THE CONFESSION

At 34, I started comparing myself to the 20-somethings. Combine that with being fed the idea that “baby” Botox was the new holy grail of beauty, and I went for it.

Ironic, because I had been the “all-natural, self-love, clean girl” for years. The one who thought she was beyond that and would never. And still, underneath all the self-awareness, there was the belief that I still needed to fix just a little something to be worthy. I even told myself that because it was baby Botox, it wasn’t the real thing.

3 YEARS LATER

I’m now 37. I just finished my last cycle of vitamin injectables. And what became crystal clear has nothing to do with beauty. I’ve never felt at home being put in a box. Feeling like an outsider, I spent my life trying to squeeze my way in and out of identities to belong.

And I realised: when you start following someone else’s formula for your face, your brand, and your life, you’ve already handed away your power.

The first time, baby Botox sounded so innocent. Because on the surface, it was about beauty. The truth was, I was looking for love and to feel free. Personal power does not come from correction. It rises from self-trust. And that cannot be injected, lasered, or moisturized into your aura to make you radiant. Ever.

THIS TIME WAS DIFFERENT…I SWEAR

My skin looks incredible after the vitamin injectables. Radiant, supple, luminescent. I left feeling aligned in my decision because something was radically different. I was not chasing, fixing, or trying to accept myself more.

I was just there, still simply being me.

Exhausted from weeks of preparing to move to another country. Greasy hair, sweats, more cushion on my body because living in Italy is beautifully indulgent. Not at my best on paper.

And despite that, I felt more at home in my body than I ever had. I did not walk into that appointment empty and come out glowing.

I walked in already feeling 10/10. The treatment supported something that was already there.

THEN LIFE TESTED IT

Right after that appointment, we were leaving our Italian life behind. Trading the comfort of Bologna, where my husband is from, for sunny island living in Malta.

Everything was planned, so obviously it was supposed to flow. Then life did what life does when it wants to see whether you’re an embodied student or just talking.

The car stopped working, and we had no choice but to turn back.

I remember looking at myself in the mirror: completely dishevelled, control quickly slipping through my fingertips.

Gushing tears, bags under my eyes, and feeling beautiful as ever.

I was no longer relating to myself through insecurity or fear. For the first time, I felt beautiful; even if on the outside, by today’s beauty standards I was a total mess.

That is what baby Botox could never give me.

And I am going back to the “all natural” way. Because let’s not pretend. Beauty has power. When you look good in your vessel, you feel it. You move differently. You’re perceived differently because you see yourself differently.

But the intention behind the why is what changes everything. There is a huge difference between adorning yourself and quietly declaring war on yourself.

As I bravely leaned in a little closer, my heart experienced a gentle tightening that nudged me deeper into truth.

It felt like a deep exhale with a new opening.

Because usually we think we’re processing our emotions by naming them. But we’re not actually going into them. We’re not sitting in the discomfort long enough to understand them.

We’ve become so disciplined at swerving the crunchiness, and diving headfirst into positivity and calling it “certainty” or “strength.”

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This time, I did something that felt harder than discipline.

I chose raw honesty.

The type that forces you to admit what’s actually beneath the positive words. The truth that stings and doesn’t sound strong and certain, when it isn’t.

Raw honesty shows you something you hadn’t fully seen before. Silence doesn’t create doubt; it exposes what’s actually there.

For a while, success had been protecting me from seeing that clearly. When things are moving, people are responding. It’s easy to believe your creative confidence and certainty are rock solid.

But when the noise around your work goes radio silent, that’s where the old stories that you thought had been transformed creep in.

“No one is listening.” “Maybe I’m not that good.” “What’s the point?” “Did the universe forget about me?”

It’s humbling.

I wasn’t surprised by the thoughts. I was caught off guard at how easily I was still overriding my truth despite the inner work; I went straight back to my old ways.

I gave in to the urge. Pushed harder. Felt more superficial positivity and went right back to rigid discipline to prove. Certainty became the solution. Or at least that’s what I was telling myself.

But then, one evening, I opened up to my sister and told her I was struggling.

The moment I said it, I quickly corrected myself: “I just need to dig deeper, stay certain and positive.” She paused, and she said something simple and very real.

“Yeah… but also stay honest.”

That sentence hit harder than I expected when I actually let it sink in. As I walked on the treadmill, I had to swallow down the tears. I was finally exposed and naked in my weakness. The truth hurt, and I thought damn…Omg, I keep pretending to be strong, even to myself.

That’s when the mask crumbled. Underneath the false power, I was scared, uncertain, and in desperate need of proof that I was on the right path.

When I finally admitted it to myself, I softened. The tears flowed, my body relaxed, the pressure softened, and my mind became quiet.

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The silence was changing how I related to myself, life, and the work. It wasn’t attacking me; it was revealing the hidden parts of myself that were asking to be loved. Life was inviting me to see the parts that needed to be seen, so that I could expand my capacity to hold more of the big vision.

It showed me where I was being fake af. Raw honesty is what lets the light in. I understood I was moving past what I actually feel just to arrive at certainty so that I could feel validated.

Discipline can do that, especially if you’re the ambitious type. I still love it, and it is valuable, yet it has its place now.

It helps you move forward, gives structure, and nourishes consistency. It can also become a way to skip the uncomfortable step of facing the truth.

As high-achieving women, we are trained to push through and stay strong, so it becomes almost sacred. A badge of honor. When something feels uncertain, it’s natural to go even harder. But for women, that force will eventually make us crash.

Certainty without raw honesty is forced. It comes with pressure and an attempt to manufacture belief.

