As someone traumatized by the western medical system early on, with chronic illness symptoms starting at an early age, and a natal chart completely driven around experiencing and learning more, it’s safe to say that I’m an avid researcher, always questioning.

Over the last few years, my symptoms were escalating and I found out that I have some form of dysautonomia, most likely PoTS and hEDS, a few months ago, maybe 8 or 9. Since then, I’ve been learning as much as I can on the subject and it appears to me, the medical system isn’t putting in that much effort at all. (go figure) Sadly, not much is known still, testing for it or getting a Dr to listen long enough to get to that point is extremely archaic, and medications they prescribe seem to all be made for completely other ailments. They’re just shooting in the dark still, which is too scary for me on top of y’know the chronic fucking illnesses.

I could get into the “why’s” of all that and get heated talking about inequality and greed but that’s not what this is about. This is a safe space where we share what works for us, what doesn’t, what we’re proud of, what we’re pissed about, etc… so I’ll save my many passionate thoughts on the medical system later, if you want to hear them. We’re here today to learn how to feel better on our own, taking back our power, remembering to treat ourselves like a friend, and honoring the magick within ourselves and mother gaia.

Leave a comment and share what’s been working for you, what hasn’t, what you accomplished today, whether you want to hear more about my rantings on the fucked up medical system in america, or whatever you want. Let’s chat!

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I shared this post yesterday, bc I think we all could use the reminder to be kinder to ourselves.

“What would I do for a friend feeling this way?”

That’s the big question, eh? When I ask myself this question, it makes me realize I’m not caring for myself as well as I could and the reframe is really helping me do better.

I was wrestling myself about sharing this bc I am in no way living this guru lifestyle where I’m able to do all or even a quarter of the list below. I don’t have morning routines that stick daily. I never know what each day is gonna look/feel like, so I’m doing my best and finally understand that that’s enough. Nobody’s perfect here and we proudly flaunt that fact and I think that’s why we all feel so at home.

I want to share this knowledge I’ve gathered from every research tool I have with you bc I want you to feel better. As best as you can, as often as you can. I want to share this knowledge bc I noticed, during my research, I kept running into pay walls. I’d start to read some real information I can actually use and just when I’m hooked, “oH sUbScRiBe” or having to search for hours to find something useful. Aint nobody with a chronic fucking illness has no time or money or patience for that shit. Damn.

We deal with enough roadblocks on this health journey, we don’t need to be blocking each other. I want to share this knowledge bc I’m passionate about knowledge and helping others, so why the fuck would I gatekeep?! I’m honored you’re here, reading my words. I’m pleased this article has found you and even more so if it helps in any way.

In the spirit of freedom of knowledge, it does take a lot on my part to gather and research, so, if you want to show your appreciation, I would be extremely appreciative to you if you’d like to donate $5 to my passion project. (more info on that coming soon!) Due to chronic illnesses and the lack of support in my country, I can’t work a traditional job, but my passion projects (writing children’s books, sewing costumes, making multimedia art, producing my first burlesque show, and self-care) keep me going. Every donation helps me survive and keeps my creativity alive. No worries if you’re not able or willing to donate today. I’m just happy you’re here.

$5 Donation Appreciated =)

Now, to get to why we really came here. I did the research, so you don’t have to. No gatekeeping. No paywalls. Just village growth, love and healing vibes. We need each other now more than ever. Let me know in the comments below if I missed anything, or what works best for you.

before I start, I should preface that I am not a doctor, nor is this medical advice. Please take caution and contact your responsible adult if needed. This is compiled research over months of scouring and years of trial and error. You’re an adult, nobody’s telling you what to do, but like please just don’t sue me. =P

1. Morning routine option: Wake up, do leg pumps, drink 1L h20, put on compression socks before standing to make it easier, take supplements, stand up, stretch, go potty

2. Night routine option: nature walk then somatic work before bed then 5 min vagus wind down; dim lights, 4-7-8 breath work 4x, rosewater face wipe & soothing oil spray, hum voo 30 seconds, lie on side 5 mins

3. Sodium tablets bc salt helps blood volume issues found in PoTS (but some are hard on the belly, caution advised)

4. Electrolyte water for the same reason

5. Meal prepping & frequent snacking. Plan and prep meals on like a Sunday, so you don’t even have to think, just eat. Also, smaller portions and more often. Blood tends to pool in our torso if we haven’t eaten in over like 4 hours. Everyone is different tho, consult your “adult” or your body.

