’ve shared this story a few times (you can listen on my podcast) of the night in April when everything changed for me.

I had taxes due, and I had no idea how I was going to pay them. At the time, this felt like more defeat and failure than I could bear to manage anymore, and I collapsed.

I recognized that the way I was doing things wasn’t working, so instead of continuing to try so incredibly hard, I stopped.

Then, I sat with the time and space in between the old and the new, instead of rushing into more of action for the sake of action.

The craziest part most amazing part, is that I had more offers and opportunities come through during this time than I did when I was busy forcing the outcome, or desperately trying to manifest my will.

Instead of filling the empty space with a strategy that didn’t work, life was able to fill in the space with things I actually wanted.

In this time, a new business was formed (Hanger Hangups).. clients found me! I applied for one final job in corporate tech as an act of surrender, and when I didn’t get the interview, I committed instead to brand ambassador work, which is how I ended up manifesting the once in a lifetime opportunity of attending all of the NY/NJ World Cup soccer games.

I got invited to read my writing in Boston, and read the first chapter of my book, hand shaking from the vulnerability, only to be met afterwards by a line of people who wanted to speak to me about my words.

I got to go on a life changing trip to Mexico City to celebrate one of my best friends in the world.

AND I finally started to book client work.

I share these examples to inspire you, as someone who went through what felt like a never ending period of struggle and lack, to the best summer of my life.

If I had done things the traditional way, I would have never broken the cycle, or I’d be working a job I knew I didn’t want.

I’m writing this in a chair I’ve sat in many times, located in one of my favorite coffee shops near my old apartment in the West Village.

I’ve sat here when I had two laptops (one for corporate, one for Ziggy), and I’ve sat here with just one, when I had manifested what I wanted, but was still in desperate need of a financial miracle.

Now, I write to you fully at peace and happy with what I’ve created- living a life that feels so authentically me, where I get paid to do work I love, and am surrounded by the best people, where every day genuinely gets better in unforeseen and unexpected ways.

These are the kind of miracles I want to help you create in your own life, and the kind of energy we’re going to be working with in August.

Later this month, I’ll be opening doors to my most popular challenge, Quantum Leap Week.

This challenge started as an experiment I conducted with myself that led to my formal departure from corporate, the end of my final situationship and start of the adventure of a lifetime.

Make sure to keep an eye out for doors when they officially open, but I wanted to send this to help you start the challenge the notion that you’re stuck, or things will never change because they haven’t yet.

If you have a dream on your heart, it’s because what you’re dreaming about is truly meant for you. There’s likely a version of yourself whom you are meant to become in the pursuit, and there’s a life for you that is waiting to be actualized.

Special Announcements for August:

Event in Philly- Manifest Your Creative Career Summer Picnic (happening August 16 at 2:30pm)

Event in NYC- Calendar Club Meetup August 23 (join waitlist to save a spot)

Quantum Leap Week Waitlist (we start Monday, August 24- save $111)

xoxo,

Allison

I’m sorry for calling you that.

For describing you as “the dream that wouldn’t die” in workplace settings and mindset trainings.

But something tells me that you don’t care all that much, and don’t take offense.

You’ve always been stronger than my fear.

You’ve always been stronger than my moments of illusion, clouded by doubt and circumstances so grim I couldn’t even appreciate existence.

I cursed at you, wishing you could make yourself smaller, more palatable, more believable.

I looked back at the mess you made of my life, the no longer willing to settle for less-ness and hated you for it.

Pressing record and talking when no one was listening for what felt like years on end.

Writing words that made my heart race, and made me avoid my phone like had just drunkenly texted a boy, but instead, it was me posting something on the internet, hoping to make a difference.

One night in April of this past year, I cursed you, and wished you away with a fervor and intensity that was so raw and primal and visceral. But you stayed.

All I wanted was to feel like a normal person again, and not to feel so aggravated and triggered by all my peers who were seemingly lightyears ahead, with their spouses and houses and offspring, when all I had was you; all I had, was my dream.

Now, I am grateful you pushed me.

You ruined my life and gave me everything in return.

You helped me to see all the areas where I was settling for less, and demanded I ask for more, standing beside me for every single one of those last 2,555 days, even when it felt like you were against me.

It is with great honor and reverence that I sit here in reflection on all the greatest moments from the last 7 years, lumping the highs in with the lows.. is it all not just one in the same?

A picnic with over 30 registrants

Driving to the bank to deposit quarters to offset the overdraft

Being invited to read my writing aloud in public forums

Leaving my dream apartment to move into the childhood home I resented

Making planner after planner after planner.. and being able to say now, with full body conviction, that it’s the best product of its kind on the market

This week I ate dinner in one of the papercutouts I used to keep on my nightstand representing the dream of New York, and spent this past summer living in an apartment you wouldn’t even be able to wrap your mind around.

I have a passion and obsession with life that wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for your influence.

Thank you for never giving up on me, and most importantly, thank you for ensuring it was physically impossible for me to give up on you.

If this was the kind of magic we were able to create in 7 years, I can only begin to imagine what’s next.

I love you,

Allison Ziggy.

Happy 7th birthday.

September 1, 2019

August 1, 2026

I don’t know what in the earth sign just came over me, but I decided to organize all of the existing chapters in my book and to make an outline for you, so that whether you’re new here, or an og, you can easily read the official first rough draft of Princess Uninterrupted.

Everything beyond these first 20 pages exists behind a paywall, as it details one of the most excruciatingly vulnerable experiences of my life. It also contains some of the best writing I’ve ever done.

Now that the book is nearing completion, I wanted to make it easier for both new and old readers to get all caught up. I am in the process of finishing the newest chapter now, and anticipate it will be available before the end of the month.