Real certainty is different, because it’s rooted in unwavering faith. And it only comes after the moment you’re willing to admit what’s actually there. It dares to embrace the doubts, fears, and frustrations. It requires you to hug the messy parts of yourself you’d rather skip over.

What we often label as weakness is actually pure personal power. When you’re able to live with the insecurities, not forever, just enough to understand them, so that trust is born. It starts feeling like faith and receptivity. Aligned creativity begins here.

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It was the beginning of summer. The energy was vibrant, succulent, alive. Maybe it was just a reflection of my inner world at the time, because life was SUBLIME in almost every direction.

We were madly in love, drowning in the moments as new dog parents to our adorable new puppy, Spirulina. I felt confident, sexy, at home in my body. Something I had worked hard for after years of healing my relationship with binge eating. Business was booming. I had the dream clients, and money was flowing in steady waves.

Honestly, everything was aligned. From the outside, it looked exactly how I had once dreamed it would.

And yet something in my body had already started feeling pressure. I just didn’t want to see it yet.

May 31st (my birthday), I flew to Paris alone to meet my husband there. We hadn’t seen each other for a week, and space always brings the spark back. It’s like meeting again for the first time. We planned sushi takeout under the Eiffel Tower at sunset. Romantic af. For my birthday, we were going to an epic immersive sound experience by Cercle to see Who Made Who.

The subtle undercurrent of pressure began to buzz as I started thinking about the months ahead and the movement we had planned.

Between the travel that wasn’t slow, the events we had booked, and the projects I needed to complete, my calendar felt overwhelming.

Paris was thrilling, and I was drunk off love. I remember sitting at the airport, flying to Malta, our first stop of the “marathon”, staring at my schedule. My throat tightened. My shoulders slumped forward, and pressure seeped in.

For a moment, I thought, This is too much. Then I caught myself.

This is everything you asked for. Why aren’t you grateful?

If the universe brought it now, it means you’re ready. So, I did what high-achieving women are really good at, and overrode my honesty and became “powerful” again.

One of the events we had said yes to didn’t feel right from the start. It was nearly perfect on paper, but about ten percent of it was off. Just enough that my body knew.

But I said yes anyway.

It felt like an opportunity to tap into the artist. To sing, DJ, and bring forward a part of me that had been hidden for a long time.

By that point, I had been sleeping five or six hours a night, running on caffeine and adrenaline. I thought I was on top of the world, but that wasn’t aligned power.

It was borrowed light. And borrowed light eventually crashes.

When we arrived in Corfu, we stayed in a beautiful villa overlooking the mountains. It was a two-story house framed by flowers and open doors that let the breeze pour into the room. The bedroom was grand, the marble bathroom enormous, the entire place elegant and abundant.

And yet I couldn’t relax into it. At the back of my mind was a deadline for a photoshoot I had to complete.

I wasn’t fully present. I was fragmented and pulled between multiple roles.

Part of me was finishing a project for a dream client. Another part of me was preparing to sing, DJ, and guide breathwork.

And the truth is, I loved all of it. That’s what made it so painful and confusing at the time.

We had a boat day planned, but I stayed behind to finish the project. I remember sitting alone on the bed with my laptop, coffee in my hand, after trying to move the energy with a workout that didn’t work.

The room was quiet. And I thought: Why doesn’t this feel exciting anymore? Where did the magic go?

For a moment, I drifted into confusion, but then the caffeine jolted me back into robot mode.

I finished the project, closed my laptop, and switched identities. Now it was time to be the artist, the performer, and the guide.

So I kept going, because I thought, “If I stop now, everything will collapse.”

That night I DJ’d and sang. I was showing up from an empty cup. It ended up being the worst DJ set I had ever done.

The singing went well enough considering where I was energetically, but the set itself was embarrassing. The equipment started malfunctioning, and I felt relieved because it meant I could stop.

Here is the contradiction. I have always known I am multidimensional and great at many things. I loved all versions of me, and these parts were never meant to compete. They only started competing when I stopped listening to the inner voice that tells me when to slow down.

Most women know this moment. When life is expanding on the outside, but something inside quietly tightens. You’re succeeding, and opportunities are multiplying. Everything looks exactly like your vision board.

And yet there is a voice inside asking a dangerous question: Is this still for me?

Most ignore that voice because momentum can be transporting and intoxicating. And because stopping feels terrifying when everything is finally working.

If I hadn’t paused that summer, something inside me would have slowly died.

Externally, I would have had even more success, money, and opportunities. Deep down, I would have started feeling imprisoned inside something I once loved.

Instead, I did something radical that didn’t make sense at the time.

I paused (kind of) from social media and new projects.

I went to New York with nothing on my calendar for the first time in years. No work, nada, just life and one intention. To feel alive again.

I reconnected with my sister and friends. Visited my old school. Dinner over oysters and champagne, yellow cabs passing by, and late-night laughs. For a moment, I felt like Carrie in Sex and the City.

A quick stop in North Carolina to visit my dad with my sister. We hiked Bear Mountain, ate delicious food, and connected with nature.

Then Miami. I spent precious time with my mom. Conversations with girlfriends that run like rollercoasters with no pauses. Rediscovering the art and food scene. I even booked a staycation in Miami Beach alone. Something I had never done before. It was the worst time of year to go. Scorching hot with nasty brown seaweed water, and somehow it was perfect.

I spent my days journaling by the pool at the 1 Hotel. Napping, eating beautiful food, and creating slowly again.

Not for anyone else, but for me. Inspiration arrived from raw clarity.