6. Up your protein and collagen intake. Hydrolyzed Collagen peptide powder & vit C to help it absorb goes a looooong way for hEDS tissue support.

7. Supplements and tea blends. I have extensive lists containing the benefit of each item on both lists. If you’d like to know my blends, please don’t hesitate to ask. I could write numerous articles on the subject, if that’s an interest. My tea blends range from pain relief, tummy relief, sleep aid, go go morning tea, menstrual cycles and more!

8. Strengthening muscles esp. lower body. Strengthening lower body muscles helps blood flow back up from the legs to the heart for PoTSies. Strengthening all supporting muscles helps hold all your bones and organs in place for hEDSies.

9. Diaphragm breath work. Apparently I haven’t been breathing right. I was using my chest, filling up my lungs from above to below. I guess breathing has a big part in bloodflow, which makes sense but I guess I never thought about it. So, we should really be using our diaphragms more and breathing from the belly, almost no chest rise. Filling up the bottom of the lungs from the belly, to the top. I’ve been doing it for a day and already noticing a difference. Now I’ve just gotta retrain my muscles to do that naturally.

10. Posture realignment exercises. These can be found on youtube or at your local chiropractor, physical therapist, or home health aid. I know with my hEDS, my bones are always being pulled out of alignment, even right after an alignment.

11. Compression socks, body wraps, chest binders, weighted blankets, electric can opener, etc. Any tool that makes your life easier or your body feel relief is worth the try. I have all of the above and my quality of life is night and day from before I had them.

12. Pain relief creams, CBD powder, kava kava root, ginger wraps, heating blanket under me in bed. Anything to bring the pain level of existing in our body down enough to relax and sleep and rest and heal. (note: kava goes to the liver, so don’t take it with nsaids or other pain relievers)

13. Elevated head of bed. Add pillows or a bed wedge under your pillow area of your mattress. Even tho we need to elevate our feet when sitting, elevating our head when sleeping apparently helps a lot.

14. Lymph/fascia work. Also found easily on youtube, but I’ll be writing an article on lymph work soon if you’re interested. The lymphatic system is the mycelium of our bodies.

15. Crossing legs while standing/shifting weight. Walking seems to be easier for us PoTSies, staying in motion if we’re upright when our blood is fighting gravity. When we have to wait in a queue, standing still, oh no. So, I’ve learned that crossing my legs or shifting from foot to foot, or even doing a little dance, jumping or hopping, standing yoga poses, whatever keeps that blood flowing. Who cares if you look silly, at least you’re not faceplanted in that queue.

16. Soak feet in hot water, Epsom, lemon juice, baking soda and fresh ginger slices for 20 mins. It pulls out the toxins, epsom salt calms and soothes and relieves pain and coming through your fascia in your feet is the main highway, the ginger warms and opens the capillaries, the baking soda and lemon juice detox. It smells pretty nice and feels wonderful, but you can feel free to add a few drops of your choice of calming essential oil.

17. Amish ibuprofen: 1cup fresh or 1/2c dried dandelions, 1/2c fresh or 1/4c dried rosemary, 2c apple cider vinegar. let sit 2 weeks shaking daily in cool dark place, store in dark jar 9 months, dried 6 months fresh, add 2tsp to tea 3x daily for relief

18. Strict sleep schedule 2/3am to 10/11am= 8 hours + 2/3hr occasional nap = 10hrs total. (this is mine, or what I want to stick to. Yours may look different. The important thing is enough sleep. For me, 8 hours is like my minimum. Anything under 6 or 7 and I’m useless that day. 10 hours is my sweet spot, so I nap. A good sleep schedule is like one of the biggest cornerstones of getting this shit on track tho.

19. Lemon in warm water or hot tea & chia seeds in breakfast every morning. These are traditional Chinese wisdom, I do believe.

20. Listen to your body first. Answer the signs it sends. You know you best.

    Honorable mention: I’ve really found that journaling and meditation have also really helped my mental state throughout all of this. They’ve been invaluable tools during the hardest of days. Meditation doesn’t have to be this strict thing either, sometimes I color, or paint, crochet, dance, hum or sing to music, watch birds, put on my favorite movie. Do what feels right for you.