My next order of business is finding an editor / publishing route. Self publishing appeals to me, but I want the process to feel light and fun, and less like “please buy my book.” I’ve been in the online business world a long time, and I’ve learned having fun is a necessary key to success for me.

When I start to overthink the book, I try to step back and remember that while this started out as my story, it likely happened to me because it was meant to be shared. I am hardly the only person who has suffered a misdiagnosis / had a spiritual experience that resulted in shame and rock bottom.. but I can make sure no one else has to go through it alone, even if it is just through the companionship of my story.

I shared the first chapter of this book on stage at the Boston Writer’s Salon in Harvard Square last month, and people lined up afterwards to talk to me about the piece. It was genuinely one of the proudest moments of my career.

Everyone whom I connected with expressed resonance with a different part of the story; some commented on themes of limerence, while others resonated with mental health, and even hospitalization practices and how isolating and scary the experience can be.

This story doesn’t define me anymore, but it’s an important part of my legacy, and it is truly an honor and privilege to share my words with you from where I sit right now, knowing everything it has taken to get here, and who I have been able to become in the process.

Thank you for being here, for reading my words and for being the kind, loving and supportive souls I’ve gotten to know.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the book thus far.. let’s take things up a notch, shall we?

Next chapter coming in July!

Staying up late, saying yes to every opportunity, sliding my number on cocktail napkin to a much younger man and getting asked if I want to have some early morning dessert…

In the last few years, I’ve been so disciplined, such a good girl.

Lugging my laptop to coffee shops to justify how hard I am trying!

But lately, as evidenced by my latest post, I haven’t been such a good girl lately.

I had time to do exactly half my meditation on Sunday, only to be whisked to the FIFA stadium, my fourth of the match I’ve attended irl.

Details on how I manifested this 👀

I’ve stayed up until 2am more times in the last few weeks than in the last few years.

I’ve all but stopped forcing myself to post content, only posting when I really have something to say, or resharing stories where I’m genuinely having fun, and somehow in the last week alone, I got invited to read at another writers salon in Boston (the last one expanded my capacity for joy) AND booked not one but 3 irl closet cleanouts through Hanger Hangups.

What’s the most perplexing is this sneaky secret fear that now that things are good, and the habits that allowed things to get good have started slipping… are things going to sneak up and get bad again?

Flashbacks of overthinking $3 subway rides and exclusively eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for days in a row doesn’t necessarily scare me, but I remember the reality.. and the question I know better than to ask but actually want to know, is…

Why does it get to be good now?

I saw this as I was asking for a sign as to whether or not I should sign up for a money program.. which I did in January, and I just now hit my monthly revenue goal from that program.

I wish my brain could just let the trauma go, accepting the storm as over, and relaxing into the heat of an easier season, where things work out and money flows in the way I want it to, where instead of begging to stay, I appreciate every moment I have, and my god, it just keep getting better and better.

I honor the work it’s taken to get back here, and make the absolute most of every chance I’ve been given.

Is it good now because of the lessons I learned from when it was bad?

I walked past my old building again, and this time he did look good. The scaffolding was gone, and my favorite tree had grown in for summer. I tried to catch a glimpse in my old window, but it was no longer mine to perceive.

That chapter is closed, and I deeply prefer this one, where I’m writing an excerpt on the subway in my notes app because it’s flowing instead of forcing myself to work because I feel scared.

“Well you know it always works out for us” my friend leans over and whispers to me.

Yes, yes it does.

xoxo,

Allison

The past few weeks have been filled with so much laughter and the best kind of chaos.

10,000 steps hit through dancing and running the house in a 4th of July bikini

Dancing in gay clubs into the morning hours

Matching with guys on bumble while laying in a bed with 3 friends, scream laughing like we’ve been best friends forever

I’m going to be so honest with you, I can’t tell you the last time I had this much fun.. I actually don’t know if I’ve ever had more fun in my life, (and I haven’t had a sip of alcohol)

For the past few years, I was living and building my dreams, but there was this underlying energy of believing that other people had the answers I didn’t.

Joining the mastermind and following the instagram scripts for posting!

Trying sooooooooo hard, only to be met with disappointment when things didn’t work out internally being like what’s wrong with me :(

I finally reached my breaking point this April, completely surrendering, and letting go of the idea it had to be hard.

I decided to step onto the timeline when it got to be easy. It might sound cliche, or too simple, but it’s exactly how it happened.

The work was understanding the root cause behind what was causing me to take action (did I want to post, or was I simply forcing myself to post?) and being willing to sit in the discomfort when honoring the whisper within that said “I don’t want to do anything, actually.”

In spiritual circles, this space is called the void, and it’s the place that exists between two identities.

The version of you who has been trying, and the version of you who is receiving and living.

By honoring this space, I created shifts that action alone could never.

You can’t effort your way into joy.. you get there when you stop forcing yourself to do things, simply to elicit an outcome.

In the in between, life flowed through.

I generated more revenue through my business without even “trying” and added an entirely new branch of styling / closet cleanouts

I got invited to read my writing on stages

I took my first international trip in 2 years

This summer, I want to help you step onto the timeline where anything gets to be possible for you.

Where the idea of waking up and feeling so excited about your life isn’t some ridiculous notion, but a reality you actively experience.

If I can do it, so can you.. you just need to believe it is possible. The life I have today wasn’t possible in April; the same can be true for you with June vs September.

Introducing Ritual‑Stacked Day: 24 Hours To Uplevel Your Summer (it’s a solstice integration portal!)
Tuesday, June 23 at 1pm ET (Zoom live from NYC)

In 75 minutes together, we’ll design one simple, ritual‑stacked “best day ever” that you can actually live on repeat this summer.