One night, I went home and cried from joy. Because for the first time in a long time, I felt at home. Not in the physical place, but inside myself.

That summer, it became clear.

I paused because I could feel resentment forming.

Resentment toward myself for ignoring my intuition. Disappointment for building a life that looked perfect but didn’t feel fully honest.

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.

So, taking a “pause” from doing became a non-negotiable. Because I realized something simple.

Success was flourishing, but I wasn’t.

When Sex and the City was the hottest series. And social media was an unrestrained diary dump of our lives and a place of raw connection. We were still so present and very emotionally involved in the waves of life.

It reminds me of the time when I was fresh out of college. I didn’t return home to Miami and instead took the leap and moved to New York City to pursue my dreams of studying fashion at Parsons. I took the train from Boston to NYC, probably hungover, blasting Alicia Keys “In New York” I felt like the richest woman on the planet. Arriving at Grand Central Station with 2 suitcases, nowhere to live yet, barely any money, but full of a lot of courage. The air was crisp, delicious. I was young, alive, and everything sparkled with awe. I was diving deep into the sweetness of life through all aspects: fashion, design, life, and love. (we’ll deep dive into this story in another post).

I can taste the sugar of that time now. And it feels like we are dipping back into that era. One where depth is enhancing minimalism, multi-dimensional expression is redefining the new creative standards, and range of emotions are shaping narratives.

Today, we are living through a reclamation of romanticism.

We are craving sensory richness, emotional resonance, and handcrafted details. It’s not nostalgia for a good ol’ throwback moment; we’re collectively seeking something deeper. This shift is surpassing aesthetic; it’s physiological. A cultural response to digital stimulation and nervous system overload. It shows up in the way people are dressing, in spaces that prioritize comfort and resonance, and in the way brands are choosing to build not only for the senses but to evoke memory and meaning.

A renaissance of feeling. An impulse toward layers of expression that’s evolving flat minimalism into lush minimalism.

But, let’s take a step back, real quick, to understand why this is emerging…

Romanticism was a reaction against industrial uniformity and rationalism, where we were being guided into imagination, intuition, and the sublime. Today, something similar is happening again: brands, designers, artists, and creatives are embracing texture over sterility, and emotional texture over predictability that the algorithm loves. Artists and creators are even calling out AI-generated content and approaching social media with a hunger for unfiltered creativity.

It’s a move toward practices that feel healing, embodied, and expansive. We are tuning into experiences that invite the body and psyche back into coherence and connection with our hearts. An era of innovative creativity in sync with nervous system attunement.

I have been naturally gravitating toward living inside the shift, probably because I am a natural romantic at heart, seeking to swim in the deep waters of emotions and life. Seriously, I thrive there (now).

Here are some examples of brands, artists, moments, and encounters that are inspiring me lately, with the same through line. They restore the nervous system, invite depth, open creative channels, and embody modern-day romanticism with a touch of nostalgia.

They are alive with emotion, color, and fragments of life that truly feel unique in their vision.

1. Spirulina: Presence as Nervous System Reset

Spirulina, not the algae, but my dog. Truly, one of the best forms of nervous system regulation is this small fluffly creature wrapped up in unconditional love.

When my husband and I take her for a walk, something biochemical happens. The best mental reset there is (I suggest doing it daily, even if you don’t have a dog).

Creativity is not something you do; it’s a state of being. A physiological process that lives inside the nervous system. It arises from a state of safety and regulation in the nervous system, a balance between the sympathetic (alert) and parasympathetic (rest-and-digest) states. When we are continuously digitally stimulated, cortisol rises, productivity loops, and we are more vigilant than present. That makes creative expression reactive instead of expansive, narrowing focus to survival mode and output into mediocre at best.

Going for a walk outside resets the vagus nerve. It’s free, and you can do it anywhere.

Walking with Spirulina, trotting ahead, connecting with Gregorio, as she pulls me toward the sky, the sunlight, the textures of a tree, as the sound of the birds gently envelops the background. My breath slows, and the nervous system down-regulates.

In this state, imagination returns. Why?

All of it signals safety to the nervous system. And safety is the precursor to creativity.

The walk becomes a ritual of nervous system regulation:
• Bilateral movement integrates the hemispheres of the brain. Harmony.
• Nature exposure reduces cortisol. Calm returns.
• Parasympathetic tone is restored. Ideas magnetized.
• Play with her overperformance. Creativity returns.

In that state, I have to do nothing but receive. It’s easy, and the reset is subtle yet powerful. It’s the difference between forcing and flowing.

2. Lore: Scents That Take You Somewhere

Lore is one of the most culturally intelligent beauty brands right now. One of the clearest examples I’ve seen of world-building. Their visual campaigns, bottle, fragrance stories, and content expression felt voyeuristic and instantly intrigued me.

The brand was founded by Melanie Bender, a beauty-industry visionary who previously helped build beloved brands like Rhode, Versed, and Merit. In a recent conversation about Lore, Bender talked about fragrance not as a product, but as place, memory, and emotion, about creating “entire worlds in every bottle.”

Lore’s very name and the creative philosophy behind it: connect to story, memory, mythmaking, and shared human experience.

The first thing that struck me was the bottle. The shape is organic, custom-molded, and sculptural. It feels less like packaging and more like an object you keep. Something that you live with and belongs on a bookshelf beside a rare art book.

That decision alone shifts the psychology. It moves fragrance from commodity to artifact. The bottle is both minimal and romantic. The blend is just chef’s kiss.