    Apologies for not having references, like I said, this has been compiled over a long time and with an AuDHD brain and zero organization. I don’t usually write articles like this but felt called to share this knowledge with you. I promise tho, I’m not getting my info from bs sources.

    Please let me know if you’d like me to go more in depth or explain any of these further. It’s no problem at all.

The more I’m learning about eds and pots, the less angry I am at my body. Im able to have the tools and knowledge now to live easier. For instance, something stupid and small that makes a huge difference; my hubby calls me ‘princess and the pea’ bc if even one crumb is under me, I can’t sleep. Whenever my hips are flaring up, I’ve noticed there’s a little wrinkle in the comforter I lay on. I smooth it out, sleep on it proper, and healing finally begins. It’s so dumb but knowing that hack now saves me so much recovery time! It’s little things like that that make a huge difference in daily life

If you’d like to learn more in depth, this is an article about PoTS and Dysautonomia I recently read that shed a ton of light on the more biological and scientific side of things that has really helped the anger within me have the space to release finally. Knowledge is power!

💙TheVaxInjuredLounge💙w/ Lyndsey, RN💙

POTS: Genetics, Causes, & Solutions for Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome

March 8, 2026 by Debbie Moon, MSc…

Read more

6 months ago · 6 likes · Lyndsey, RN 🐭

As always, if this resonated with you or if you have any questions please lmk. If you’re interested in learning more about my loose leaf tea blends, supplement stack, or passionate heated views on healthcare then shoot me a message. Don’t be a stranger! I put a lot of time, energy, effort, brain power, passion, vulnerability and heart into these — so any amount of feedback is welcomed.

I truly hope you’re feeling healthy and happy, relieved and released, wild and weird, feral and free. I genuinely hope this article has helped you in some way. Lmk which one’s call out to you. What are you gonna try next? Which ones have you already tried? Do any of them sound foreign or cocoa for coocoo puffs? Did I miss anything?

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Building this community with you is an honor. It takes a village, right? All your love and support keeps me going on this journey with each and every one of you. Thank you so very much. <3

Love you,

Fern Alydia

xo

written in 5 hours, compiled over a lifetime, living on forever now in your brain. Share the knowledge freely.

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I’ve been trying to figure out how to articulate this for a long time, sorta putting it off bc I knew it would be hard but knowing I need to just get it out of me already. Being this vulnerable about my chronic illnesses and struggles is definitely out of my comfort zone — but here fuckin goes..

I used to think “unmasking” sounded like a fun thing to do when I first heard of it and for the first year or so of trying it out, I remember thinking, “oh nice, finally something in this journey that really feels nice” and it was nice for a while. I remember being able to be myself in public, not performing if I don’t want to, letting my neurodivergence come out instead of hiding to fit in. It was refreshing. But, the journey with my health has been a totally different story.

There were so many ways I’ve been masking as “healthy” my entire life that it’s just engrained into who I am that I didn’t even realize I’d been doing most of them. Pretending to be okay when I clearly wasn’t, acting like I’m not in pain, putting a smile on my face when my body is screaming, eating foods or shaking hands I know are gonna make me sick just to seem “normal”. I hid it so well that my partner of 5 years didn’t even witness me have a POTS episode until a few months ago, ghost white passed out on the couch trying to push myself to cook dinner.

I wasn’t hiding on purpose; it was just engrained so deeply into me that hiding was like breathing. Too scared that if ppl saw what I actually go through they’d feel sorry for me or stop loving me, too worried that if I stopped masking I’d lose all my friends, too terrified to be my true self I’ve been living a lie so well I even believed it myself.

This last year has been a deep dive journey into my health issues and a daily war with myself and the world around me and the ideals thrust upon me. I’ve had to get really real with myself and those around me and really vulnerable in admitting my limitations and ailments and I’ve lost a lot in the process.

Yes, it’s true, my body is happier that I don’t constantly push it past it’s limits and I get sick less around less people but at what cost? I still flare up all the time bc I’m trying to survive alone with multiple illnesses and can’t keep up with taking care of myself so flare up more. Hell, I’m flaring up right now and unable to clean or refill the water bc I can barely walk.