Click this link to save your spot! Save my seat for Ritual‑Stacked Day

My intention for the Summer Solstice Masterclass Party is to help you embody more of this energy of fun and joy, and less brute force when it comes to creating the life you dream about. The one you visualize and write about.. the one you see other people having on instagram and secretly want for yourself.

What if it was not only possible, but what if it could all happen this summer?

There will be a replay for a limited time, but I recommend coming live if you can… there will be dancing ;)

Let’s make dreams come true this summer!

xoxo,

Allison

DM @allisonziggy if you have any questions, or want to learn more about private coaching PLUS closet cleanouts and styling if you’re in NYC

In a fury, I moved my nonsense journals, the ones I fill out when I’m taking a course or participating in a healing session of some sort, in an attempt to find my actual, daily journal, as I needed to write a sternly worded entry addressed to God.

Then, in the process of my journal and sitting down, I made eye contact with my Daruma.

A Daruma is a Japanese Doll used to signify the intention to complete a goal or ambition.

My friend gifted it to me after taking a solo trip to Japan, and we decided we were going to fill out the left eye together in ceremony when we were in Bulgaria; she had one as well.

She told me she wasn’t going to give me the doll when I told her the first goal that came to mind was to get a boyfriend.

We brainstormed better ideas, eventually letting out a proverbial duh in unison.

Writing a book.

I had the title picked out for years, and had tens of thousands of words already written, and about 10 different versions of the first draft saved in word documents; I just had yet to formalize my intentions.

Knowing me, I probably said I was going to do it within the year or something ridiculous, always one for trying to rush timelines, but the one eyed Daruma is still here, staring me down, nearly 3 years later, waiting for me to fulfill my promise.

Writing my first book has been cathartic, and one of the greatest joys of my life. I am so grateful for this platform, and the ability to share it with you in the way that I have. It certainly wouldn’t exist in its nearly finished form if it weren’t for you.

For as long as I can remember, writing has been my reprieve, a sacred oasis in the world of big emotions, generating actual excitement when something ridiculous happens, because, at least I get to write about it.

I used to handwrite letters to boys when I was heartbroken, never to be sent, but to make sense of my feelings, as mine seemed to run deeper and sadder than everyone else’s.

I distinctly remember being in the college dining hall and bringing him up again, and feeling so misunderstood by my freshman year assigned roommate, like my feelings were mine and mine alone to bear, and I had to fall in love with someone else so that they could just go away and stop inconveniencing my life.

These hard moments, so emotionally rich and deep, are what I’ve always had the easiest time writing about. It’s not so much that I’m writing, but more so extracting.. transmuting.. alchemizing.

So while I didn’t get around to writing my carefully worded letter to God.. (I still do want to know why did you hit me with a service light and tax notice on my first day back from my soul searching sabbatical)… it feels instead like I’m being nudged to turn my efforts outward, towards you… and finally filling in that right eye.

An upstate escape so nature rich, I found my words ready to resurface after a month long hiatus.

I haven’t even been journaling.

The very words that fuel my life force, the very words I describe as flowing out of me, decided as of now, they’re finally ready to return, like a bee to a flower, or a tiny white spider to my water bottle.

I find myself luxuriating in the return to the illustrious flow state, where I can exist as a messenger, a downloader of words, more so than the originator.

This illusive state found me in the most unlikely of locations, submersed in nature, where technology gets hot to the touch, and there are so many places to sit, you could spend time in all of them forever and still feel like it’s somehow not enough, but the good kind of not enough, rooted in abundance and just wanting to get the chance to experience it all.

“Ok, fine, I’ll move” she says to the spider. But can you get off my water bottle?

I was forced to revisit the feelings of this experience and the physical sensations in my body during the process of writing every chapter, but especially this one.

It was honestly confusing at first.

“Why am I feeling this way” I asked myself, as I felt a tightness in my chest, and a sense of despair I hadn’t felt in years.

“Use it” the voice responded, as if I was only feeling these things now so that I could write about them, releasing them from nervous system purgatory.

My creative process required allowing these feelings to be felt, so that they could be transmuted from something that was still secretly lodged within my body to a form of written self expression.

It makes me proud to read who I’ve become in spite of and because of this experience, and even in rereading it today, these pages provide a powerful reminder and example that you can begin anew at any moment.. you’re never past the point of reprieve, and you can always redeem any perceived losses.

For years, working on this book has been one of my biggest dreams, and I’ll admit, as I start to near the close, it’s brought up all kinds of emotions.

My ego’s favorite defense is that selling the book will be too hard, so there’s no point in finishing it.

But as I recounted the experience to a stranger at run club this week, I realized that writing a book wasn’t a goal, but a starting point, and it wasn’t until nearing its completion that my real goal emerged.

I had a spiritual awakening and was forced to become an entirely new person, and if you’ve ever experienced this sort of thing or know someone who has, they’ll tell you that while there were moments of immense beauty, the experience was also incredibly painful, and my prediction is that as people’s consciousness continues to rise, so will the instances of this happening.

I share the intimacies of the pain and eventual triumph after experiencing a bipolar misdiagnosis from a weed induced manic episode because it’s so incredibly important.

I don’t share this as a cautionary tale, but proof that you can come back from it and create a life that is far better than any perceived losses.

I write this so that instead of a diagnosis feeling like a death sentence, people will have an example, and maybe even a blueprint.

During this experience, I felt so incredibly isolated and alone, and I don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

Life began for me after this experience, and I hope my words help anyone who has struggled with something similar.

Early in the writing process, I used to imagine a girl reading my book on the subway, an imagine getting a message from her on how this book saved her life.