Each fragrance has a layered narrative behind it. Emotion translated into a scent that speaks to a moment in time. Lore is rooted in true biodiversity and regenerative sourcing. Their storytelling integrates land, ecosystem, and ingredient origin.

Instead of scaling mass production, they’re creating with intimacy to curate a world that isn’t about dominating sales but inviting us into something deeper.

3. Aigana Gali: Reminds us creation isn’t always made but received.

Aigana Gali creates work that feels channeled rather than manufactured. Each piece expresses an intricate slice of life and a layer of human emotion. Her process feels devotional. When I experience her art, I’m reminded of Hilma af Klint, not as a style, but energetically.

Hilma believed she was channeling higher frequencies. She created abstract spiritual works before abstraction was a thing. Her art was layered with symbolism, geometry, and mysticism.

Her practice is deeply rooted in exploratory space and spiritual experience. She has spoken about the creative state as one where the mind empties of human constructs, and you begin to observe the self. “A dynamic meditation that can be painful because it forces confrontation with all parts of the psyche”. Just this approach explains how intimate her work feels to the observer.

The romanticism in her work feels transcendental because it’s embodied art.

The most powerful art comes from a regulated nervous system combined with surrender.

It requires:
• Silence
• Ritual
• Receptivity
• Trust in what cannot yet be explained

Here, intuition and sensation surpass thought. That resonates with how I now understand that creative flow is about receptivity, not control.

4. 5 AM: The Subliminal Hour for Liberated Expression

I’ve been compelled to wake up at 5 am to write. And it just feels different. Before the world wakes, the collective noise is low, and I am able to tap into deeper places of higher-self creativity. Almost like going on a first date with myself every time. I discover something new with amazement.

Neurologically, early morning is a liminal state. The brain is transitioning from theta and alpha wave dominance into full beta cognition. This transition is precious territory for artists and writers because it sits between memory, intuition, and narrative construction.

When I write at 5 am, I’m writing from that bridge state. It feels like translating fragments of my soul.

In this state of the subliminal field:
• The inner critic is quieter
• Emotional memory is accessible
• Symbolism emerges naturally
• Narrative feels alive

There is something deeply romantic about writing before sunrise. It feels devotional, private, and liberating to just express whatever is alive.

For me, creativity at this hour is not strategic, but instinctual, and it’s in this place where I nourish my work with soul.

The Through-Line

Spirulina.
Lore.
Aigana.
5 am subliminal space.

They all share one frequency: Multi-sensory richness that regulates the nervous system. Devotional attention to detail and intention. Emotion as depth.

I didn’t realize until now how important a regulated nervous system is for our creativity. Creativity expands when the nervous system feels safe enough to be complex and dynamic.

Because when we regulate, we can access imagination. When we slow down, we receive. When we build with devotion, we create intricate worlds.

And lately, as a sensitive creative soul with lots of Gemini and Pisces placements, I am loving this return to romanticism.

Links to everything mentioned above:

LORE

Aigana Gali

It goes something like this…

The decision feels steady, clear, even calm. The body is poised, and the heart is in coherence. This is what alignment feels like to me.

But then the empowerment vanishes, and everything goes quiet.

Imagine being the first to end it. The situationship that felt deliciously intoxicating when he was close and destabilizing when you needed him most. The kind of connection that kept you slightly off your center, yet wildly electrified. You finally see how much of yourself you were adjusting to keep a glimmer of hope alive. Or imagine the friendship you stayed in long after it stopped feeling safe. The one where you were celebrated as long as you stayed familiar. The way encouragement slowly turned into comparison.

How often have you smoothed things over? How many times have you waited to be chosen instead of choosing yourself? You felt it before you were honest with yourself.

In both cases, walking away feels powerful in the moment. Bravery fueled by a blazing, radiant fire. What comes after is softer and more difficult at the same time.

Not many speak about this, but the grief arrives through absence and space.

It’s not only the person you miss. It’s the feeling of being desired. The warmth had a pulse, and it kept you moving. The comparison kept you driven to prove. Even the uncertainty had a charge that kept you hooked.

It all just elegantly dissipates, and suddenly you’re left in the void. Face to face with your darkness, and then you start questioning yourself.

Was it really that bad? Was the distance worth it? Was the intensity better than this silence?

There’s a version of the story that romanticizes walking away. Going with courage looks clean, but that’s a glimpse into what’s possible. The part where you don’t regret the decision, but you miss the desire. That’s the part no one really talks about.

Choosing yourself feels obvious in real time. Living with what changes afterward feels different, almost unexpected.

You lose a part of home. The conditional belonging that came from being agreeable and “go with the flow”. Transactional love is available when it is convenient.

It’s subtle, and it was fuel.

When you stop bending to be wanted, things change. You’re no longer “easy and chill”. Some relationships get distant. Opportunities fade. The ones that depended on your availability, your softness, your constant yes.

It can feel like a punishment. The absence stings. But more than the absence of people, it’s the absence of that mirrored desire. The way someone’s attention could make you feel chosen, electric, alive, and loved.

You grieve the version of yourself who knew how to stay inside that flow. The one who could stretch just enough to keep the spark going.

And still, you don’t go back to her because returning would mean shrinking in ways you can’t unsee.

So there is a period of quiet. The space where it feels less magnetic and like you're creating into the void.

But this is where it all actually shifts…

Creation changes here because the North Star is different now.

More connected to your inner voice. It no longer moves toward a reaction or care for applause. It slows down.

The urge to check who’s looking softens. The instinct to perform slows down. The need to get approval evaporates.