A few months ago, I quietly decided to stop pouring so much of my energy out and instead even things out a bit by giving energy in return when it’s given to me. So, for instance, not always being the one to text first every day. Since then, radio silence. And I totally get that life has been difficult on most of us lately and ppl are busy and all that jazz. I definitely give plenty of benefit of the doubt and wiggle room for life. But if I haven’t heard from you but once or twice in months? Bruh. I’m over it.

And my Aquarius sun has no issues closing doors… but now I’m in this hallway of closed doors all alone and when I do go out where the people are, I just feel like an unmasked naked weirdo in a sea of masks.

If you’re an avid reader of my work, then you may be aware that the full moon is coming up soon and with it, my period — bc I’m what’s known as a “red witch”. So, rn I’m full in deep luteal phase and I can tell this is gonna be a bad one bc my endo is already flaring up, I’m extra pissy and sensitive, achy, my boobs hurt, I can feel my egg struggling to drop and make me cramp already, and I have too many things inside me begging to be let free. So, I’m gonna make myself a stiff drink and write.

I’m so tired of being a flake. I make plans, get excited, friends are counting on me, and my body says “womp womp! you’re not going anywhere bitch!”. I can’t keep a job, can’t have a social life, can’t keep up on my hobbies or my chores, can’t even keep myself fed and healthy. I moved into an RV full time to be out in nature more, but the weather here fucks me up and I’m more isolated than I’ve ever been. Idk what a “normal life” would even look like for me honestly, bc living everyone else’s “normal” (theres that word again) wasn’t doing it for me either.

I keep comparing myself to others, how my life “should” look according to how others’ look. I can’t be doin that. But there’s no manual for living with chronic illnesses, neurospicy brain, and depression in a world on fire with no parental guidance or support. I’m just out here free ballin and free fallin through life.

Grew up dirt poor in a country that definitely makes life much harder on the lower class, chronic illnesses started early with horrible excuses for “doctors” traumatizing me young, parental units who obviously skipped their ‘how to be a good role model’ class, and a body that continues to fail me.

I believe in the power of the mind and healing the nervous system and the magical healing properties behind nature and all that Eastern stuff and believe me, I’ve tried it all. I just feel stuck. I see my mom, with similar illnesses, 30 years further in this journey than me, giving up. I don’t blame her. I don’t think I have 3 more decades of this in me either. Something’s gotta give.

Everything I try becomes a vicious circle, and I’ve tried everything you can think of and then more.

Every time I start to make progress and start feeling better, something happens and I either get sick for weeks or flare up or the weight of life crushes me completely and I have to start all over again from -1.

I honestly don’t know what to do anymore and it’s all too much. Trying as hard as I can daily to overcome the depression taking over bc I feel so helpless, to feed myself enough so the POTS doesn’t explode, to do my stretches so the hEDS doesn’t keep me in constant pain, to take my supplements bc I can’t eat properly due to the ARFID, to get enough sun and exercise even tho I’m always dizzy, to keep myself and my home clean even tho I have zero energy, to keep a routine despite my debilitating AuDHD, and also to try to have a social life and make a difference in this world and make my art and write my stories and be true to myself and unmask and do all the shadow work and spiritual journey and magical moon rituals and remember to drink plenty of water and oh yeah the world is also in shambles and the country is falling apart and there’s nothing you can do about it…but hey don’t be depressed. It’s like FUCK. How do I navigate even just one of those things??

I never realized unmasking would be so incredibly lonely or painful. I always heard “the Universe makes space for better ppl to come into your life” and all that, and I still believe that but at this point in my life nobody is even able to come into it. I’m in the middle of nowhere parked in the woods in rural Midwest America until winter and I’m bad at texting. For the next 3 months, I’m stuck here. No options or opportunity to change my surroundings. During this 3 months, I need to become the “better person” coming into my life. I know it’s “buckle down & make moves in silence, build the foundation, water the garden” season and I get that, but understanding that doesn’t make it any easier or less lonely.

I know of writers that hid away in a cabin for years with no contact to the outside world and said it was the most productive writing they’ve ever done — but also some of the most emotionally grueling. I know I have the “perfect stereotypical author’s atmosphere”; peace and quiet, nature, plenty of liquor and traumas to boot, a slow disgusting grip on depression with a refusal to let go in fear that all my dreams may actually come true, and 3 months to just write. A dream to some, a nightmare to others.

I know what I need to do. I know what I want to do. Something is still standing in the way and I have no idea what that could be but I know somehow, it’s me.