There were moments during this story where darkness was all I knew, and I didn’t how things could possibly ever get better.

Even reading it today provided a reprieve; you can come back from anything.

It’s experiences like this that make me Thank God for making me a writer.

As my favorite masseuse once said to me…

“pen that pain.”

and so it is.

Read more

This sort of thing doesn’t usually happen to me, but this weekend has been far from ordinary.

I’ve opened a sort of Pandora’s box through the piece I published Friday, addressing emotions that have been buried beneath the surface for quite some time, finally feeling through and processing things I did not have the capacity to face as I was experiencing them in real time. I didn’t realize how much any of it still bothered me.

I will repeat this every chance I get: writing is a spiritual practice.

For when you feel lost, call and response journaling; always.

Or, for moments when you feel so beyond lost you don’t even know which way is up or where to turn… you write a letter to God; a prayer, a plea, or something in between, which is what I found myself writing tonight.

My ego has been falling apart.

I can’t say when this unraveling started, but it’s been happening for at least 3 years, finally reaching what I hope will be considered the climax.

I’ve poured my heart and soul into the purpose path unabashedly, withholding nothing.

Trusting the voice in my heart that said it was safe to trust, and safe to believe… feeling so confused when the outcome has proven to be anything but.

“But, ah my dear, this isn’t the outcome.”

After writing my soulful prayer shameless plea, where I begged for direction, begged for the desire to be stripped from my heart if it wasn’t truly for me, wasn’t “of God” or whatever, I received a call from a friend, and we laughed; I meant it, temporarily suspended from the pain I had been working through. Angels come in many forms.

Tonight, I also found myself on the floor, crying, attempting to rip up my planners and screaming at them as loudly as I could between sobs; I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

(They didn’t rip.. maybe I need update the product description)

Why did you lead me here? Why did you let me do this? Why did you let me ruin my life?

It’s been a weekend of this; sobbing, and bleeding, laughing, and crying. Sleeping off the pain, finally understanding for the first time in my life why my mom spent so much of my adolescence locked away in her room, sleeping. Watching her emerge only once the sun had descended, feeling anxious on nice days because we were locked inside at her house, then forced outside on the days when we were at my Dad’s. Never finding reprieve; existing in a world that was unkind; an existence where I never truly felt like I belonged anywhere.

Even in 7th grade, I only ever found solace in my journal, at one point writing in capital letters as large as I could muster WHY DO I EVEN EXIST? WHY AM I SO UGLY?

What I meant; why was I brought to this planet, when all I seem to bring upon myself is such senseless pain, and endless suffering? Why can’t I find anyone who loves me?

At 14, I thought growing up to be beautiful would solve all of my problems; it was my constant prayer back then: i wanted to grow up to be beautiful, so that I could find someone to love me, and finally, one day, all of that suffering and pain would be a thing of the past; a distant memory of something I wrote down once and forgot about.

Except today, the pain wasn’t gone at all; today, it reared its ugly head, front and center, making me feel like every decision I’ve ever made was a mistake, every musing a failure. Wanting so desperately to burn it all down; wishing it all away, giving anything to go back.

“But that was never the plan.”

Feeling so far astray, not even knowing which voices to believe anymore, blocking everyone else out for a full 24 hours so I could get clear on what was me, or more accurately, who.

Writing wishes on colored notebook paper and folding them up on my windowsill; wishes that felt unanswered.

“I don’t know how; show me. Help me.”

The middle of the night truth is this; the business has felt like such a struggle, that the thought of struggling to sell my book is too much to bear. Through the existence of the planners, I know what it feels like to pour your heart and soul into your creation, and to feel to sting when no one else seems to understand its value, not nearly as much as you do.

Today in mid conversation, I just walked away instead of responding when people said they were “over journaling.”

“I’m not sure, I’ve done it every day for the past 5 years” I responded.

“Do you not find yourself just writing down the same thing every day?” they asked.

“No,” I said and walked away, far too exhausted to even bother giving an explanation. But here I am at midnight, writing away the emotions that lingered beneath the surface, going back some twenty years.

After my pleading to God, I found myself opening a course I never completed, and all but forgot about; Gabby Bernstein’s Bestseller Masterclass.

I found myself feeling drawn to sections I never dared click on before; writing a book proposal, finding an editor, selecting a publishing route.

It can feel disheartening to work towards a dream for what feels like forever, to see what feels like little to no progress. Or worse, to feel like you lost everything along the way.

But what if the process of losing everything you once held dear, is what it takes to truly find yourself? What if there’s more life on the other side of perceived loss?

Right now, it feels like I have none of the answers, but the only thing of which I am sure, is that I’m being called to get my story out into the world.

Princess Uninterrupted… it’s our time.

Writing a book about the most devastating, challenging experience of your life is… (insert hand gestures)

The particularly hard parts of the book were originally written in third person.

Allison abandons all plans for Allison Ziggy, as she is mortified of what brought her to this point in the first place. She has crippling anxiety those last few weeks in Chicago, and has her friend pack up her apartment, labeling boxes and organizing knickknacks, as she can’t bear to do it herself.

In my mind, I had already written the most difficult parts; this part gutted me.

But as I sat to write yesterday about my early experience of moving to Waxhaw, paired parts of the self doubt I’m facing now, 7 years removed and hundreds of miles away in Philadelphia, it hit me in ways I wasn’t expecting.

I thought the hard parts to write about were in the past… but parts of this past experience mirror challenges I am facing today, and once again, the writing process has touched on wounds that haven’t fully healed yet.