Underneath that, your creative voice is just there. Stripped away from old stories, it’s alive in its purest form. Unfiltered creativity without an audience… pauses, experiments, and waits.

This in-between can feel like grief, too. The desire is still there. It just no longer depends on being wanted back.

A subtle weight that drops into my belly. A slow grip that gently tightens my throat.
My breath shortens, almost like a small gasp: an ancient memory.

It happens fast.

Not as a thought.
As a sensation.

There is a pause, barely a moment, the space before the no arrives.
That’s the moment I learned to override. To move fast and avoid what might follow if I trusted myself.

Rejection.
Disappointment.
Having to explain myself.
Someone else’s anger.

I became sweet and agreeable with a fabricated smile, of course.

When I skip over that pause, the consequences show up later.

They show up as disconnection from the process, which leaves me drained instead of full. As searching for words at every breath, instead of being inside what’s alive to allow the words to pour out like honey. There is a quiet anger that creeps in afterward, with no clear place to land.

The body always remembers.

When I honor the pause, something comes back to me.
Not momentum or creativity, but personal power. I can hear the voice inside. I’m no longer reacting. I trust that I’m guided, and I can feel when I’m moving in the right direction again.

The channel opens, yes, but even more than that, life does.
Things meet me instead of repelling from me.
Even the hard moments get easier.

Certainty doesn’t argue or convince. It doesn’t rush or even care to be understood.
It arrives as SOFT POWER. A stillness that ripples from within and invigorates your cells. A quiet confidence that knows.

I’m learning to trust that stillness.
To listen to my body with courage and to fully give in to the moment before the no, as much as the no itself.

I’m still inside this pause. Still listening.

Still learning what’s possible when I don’t move past it too quickly.

You created because it was fun. You imagined infinite possibilities, even when they were outrageously delusional. You laughed endlessly, even at the smallest thing.

Creativity felt like drinking nectar from a fountain of light. Unfiltered expression poured out of you without effort or fear. It arrived like a breath. The way play does. Unannounced, unmeasured, and limitless.

You knew who you were, and you shared it, without trying to get anything in return. An exchange with something bigger than you, even if you didn’t have language for it.

Maybe you would spend hours creating worlds with Barbies, shaping entire stories from nothing. Or you would disappear into nature, feeling the grass between your toes, looking up at the sky, and letting yourself fall into it.

One idea effortlessly led to the next. No destination, you didn’t need to know where it was going.

Not an ounce of self-doubt, you lived in wonder, an inner knowing that didn’t need proof. Not because you were brave, but because you didn’t know there was another way to live.

And when the fountain of ideas dried up, you paused. You enjoyed relaxing in the not knowing.

Creative intuition moved in rhythms; you trusted the ebbs as much as the flow.

It felt safe, like home. Oneness was the ordinary.

What hurts isn’t that this disappeared. It’s that I didn’t notice when it left.

There was no moment when it broke. No dramatic loss or pivotal fracture. It slipped away quietly while I was busy becoming functional.

I was learning how to survive. In that process of “maturing and becoming responsible”, intuition became negotiable.

I stopped trusting my own way of being without ever consciously deciding to. The intelligence of imagination felt impractical. The inner worlds that once felt alive began to look indulgent. Unproductive, so they dissolved.

My greatest passions were slowly buried, not because they weren’t real, but because they couldn’t be used. They couldn’t translate into something measurable. They couldn’t justify themselves, so they weren’t enough.

Eventually, I told myself neither was I.

Achievement reclaimed where wonder once lived. Practicality replaced possibility. The rhythm of creation became constrained because now expression had to earn its place.

The work that once flowed started asking for proof. The shift was sneaky. It was disciplined, responsible, and mature. And in that maturity, my creative voice went quiet. I started confusing usefulness with worth.

I edited before I even began. I stopped losing myself in the details and skipping over them, counting the minutes until it’s over. The expansiveness of creating diffused into functionality.

What once felt infinite became conditional.

And when I finally looked up and saw how far I had drifted from home, the grief landed. The disappointment wasn’t in the world. It was in myself. I didn’t fail, I just left. Not creativity, but the knowing that my aliveness was never something I had to earn.

I feel grief for the little girl who trusted without proof.
For the one who learned to edit before she learned freedom.
For the one who mistook survival for maturity.

For the version of me who didn’t realize she was leaving herself behind.

That grief doesn’t move. It stays where I left it.

Lately, I’ve been courageous enough to say no to anything that feels like a distraction.

Less willing to say yes to things that offer instant gratification. A hit of joy and dopamine that my body instantly recognizes as a slight detour. Choices that look fun and reasonable (to the old version of me) on the surface, but quietly pull me away from where I’m meant to go.

I’ve been practicing something simple and surprisingly radical lately, paying attention to the subtle sensation in my body at the moment of making the choice.

That sensation is my compass.

I’ve been saying no, not dramatically or harshly. In a calm, grounded, resolved way. The kind of certainty that doesn’t need justification. When I respect myself at this level, I notice something shift. The world responds differently when the decision has already been made internally. Point blank.

There’s a quiet confidence that arrives when you stop playing mental gymnastics with yourself. A voice that was always there, but learned early on that safety came from holding back. To be loved meant to be silent about how you truly felt. I can feel her now. She’s emerged, and she is clear and present. No longer whispering to be polite and not giving a f*ck to be liked.

But what still surprises me is how often the old reflex to ask for permission still shows up. Not externally, but internally. Despite the inner work, it’s humbling tbh. An old habit of holding back from my desires. Each time it happens, I feel a hit of the past. Not judgment, just clarity around how deeply conditioned that reflex is. And I lovingly welcome it so I can move through it and expand my capacity…for more.