Usually, I have some uplifting message to end my articles on but today I’m coming up short. This is more a pissy luteal journal entry than an article, idk. I just had to get it out of me. I’m not gonna apologize for complaining. Women with chronic illness have spent too long staying quiet to keep everyone else comfortable. Women in general have kept too quiet about what our bodies go through on a daily basis. I’ve kept too quiet. If this made you uncomfortable, you’re welcome. We can only grow outside of our comfort zones.

Listen to your own words, girl. Damn. This is obviously a very uncomfortable zone that I’m currently in. Maybe it’s not depression and maybe instead, it’s my body’s way of trying to protect me from signs it’s unsafe but the only thing unsafe is the uncomfort. Man, I’m really trying as hard as I can to spin gold out of this bullshit. Trying to make the most of this next 3 months or find the lesson in all of it. Just making it up as I go along. Fuck. Idk man.

While it is nice to always remember your blessings and affirm your destiny and all that, it’s also important to vent and growl and scream at the moon with your tits out. Don’t let that shit fester. Why do we care so much about the comfort of others when we’ve been sitting in uncomfort our whole damn lives??

Please, tell me in the comments if any parts of this resonated with you, if you’re tired of staying quiet and have something that needs to get out, or if you just need to complain, bitch, and vent! This is your moment to bark like a feral dog.

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If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading. It’s daunting putting it all out there like this and being so raw with yall. Lmk if I’m alone in this feeling or if you’re feeling it too. I know the cosmos are doing crazy things and affecting everyone differently rn. What are you struggling with and need to get off your chest?

Feel free to send me a personal message, if sharing with the world still feels too crazy — I’m here to listen. And as always, if you know anyone who might enjoy my Substack please don’t hesitate to share!

Share Fern Alydia 🔥🌼

Love you,

Xo

Fern Alydia

Written from the chaos of my luteal brain during another hopeless flare up, hoping someone in the void out there hears me. (Photos either found through Substack, Ecosia, or made/taken by me.)

I got kicked out of Meta a few months ago and it’s one of the best things to ever happen to me.

They never explained how I “broke their rules” and wouldn’t let me appeal. At the time, I was pissed. At least let me get my photos and friend’s numbers, damn.

Still no photos and only contact with like 3 friends, I now realize it’s one of those ways my Guides are working for my greatest good behind the scenes. Sometimes, things that seem like they’re holding us back from what we think we want are actually opening doorways to actually get there or somewhere better. We get so caught up in this narrative of our lives, we begin to only see that one road…which may have been blocking the road we’re meant to be on.

What I didn’t realize at the time is, that’s exactly what I’d been asking for, hoping for, praying for. I didn’t want to be part of the zeitgeist anymore, glued to a screen, brain rotting away, life passing me by.

Making this realization, I decided not to make any new Meta accounts. Instead, I ran over here to Substack and started writing. Instead of pouring out my streams of consciousness to my journal, I started posting it on here. Instead of posting to an algorithm that only wants money from me and buries my work, I started sharing the deepest parts of me with amazing humans such as yourself.

In just a few short months off of socials I can already see the massive changes. My IQ isn’t taking daily hits, my self-esteem isn’t constantly comparing, my anxiety is taking a much-needed rest, my connection to the earth is healing. I find myself practicing my crafts more, both art and witchcraft. I’m taking more chances, making unabashed mistakes, getting messy and trying things I might never have before. I can feel myself coming back online — not algorithm online but my soul is set aflame once again, “I’m awake” online.

Staring at screens, watching other witches practice, saving videos to saved folders only to be forgotten wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I would stay up at night, my neurodivergent brain making new life manifestos at 3am, wishing to be the people I saw on my screens instead of just being. Now, in the quiet of my own existence, I’m able to listen to my own body and what she wants. Now, without comparing myself and my practice to aesthetic pinterest boards, I can fully be my free, wild, feral self.

My craft has opened up to new worlds that may have taken me years to find through all the noise before. I’m trying new things, rituals I’ve never seen before, never been told about — just honoring my body and what she wants. Learning about and honoring my cycles (menstrual, AuDHD, POTS, hEDS, endometriosis, artistic, hormone, how my body reacts to weather, noise, etc.) and realizing that I’m a red witch (explanation linked) meaning I bleed on the full moon and ovulate on the new moon.