I don’t believe that life needs to be an endless struggle; I don’t even necessarily believe that struggle is valiant, or virtuous, but I do believe that when you experience strife, and struggle, as an artist, you must transmute those experiences into art, if not just for your own sanity.

It doesn’t just add meaning to the pain, but it alchemizes it, taking the energy from an otherwise rock bottom experience, and turning it into something undeniably beautiful. If other people also find solace, that’s part of what it truly means to be alive.

In full disclosure, there are still challenges that threaten to wake me at night. There are still times, where I do wonder what if, but instead of what if I could, it’s what if I hadn’t. (I would still choose this version of the equation every time).

The solution that is quietly presented to me is always finishing this book.

I’m reminded when I open my laptop at 5am and see a notification someone likes a silly status update I posted “might f around and finish my book.”

These kinds of reminders happen quite frequently.

I am sharing this post for a few reasons…

1. I don’t think the healing work is ever done; to be human (much less a writer) is to feel things deeply, and when you take risks, you encounter challenges

2. Pain is meant to be turned into art; it doesn’t always need to be shared, but when it is, it becomes a gift (both the pain, and the art)

3. This isn’t the end of the story, or even the full story; it’s a private moment at 5am I’ve decided to share, so that maybe, if you find yourself going through something that feels similar, you might know that you’re not so alone

4. primal screaming into a pillow helps

5. new pages below- if you enjoy my writing, become a paid subscriber; my best work lives behind the paywall

Read more

I really, truly, believed I could do it. I tried as hard as I could to immediately replace my multiple six figure income through coaching, and it didn’t work, at least not in the way or timeframe I wanted it to.

I spent all my time and effort in 2023 and 2024 trying to get into the energy of believing it could work, funding my life through the money I had invested and saved, until I was left with no choice but to leave New York behind, living with family and traveling in the aftermath.

I felt so genuinely happy, even in the face of such tremendous material loss; it felt like every piece of my life was working except financial. I was doing exactly what I wanted to be doing with my life, and it somehow kept working out, even if I only had “just enough.” What I would have once described as humiliating and “my ego’s biggest nightmare” became the most valuable lesson in my life.

There have been incredibly challenging moments. I’ve had to sit across from friends and tell them what I was facing when they came to visit… and they loved me anyway. I’ve had to abandon attachment to nearly every possession in my life; a proverbial exchange for the life I wanted more. I’ve traded in planes for road trips, and needed to ask for help after a lifetime of only feeling safe relying on myself. I wore an $8 dress to a photoshoot.

The hardest part of all of this, besides the financial struggle, was grieving the loss of my corporate identity. I had to learn to feel proud of myself even in the face of such measurable “failure.”

I no longer define my results as such; you can always make more money, but you will never get your time back. I would much rather keep experimenting and failing with ways to finally make this venture successful than spend my days wishing I was somewhere else. Since that challenging first year, I’ve booked clients, sold planners, and get paid for my writing. It is working.

Because I learned to trust the path, I will never wonder what if, and I will never regret trusting myself enough to take the big risks, even if now, I can understand firsthand why most people never take them.

I truly believe that these experiences are what make me such an incredible coach, and have turned me into the leader who gets to have it all. I think of this time and experience as an intangible asset, which in the scheme of life, is far more valuable than I can even properly conceptualize in this very moment.

I will never stop; I pray that you too have the strength and bravery to create a life that is uniquely yours, so that you will never look back and wonder “what if?”

Ritual Stacking free workshop- https://www.allisonziggy.com/ritual-stacking

I used to torture myself with so many painful narratives around the story of us.

Like, had I been more emotionally developed, it could have worked. Or, maybe if I had considered things more from your point of view, I could have understood how to better communicate with you, and you’d still be here.

But the truth is, I’m happy you aren’t here. I would be a fraction of the person I am today had you stayed. And you never really did anything to warrant this kind of love in the first place. It makes me feel a little sad for you, if I’m being honest.

You denied the connection, I denied that things weren’t right.

I made things personal that didn’t need to be.

I perceived your silence as confirmation rather than a blow off. I can’t explain why I did that, other than I was high and following my intuition. One doctor explained to me that the high dosages of prescription medication over extended periods of time altered my brain chemistry and caused the manic episode. For whatever reason, I still have trouble accepting what happened as having been a manic episode.

It felt so much more significant; so much more deeply spiritual. It felt so right.

It made me feel happier than I had ever felt in my entire life. I was living in my ideal reality, at for a few short weeks.

Everything that happened just started to feel romantic. I had an entirely new perspective on the conflicts that arose in my life; they all suddenly seemed manufactured, irrelevant. I realized how inconsequential circumstances actually were.

Most of my friends were supportive when I told them I was getting back together with you. All of them assumed it was a matter of time. Others were surprised it took us so long to reach such a logical conclusion. We belonged together, it was just a matter of time until we both realized it; acted upon it.

I can genuinely say I believed we were getting back together and I thought the fantasy was reality until your birthday, when I texted you, and you deflected it by not responding. That felt weird, until that internal voice of yours in my head told me it was because we agreed not to talk in the 3D.

This is so vulnerable to share because that’s one of the first questions doctor’s ask you.

“Are you hearing voices?”

I will never forget the look on my friend’s face when I told her you and I were able to communicate telepathically. I swear she has never been able to look at me the same way since. I was crazy. Or odd. Pathetic? Sad? Delusional?

I have since realized that the only way I can come to an actual conclusion about what happened is to come up with an explanation that intuitively makes sense to me. After all, if my intuition got me into this mess in the first place, don’t you think it will also be what provides reprieve? When isn’t the poison also the antidote, at least in some dosage?