What no longer fuels me is doubt hidden in conversation or environments of comparison. I’ve learned how quickly that energy drains the creative channel. How creativity is silenced the moment it’s asked to compete instead of create.

There’s a certain exhaustion that comes from trying to meet expectations that were never yours. Not a loud burnout, but a quiet erosion of your soul. Self-trust feels foreign when worth becomes dependent on others’ response rather than what’s true to you. When you outsource your power to the world around you, instead of creating from within, say goodbye to feeling alive. Because eventually you will hit the wall.

I keep coming back to this question:

What changes when a woman creates from fullness instead of longing?

I see this pattern everywhere. In how easily devotion and expression for the hell of it turn into performance. In how the potent creative force (we have as women) gets redirected toward approval. In how motivation dissolves the moment recognition doesn’t happen, on (our) time.

Creating from longing shifts the energy, direction, and power of the work. The vision moves outward. The body tightens, you start editing before you even create. The channel narrows. Self doubt dosent announce itself, it just takes the wheel. The work starts asking to be chosen instead of simply existing.

I felt this recently while recording music. The moment the outcome entered the room, pressure arrived, and I closed. The body tried to force it. The spark of instant connection to source flickered. Nothing existed; I was one with it all and it was pouring out of me. I was riding the wave of FLOW STATE and it disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. Even that brief moment was enough to remind me what alignment and creative power feels like.

Fullness feels different. Fullness is different.

There’s no urgency. No proving. Creation moves as a gift to the world rather than something you do for performance, recognition, or success. The cup overflows because it’s already full, not because it’s trying to be filled. Service to the world replaces strategy. The process remains solid regardless of what happens afterward.

I don’t need answers right now. I know my north star, and I am already touching moments of FLOW state.

I’m more interested in noticing what shifts when I stop creating with someone else in mind. When the outer noise is no longer the driver. When the work no longer needs to be recognized.

Something changes there, and not all at once. But enough to know there’s no going back.

I’ve lost count of how many times life has handed me the disastrous, I mean PERFECT opportunity to test my trust. Trust in the creative process. Trust in the process of life. Trust in myself.

Ouf, here we go…

Like this summer, when we got stranded at sea. Literally. After a glorious boat ride, exploring Malta, we made one last quick stop to enjoy the sunset. It was time to head back, and then the anchor got stuck. We had to spend the night at sea. We had no idea if the boat had WiFi, and I had a MAJOR deadline the next morning.

And for a second, I could feel my anger and mind wanting to spiral into worry. Like, “Really? Right now?” But something deeper, the part of me that’s wise and grounded. She whispered, “This is THE moment of certainty. The perfect gift to practice the trust you talk about. Don’t collapse. Evolve. Enjoy. Lighten up. This is fucking AMAZING. You’re stranded at sea on a YATCH. I mean, that’s an epic adventure, right there. Girl, please…”

Or the time, you were producing Renaissance, one of Mel’s campaigns.
Six women. Six dresses. One very specific shade of red. One very specific set of sizes. Weeks of planning, sourcing, styling, syncing people across two continents. I had my bags packed to fly from Italy to the US when Sunday night, the unexpected message came in: The dresses didn’t arrive.

I thought, “wait what?! and the day after was Memorial Day. The small boutique, was MIA.”

That moment is where most creatives lose themselves. (but not you)
Because the mind screams:
“Everything is ruined.”
“This is too much.”
“I can’t fix this.”

But as a creative director who's also a mentor, that’s exactly when I know it’s my time to be the anchor, even when it seems like it’s all burning down. Channel my 5/1 Challenge Solver and Saturn in Capricorn vibes. Grounded. Steady. Certain. Resilient. The one who holds the frequency of “We’re good, this will work, it’s a gift, because there’s always a way.”

And the timing was wild because I had been studying Kabbalah, especially the teachings around certainty and challenge. Moments like these used to rock me off my center for a while. It felt like the universe was saying OK, since you’re learning this… time to practice, babygirl? So instead of spiraling, I breathed. And I chose certainty over chaos. Shift your perspective to: every obstacle is a divine reroute, and life gets easier.

What happened next was better than the original plan. We ended up road-tripping around Austin, hunting for red dresses. We found them. They were perfect. The shoot was magic. The story, rich in juiciness. The challenge brought us closer, more bonded, more in flow than if everything had gone smoothly.

LIFE WILL HAPPEN. Flights will be canceled. Production schedules will crumble.
Plans will fall apart. People will get sick. And sometimes the thing you were sure you needed will slip through your fingers.

But if you approach it from the lens of this is what makes me feel alive, this is what makes me a creator, this is what sharpens me. Especially when it makes no sense. Then suddenly you’re not fighting to control. You’re collaborating with life.

So here are the three things that help me stay calm in the chaos, every single time:

1. Certainty, the creative superpower. Not blind optimism. Not delusion. Not the fluffy kind. The full-body “I feel this emotion. I let it go. I’ve got this, life’s got me, we’re good” type. A grounded knowing that every challenge is redirecting me, not defeating me. Yes, always.

2. Coming back into the body. You cannot find creative solutions from a collapsed nervous system. Find what really works for you. Breath. Stillness. Movement. A moment to center. When your body is regulated, creative solutions will return.

3. Responding, not reacting. Panic shuts the channel. Presence opens it, and clarity only arrives when you’re receptive and relaxed, not spiraling.