If you ask me what I genuinely think happened, it is this: I became more in love with the life I desired than the one I was currently living. But I did it before I loved myself, so not all of my desires and intentions were soul led; there was still a lot of ego involved.

I kind of think of it as “going mad.”

I had so much unexpressed sadness living in my body. So many things I wanted to say to you but never got the chance to. I took the hatred I felt towards you and inflicted it upon myself. I took the love I should have had towards myself and projected it outwards towards you. It’s all the same, you know; the way I desperately craved you was the love I so desperately needed to give myself. I didn’t know what it even meant to love myself, and I thought the whole idea and concept sounded so abstract and stupid. How was I supposed to love me when the only person who ever had stopped?

Our relationship itself was not what I missed. It was the idea of the possibility of everything we could be. I saw potential in myself when I was by your side, but for some reason, I felt like that diminished the second you stopped loving me. You were the only worthwhile person who had seen potential in me; you saw it in places I had yet to see if for myself. I understand now that we were drunk and young and in love at an impossible point in our lives.

I pinned all my hopes and desires to you in a way that wasn’t fair. Nothing I had was worth anything if it failed to grab your attention. Not just your attention, but more accurately, your approval. I never felt good enough for you and when you started dating someone else this solidified my inadequacy.

You were my favorite person I had ever encountered. I found every detail about you to be hopelessly fascinating. I was entranced by the idea of you. Even my daydreams were enchanted by your presence. You made ever possible situation better, at least in my head. You became a main character, and no one else could come close to measuring up. You were my dream man, but I failed to remember that you were actually just a person.

I used to get so scared before meeting up with you, particularly after our breakup. We would always grab coffee or drinks because we still wanted to see each other; because we loved each other, but the second I would see you sitting there across from me, I would find myself puzzled at how normal it all was. I was never scared of you when you were beside me; that person was never mean. That person was honest, and thoughtful and looked at me with the sincerest, most confused eyes in the world. I understood you when I was with you, but the second we were separated, the doubts set in, as did the insecurities and the brutal inner self talk.

When we went our separate ways after graduation, I knew things would never be the same. I was too scared to ask for a future except when I was drunk, and you packed me away in a box somewhere in Pittsburgh, only to be revisited at nighttime when you couldn’t shield me from being in your dreams. I sometimes wonder the ways my spirit haunted you.

Everything about us was subliminal, seething under the surface. I still don’t even know how to answer how long we dated. Did we even date? Date, I’m not so sure, but loved we did, absolutely.

I never thought I would get over you. I put off the healing process for as long as humanly possible. You were my muse, my reason for bettering myself. Until one day, my desire to feel good finally outweighed my desire to be with you. Holding onto a ghost won’t get you very far in this lifetime…

I felt like if I could prove the manic episode was spiritually significant, it would mean I wasn’t crazy. It all came from a place of proving the things I perceived were real, because if they weren’t I wasn’t sure how I would reconcile them in my mind. What did it mean about me?

My biggest fear was asking someone for help and hearing back “I’m not sure how to help you.” I think this stems from hearing it from my Dad in the middle of a panic attack. I had those daily after leaving the hospital. My body was so disoriented from the bipolar medication that I never needed. I was prescribed the highest dose of an antipsychotic all because I signed my name on the dotted line to become part of a clinical drug trial.

Side note: who the f*k let that guy into the psych ward in the first place?

I was broken, a shallow shell of a human, but the idea of one day being with you was somehow enough to to get me through. I would dream of you, journal about you, fantasize about you, make myself believe you were right around the corner. It had to be true, I had to be right. It was too embarrassing to think I was wrong about this.

I sit here now, years removed from all of this. Sometimes it feels like I’m writing about a sort of mythological creature when I’m writing about you; a work of fiction, a dream fragment. It’s hard to imagine feeling that way about someone now, which I genuinely feel grateful for; I have a more grounded, sustainable perspective of love these days.

On my worst days, I feel weird writing about you. Question my words the same way I questioned my worth.

I still think about you sometimes.

Last night, when I was coming home in an Uber, the driver got a call that the car announced was from My Love ♥️.

I chuckled, because in the past, it would have made me think of you.

I left the hospital with my Mom.

I remember everything and nothing about the trip home.

I remember pushing the down button and waiting for the elevator.

I remember getting a taxi to take us back to the apartment.

The memories are there, but there were no emotions; it was as if I were simply observing myself going through the experience.

I don’t even kno…

Read more

Last night, I had the honor of taking the stage at the Tortured Bloggers Department writing salon in Brooklyn, hosted by the fabulous Cara Alwill of The Champagne Diet. I’ve attended Cara’s events before, but it was my first time standing on the stage.

I didn’t think I was nervous going into it, but come the day of the event, I completely disassociated, taking a bath in the middle of the day, and putting off edits until quite literally the last possible moment.

But as soon as I printed out the essay to practice, everything shifted. I felt at home, as I placed the timer on my phone and read these lines aloud to myself, alone in the Upper West Side, genuinely laughing at all the right parts, appreciating the work as if I was reading it for the first time.

I didn’t want my work to lose its edge, so I kept it that way, rehearsing only a few more times, and making pen edits (you can never pry pen and paper away from me, it’s kind of my entire brand lol) and choosing a classy white vintage look that directly contrasted the sexiness of the white outfit worn on the first date in the essay I shared.

I came alive on that stage, and felt so truly connected to myself and my purpose. I got praised for my work, laughter from the crowd chipping away at all those moments I had convinced myself that no one was listening. I got told my work was phenomenal and hilarious, and I soaked in every word.

Putting myself out there as a professional creative has one of the most challenging experiences in my life. You can put your heart on the page, only to get zero likes, zero comments. Most of the time, you have no idea how your words are being perceived, but you keep going anyway; you must.

That’s the only job, really; believe that it’s good enough, and keep writing.

Pouring your heart out to a small audience came sometimes mistakenly make it feel like no one is listening. Last night, when I delivered this story, and got to see it come to life in a new way, I was truly shown why this all matters so much more than our mind will trick us into believing.

Somewhere in between the years of battling the “it’s not working’s” my dreams took root, and finally, after years of showing up relentlessly, my words broke ground.

I think every writer fears that, at least a little.

What if I share my biggest traumas to the world and no one cares?

What if the people I want to accept me judge me?

What if I’ve been in the wrong this entire time, and I’m throwing a giant creative hissy fit, the poetic version of much ado about nothing?

Last night, on that stage in the front of the crowd, something became very apparent.

These words and stories do matter; these points of connection, these shared experiences most people don’t talk openly about, the craved intimacy and deep seeded whisper “I thought I was the only one” are some of the deepest, and most enriching experiences life has to offer.

I was reminded last night of why this all matters so much, and it is an honor to share the essay I shared last night with you now.

I’d ask that if you enjoy my work, please consider becoming a paid or free subscriber. A paid subscription covers one round trip on the subway 🩷

Thank you for being here, and thank you for helping me to remember why these words matter.

Subscribe now

Now introducing,

“I Hear Dating in New York is Hard: The Single Girl’s Equivalent to ‘Your Rent is More than My Mortgage’”

The night before our first date, the list of qualities I wanted in a husband fell out of the bible. It probably means nothing, I shrugged off, meanwhile, my mind had already gone there. Of course it had; why wouldn’t it? He did fit at least some of the criteria

I went into our first date feeling open minded, fresh off a recently failed situationship, ended by me.

Well… kind of. It was truly groundbreaking at the time.

I wasn’t receiving what I needed from the relationship, and sent him a text message that made him end it! An uplevel from the usual course of allowing men to ghost.

Our first date happened to fall exactly nine months *to the day* after I stopped drinking alcohol in a ceremonious one year challenge.

I knew this was the universe rewarding me for keeping my commitment to myself.

A matchmaker had set us up, fit with a photograph and paragraph synopsis.

Raoul, 38, VP of Finance

Sincere, warm, driven and successful are just a few words that come to mind when describing Raoul

Ivy league educated

Fluent in Spanish

Family driven- divorced but hopes to start his own family one day!

We met at a swanky lounge called The Butterfly Room, a hidden gem he told me not to tell anyone about. (you’re welcome)

I wore red booties I thrifted in Paris, a tightly fitted white dress, and a newfound confidence that comes from finally loving yourself and your life.

I had just come back from a solo trip to Colombia celebrating my birthday, was running a half marathon, had a fancy tech job, and was finally seeing growth and traction in my business.

Raoul got there first, and as I approached the table, I went from open minded to intrigued.

My first thought, “oh, this actually might work.”

He was devilishly handsome, with dark hair, tan skin, an impressive statue of 6’1. It was clear he was extremely successful professionally; he was totally my type.

check, check, check

Even still, I didn’t care if he liked me or not, which is the first time I ever remember feeling this way on a date in front of such a ~highly qualified~ potential suitor. I looked so good, I even filmed a Tiktok in the bathroom.

I captioned it: “oh you drink? That’s cute.”

“I used to be so nervous about dating without drinking, but 9 months later, and I’m so connected to my feminine flow, look my absolute best and feel more myself than EVER. They are now the ones who get nervous.. which is how it should be” flashed across the screen.

I got 24 likes.

“I know I’m ready for a relationship because I’m willing to struggle and sacrifice for the other person” Raoul, went on, and I sensed the rehearsed nature behind the line.

“I guess those just aren’t the first two words I want someone to associate with my relationship” I offered back, playing with the straw of my mocktail.

Raoul got up from the table and left, and I stifled shock with a surprised laugh.

He came back a few minutes later, appearing to have cooled off, and was ready for the next round of conversation.

I guess I touched a nerve, but it didn’t cross my mind to ask why. I liked that I had caused him to get all flustered.

His second drink arrived with a butterfly on the top. It was beautiful and mysterious; so much so, that we couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. We joked and laughed about the butterfly’s true nature until his urge became too strong to resist, and he stuck his hand in the glass. Soon we both became horror stricken as the beautiful butterfly instantly shriveled up into something resembling chewed up gum, or more poetically, a larvae.

He had to know, the composition of the butterfly was too curiously irresistible, even if knowing came at the cost of its destruction.

I gained the sense he was the same way with women.

Read more

I was showing my former retail “boss” photos from my recent travels.

“No he loves me,” not skipping a beat, upbeat, cheerful. Oblivious, or unaware of the venom wouldn’t take hold until the following morning, as I was supposed to be packing for my 10 hour drive.

Instead, I’m writing this post with tears in my eyes, my body’s attempt at dislodging the underlying sadness (and inflicted poison) that usually lays dormant.

I’ve felt it in doses before, when I meet strangers and explain to them how I travel by watching cats, and yes, I have one of my own. Two, actually.

“I could never leave my cat.”

Again, stoic, “I understand.”

That’s been the hardest part of all of this.

I put a picture of a girl holding her cat on my vision board for 2026, “won’t keep us apart” reads the inscription. I’m not sure what the original advertisement is for, but to me, it represents the unbreakable bond between me, and my first born, Meeko, the silver bengal I got when I was just 24 years old.

Meeko’s been the longest relationship I’ve ever had in my life, and he’s been with me through everything.

“That cat needs you” the ironically named vet Dr. Barker once said to me as Meeko and I were moving states for the umpteenth time.