Chaos isn’t the enemy. It will always come, but so will clarity.
It’s part of the creative process.
It’s the thing that makes us feel alive.
It’s what turns a project into a story and a fleeting moment into a funny memory.
The breakdown is what elevates a creator into an artist.

Because on the other side of every hurricane is always the same thing:
A EVEN better idea, an EVEN better path…
and an even MORE EVOLVED you.

Two and a half years ago, I unknowingly walked into a threshold. The death of one self, the birth of another.

It literally, just started as hunger.

After wrapping up a photoshoot for BREATH OF ONE, our breathwork brand, in my friend’s dream house in Tulum, I was starving. I swung open the fridge, eyes scanning for something quick, nourishing. A big, delicious cacao energy ball.

No second thoughts. The branding looked good. The packaging was clean. No need to check the ingredients.

Five minutes later, I found myself staring at the ceiling, a slow unraveling in my body.

"Amore… I feel like I’m on mushrooms."

Gregorio’s voice was calm, amused. "Are you?"

I ran back to the fridge, scanned the label. The last ingredient—psychedelic mushrooms.

Three grams.

A full-dose initiation.

Thank God I didn’t know beforehand.

Because what followed was not just a trip, it was an exorcism. A remembrance.

Within minutes, the energy dropped, a weight pressing into my stomach. A wave of nausea. I ran to the bathroom, tried to throw-up. Nothing.

The mushrooms weren’t letting me escape.

I was meant to sit in it. The discomfort. The terror. The undoing.

Gregorio was on an important business call where we were debriefing for the retreat we had just taught at. A call I was supposed to be on.

So just like that, I was alone.

Just me, the mushrooms, and God.

But wait, let’s rewind, because the groundwork for this moment had already been laid.

Days before, I had returned from teaching at Garrain’s retreat, where my healing theme had been artistry, confidence, and being seen…a life theme for my undefined ego in Human Design.

And now, the mushrooms had come to finish the job.

They didn’t ask for permission. They ripped through me like divine surgeons, excavating lifetimes of suppression from my DNA.

I wasn’t just facing my own resistance to self-expression, I was transmuting the wounds of generations.

The woman before me. My mother. My grandmothers. The women of Colombia.

The ones who had been silenced, burned, erased. The ones who swallowed their voices so they wouldn’t choke on their own power.

I curled into the fetal position as waves of nausea crashed over me. I resisted. It was unbearable. My body trembled. My eyes shut, gripping for a moment of ease. A sharp, burning pain that ferociously radiated through my physical and spiritual body for 2 hours.

Every cell in me clung to something familiar.

But the mushrooms? They don’t let you hold on.

My friend walked in casually, I submerged from the blankets (before the real journey began).

"I ate those energy balls in your fridge."

Her body tensed. "How much?"

The whole thing.

Her hand flew to her mouth. A slow exhale. Then, a whisper, almost to herself.

"I’ve been there before."

A moment of relief.

"Surrender to it. You are safe."

And then, she was gone. Off to her webinar she was facilitating.

And once again. I was alone.

Yet held by God.

For two and a half hours, I lay there, body in agony, eyes closed, soul open.

It felt like giving birth to myself. Because I was.

The pain was the death of the old. The me who played small. The me who feared her own voice. The me who believed power was something outside of her, seeking validation and waiting to be granted.

The mushrooms knew better.

They stretched me, expanding my vessel, forging a capacity to hold more.

It was excruciating. A spiritual surgery.

And then, as the intensity began to fade, a voice…clear, simple, undeniable:

You are here to liberate self-expression. The more you sing, the more the world around you will be free.

It landed like a long-lost memory.

A truth I had always known but spent years unraveling.

For six years, I had been on a journey of creative self-discovery.

Breathwork showed me I could lead, hold space, guide transformation.

But something still felt incomplete.

Gregorio had heard me sing once and said, "You have to share this gift." He would even go as far as to tell me I would be singing in stadiums one day.

But I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t comprehend how art could be my life mission.

For two years, I carried that message inside me. Quietly. Tentatively.

With resilience and certainty, I did what I could to refine the clarity of my purpose.

The mushrooms didn’t just plant the seed. They burned down the old world so the new one could rise.

Shortly after this initiation, we were facilitating a wedding in Costa Rica.

For the first time, I was in full feminine presence…guiding, holding, leading.

That breathwork session, I DJed. Even sang, just a little, when everyone had their eyes closed. But even that was so freeing.

And then, on the night of the wedding celebration, I found myself seated next to the DJ, Alex Cruz.

Of course.

Gregorio, of course mentioned I was a singer and he happily responds, “Oh really, well maybe you can sing a little with me tonight.” The gut-wrenching feeling returns, and I say “Absolutely not!” We got into a beautiful conversation about stage freight, which primed me for what would happen later that night because I felt super safe with him.

Then he says "What song would you sing?"

He happened to have it on his setlist. The possibility was real.

I wasn’t going to do it. No way.

But then…

The song came on.

My body moved before my mind could object.

And I picked up the mic and sang. In front of a hundred people, on top of the track...but still my voice could be heard.

No fear. No hesitation.

Something greater than me took over.

I was free.

Liberated.

Whole.

I thought that was it. That I had arrived. That I was now the singer.

But the journey didn’t end there.

Shortly after, we were invited to Lisbon by our friends Mind Against, an amazing opportunity to create in their studio.

A sign from God? Absolutely. I thought this was my moment. Instead, I shut down.

The pressure to “get it perfect,” which I put on myself, swallowed me whole.

I was terrified, yet I found the melody. But the lyrics? The flow?