We need each other.

In a session with an animal psychic before leaving the West Village to move into my mom’s she read “he doesn’t understand why you’re moving” to which I started to cry.

“It’s ok” she offered back, reeling back the tidal wave of emotions I felt associated with moving.

Other people let me off the hook with “he’s just a cat, he’ll be fine.”

Those who understand me the most lean into the spiritual connection, like how love travels distances and how you can communicate with your animals even when physically separated.

I wear a silver cheetah necklace when I travel.

This trip, I’m going to meet my other son, Spider, a brown bengal who I got to keep Meeko company when I traveled, a plan that backfired so spectacularly that it caused my initial insecurities around being a bad cat mom.

When I really feel safe with you, I’ll tell you the truth.

I believe that animals have their own soul contracts, aka their own purpose for being here. I truly believe that my cats were in part, sent to heal the relationship I have with each of my divorced parents. Or, in a less self centered perspective, my Dad and Mom each have their own destined relationship with Meeko and Spider.

My Dad and I talk every single day, a lot of it about Spider, who lives with him. Spider is his phone background, and I’d estimate that 75% of my Dad’s life revolves around Spider.

Spider is also the direct cause me to getting in the car and driving 10 hours at least twice a year.

The same has happened with Meeko and my mom, my little silver anchor, responsible for so much mischief and chaos… and even more love. Again, it depends on who you ask. My mom would scoff with an “ugh.”

My reiki expert friend assured me “oh, she loves every minute of it”

My mom sings to Meeko, and often we sing to him together on facetime or in person, a chorus of

“Silverback….. silverback”

or

“Muscle, Muscle cat.. I wanna be a muscle cat”

My personal contribution is

“Meeko’s mommy’s baby, Meeko’s big and strong, Mommy loves her Meeko, Grandma loves her Meeko…”

Those calls wouldn’t happen if it weren’t for Meeko.

I once did a future self meditation, where I sat across from my “future self” in an empty seat with a cup of tea and she said to me “you better enjoy that little cat in front of you” when all I wanted to ask her was questions about how to make my business successful.

I’ve never forgotten that moment.

I don’t think bad cat moms think like that.

Now, it’s time to pack and put on my necklace.

Bon Voyage.

I used to treat myself to a tarot reading every year for my birthday.

It’s not often I let someone else read cards for me, my own interpretations getting in the way before the other person can explain the story laid out in pictures and symbols on the table. More often than not, my own interpretation of the spread feels more accurate than the readers’, and I end up walking away feeling annoyed.

But there is one reader I trust, who I met in 2022 in Sedona.

The last time I reached out to her was in 2024, a time marked most prevalently with insecurity and one overarching question I wanted answers to above all else..

“What should I do to avoid the mess that is about to become of my life?”

As I met with my only reader of choice, I told her the details over the phone.. i lost my job, my lease was coming due with a steep rent increase, and financial pressure was mounting.

I told her what I didn’t want, which was to put all of my stuff into storage, move in with my mom, and travel.

A week or so earlier, I had even visited my mom, and we talked about the possibility of me moving in. She was lit up with excitement, and I was adamantly against it, even though I felt the ember spark within me as well. It was a possibility, just not one my ego liked to consider.

I was in complete denial.

As Rachel looked at the cards, she encouraged me to pursue the travel path, showing all the cards associated with new beginnings and creativity, and alluding to the fact that I had already done everything I had set out to do along the path I was already on. There wasn’t any more growth here.. only death.

She told me what I had already known, but had been pretending I didn’t.

It was after this conversation that I gained the courage to reach out to my property management company, asking what would happen if I were to end my lease early.

They sent back details in what to them must have been a routine request, but even still, I panicked and deflected.

A few weeks later, my sister sent me a Zillow listing for an apartment in Philadelphia directly underneath hers.

My nervous system freaked out further. I wasn’t ready for any of it, and doubled down on a way to manifest keeping my NYC life.

But in this situation, my fears were predictive.

I was scared (I knew) I was going to leave my apartment.

I was scared (I knew) I would need to move back in with my mom, having burned my runway and financial leverage in the aftermath of leaving corporate.

I was scared (I knew) my next logical step forward was going to be moving back to Philly.

I was so scared because I knew.

My soul was trying to guide me somewhere my ego didn’t want to go.

Looking back, my only regret is that I didn’t learn how to properly work with this particular flavor of fear sooner.

I wish I would have dug even deeper into why I was so afraid of these changes instead of spending all my precious time and energy hustling as hard as I could to avoid them.

If you find yourself in a similar situation, where everything feels like it’s about to fall away and you’re trying to prevent it…

Let it go.

Let it fall.

Burn it all down.

Be honest with the people you love about what’s going on, and let them help you… sooner.

Don’t go through this alone.

Let life flow through you.

Life isn’t meant to be avoided but experienced, and in my experience, the path I didn’t want was exactly what I needed.

There are still days when it’s scary, but I remember everything I learned from getting it wrong the first time.

there are still days I look at my life and wonder what if I never made all of these changes, but when I really dig into that question, I never like the answer.

It is a privilege to grow and exapand and to stumble and fall and to make mistakes, learn from them, and make new ones.

My relationship to manifestation has changed, and instead of judging my self worth by how good my life looks, I use it as a fun cocreative process to get even more inspired and creative with how I get to live my life.

Sometimes I doomscroll.. that’s ok.

Sometimes I feel afraid.. that’s ok.

and sometimes, I am truly in awe of what I’ve created.

I’ve incorporated this experience into my private coaching- set up a call and let’s work through whatever’s been triggering the “it’s not working” voice in your head to flare up.

xoxo,

Allison