Gone.

I was never "the singer," my mind whispered. I judged myself. Overthought every note. Criticized every idea, closing my connection to God.

So, I reached for a glass of wine, something I hadn’t done in years.

Hoping it would loosen the grip of doubt. But, it didn’t. It only took me further from my power. After three days, nothing was created. I left feeling like a failure. I closed the voice. I walked away from the vision, convincing myself it was crazy to even want this.

But the calling never left me. It grew louder. And louder. Until I could no longer ignore it. And so I kept and KEEP going. Kept and KEEP peeling back the layers. Kept and KEEP discovering the truth of my voice, not just as a singer, but as an artist, a creator, a transmitter of self-expression and liberation.

This journey, this relentless, soul shaping journey, is why I guide women to their artistic truth and personal power. I dont just create space for creativity. I guide you to become the channel and activate you creative initiation.

Beyond doubt. Beyond hesitation. Beyond resistance.

Because to me, self-expression is the key.

Before I get into the juicy story, here’s my why…

I’m launching this space because, honestly, I’m tired.

I'm tired of playing small and making excuses on why I don’t feel inspired on Instagram. It’s time to be seen fully, share my truth, and inspire other women to do the same. I want to create a loving community where women can drop the masks and finally speak their truths, no judgment, no filters—just real conversations that spark something deeper.

I’m here to honor the raw, unpolished wisdom that lies within you—your voice, your soul, your creative fire.

This is where we get to explore what it means to be fully ourselves and express that in the world without holding back. I’ll share my own stories, the messy, the beautiful, the real, all in the spirit of inviting you to do the same.

Let’s make this a space where creativity, authenticity, and radical self-expression are celebrated, no questions asked.

My transformation…

BACK TO THE STORY…

You ever have one of those moments where you’re staring in the mirror and realize you’ve lost sight of the self-love and confidence you worked so damn hard for?

Yeah, that was me back in June, deep in the thick of my darkness, hearing the voice of doubt and insecurity.

A distant feeling I hadn’t felt in 5 years, one I thought I’d rarely EVER feel again.

The personal power I had so lovingly cultivated over the years seemed to slip away, replaced by a louder, harsher voice—one that fixated on everything I thought needed changing to feel worthy again.

"If only the crow’s feet disappeared, I’d feel beautiful again."
"If I get my lashes laminated, I’d reclaim my confidence."

I got caught up in the noise. I became fixated, determined to get the quick fix.

Honestly, I lost myself for a minute. The whole “holistic, aligned life” thing? Yeah, that went right out the window. I wasn’t tuning into my body like I used to—I let my clever mind convince me, outsmarting my intuition and feelings.

I stopped caring about doing the deep work, the research, the slow-and-steady healing I normally swear by. All I craved was the quick fix, the instant hit of validation, anything to silence that voice telling me I wasn’t enough. It was like trying to fill a bottomless hole with something temporary. Just chasing the next fix to numb the discomfort and fill the void. A false sense of security.

So, I gave in. I had my one-night stand with Botox.

Not gonna lie, I woke up feeling like a glowing goddess—youthful, radiant, and ready to conquer the world. It worked like a charm. But then, as I looked in the mirror, I had that “oh, shit” moment.

It was like that wild, unforgettable hookup with the SUPER hot guy who made you feel on top of the world... until he ghosted you and left you with that empty feeling. Yeah, that’s what it was like. Instant confidence, followed by the cold reality check. I even feared telling Gregorio, my husband, despite the agreement of radical honesty we devote ourselves to, a foundation in our love.

It took time to face the truth. Until I had an uncomfortable conversation with Gregorio, and that’s when it hit me: beauty isn’t skin-deep, and no temporary solution could ever mask what I wasn’t facing inside. The Botox wasn’t the problem—it was the deeper wound, the part of me I hadn’t yet healed. You can cover up the surface all you want, but until you deal with that inner critic, nothing changes.

This isn’t about telling you what to do with your body. This is about asking why. Why do you seek change? What is your true intention behind it?

For me, I realized it’s about embracing who I am, wrinkles and all. True beauty isn’t about a quick fix; it’s about feeling good within and doing the deep work to get there.

I’ve made peace with my Botox fling—it was a wake-up call. It left me feeling whole in a way I wasn’t expecting.

I’m saying goodbye to quick fixes and realigning with what truly matters: embracing the holistic beauty practices I love. Ones that nourish my body, soul, and health. And that’s when I fell head over heels for face-taping. Yeah, it’s a thing, and it works wonders. It’s a true love affair.

True confidence isn’t found in fleeting highs or quick transformations. It’s found in the quiet moments of radical self-acceptance and love.

This is your reminder: You’re enough. You’ve always been enough. Don’t let anyone (including yourself) tell you otherwise. Let that be the truth you carry with you, no patches or fixes are required—just you, exactly as you are, radiant in your own right.

Here are the alternative anti-aging techniques I use, that are as timeless as they are effective:

FACE TAPING: A gentle way to train your muscles and soften wrinkles naturally.

Here is a link for the Face Tape Queen, she has products, guides, and even skincare.

Buy Face Tape & How To PDF Here

PRO TIP: purchase ONLY kinesiology tape

GUA SHA: An ancient practice to stimulate sculpt, refresh, and improve lymphatic stimulation.

Purchase Gua Sha

SKINCARE: The ultimate ritual for hydrated, glowing, and youthful skin.

I use this and it works wonders:

Oliver Tree People

FACE YOGA: Toning and lifting from within through mindful movements.

Face Yoga

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