I’ve always had a very strong connection with the moon and started talking more with her again recently. I’m not sure if it was her or me that decided to start this unglamorous ritual, but I started bleeding into the earth under the full moon while I talk to her like she’s an old friend and shed anything no longer serving me. If you’re not a red witch, bleeding during the full moon, you can still practice this under any moon phase if you’re feeling like trying something new that feels wild, free, and unglamorous to connect to the earth and moon and yourself.

See how to do ritual here.1

I’ve talked to the moon since I can remember, much less in recent years tho. I’ve done that grounding practice in the footnote above for probably at least 20 years. I’ve free bled into a towel before… But something about combining all 3 that I hadn’t thought of before my world was quiet enough for me to, feels so powerful.

When the content I was taking in was so chaotic from one reel to the next, my nervous system was shot. When stronger people than me are out there on the front lines, doing the hard work, becoming martyrs, getting imprisoned, petitioning, protesting, yelling from the rooftops — I couldn’t help but compare myself and beat myself up for not doing more. But in my own peaceful quiet defiance I realized that is its own form of resistance.

Connecting with our bodies and mind. Connecting with the earth. Quieting the chaos. Quieting our minds. Finding the peace within. Calming our nervous systems. Not feeding into their bullshit. Not perpetuating fear and hatred. Choosing to be the peace in the world you want to see. Choosing to change the narrative by changing one single person’s energy. In physics, the theory of resonance and sympathetic vibration says that when one thing vibrates differently from the norm, there becomes a new norm. We just need to choose a different vibration.

Sidenote: Gandhi shaped the world through his peaceful protest of the Salt March of 1930, but he couldn’t have got there if not already in a place of peace within. I am not yet ready to go march and those of us who aren’t ready or able should not feel shamed for not protesting how other’s think we should. Maybe we’re calling our state representatives through the 5 stars app quietly each morning, or protesting with our money and what we choose to buy, or writing and sharing and healing our nervous systems first. I’m so tired of seeing hatred and judgement be spread among ppl on the same side. Let’s all do our part, however that may look. This article isn’t about politics, but weaves into everything in our lives right now and affect everyone on earth, so I just wanted to make sure I said that.

I hear a lot of talk about the book “The Body Keeps The Score” by Bessel Van Der Kolk. Talk about how unprocessed trauma gets stored in the body and festers into sickness. I’m about halfway through the book and still haven’t got to the healing part because the book is heavy and a lot to process emotionally. But those I’ve heard who have finished it aren’t talking about the healing either. Everyone talks about how the body keeps score but nobody’s talking about how forgiving the body can be. The body keeps score but it’s always looking for new ways to heal itself and allow you to let yourself heal.

So, due to my many ailments listed above and the lack of reliable healthcare in my country, I’ve learned many ways to heal myself, my nervous system, and my ideals and I’ll share those with you now.

Here are some other “too strange, too raw, too woo woo for the witchy aesthetic trend” practices that I have:

• I make my own tea blends for pain relief, blood flow, energy without jitters, calming, sleep aid, anxiety relief, brain fog clearing, menstrual and hormonal cycles, joint health, etc. I love tea and it’s many medicinal properties. Feel free to ask me for any blend recommendations.

• Journaling, decoupaging, somatic yoga (I’ll link my favorite creator for somatic practice here.), typing without thinking or “free writing”, EFT tapping (my favorite app for it is called Tapping Solution), writing on Substack, painting, molding clay, guided meditations (either on youtube or my favorite app Insight Timer), dancing ferociously, making mud pies, talking to the moon. Just get it out of you. Don’t keep it bottled up.

• Taking actual care of myself. Eating what my body wants, sleeping well, getting out in nature, savoring little moments, pushing pause on life to play with my cat or call a friend, drinking tea, stretching whenever my body tells me to, pooping regularly, remembering to brush my teeth. All the unglamorous shit the gurus don’t talk about.

• Connecting with my inner child more. She had shit figured out. She was wild and free and gave zero fucks what anyone thought or what her belly looked like in her favorite outfits or how to make money doing her passions — she just did them. Holding my inner child’s hand while she cries and talking shit with my inner teen when she’s feeling angsty. Doing the dirty work.

• Keeping my altar the cleanest space in my RV most days. Yes, I have bad days that may look like some people’s worst days. Yes, my home gets hella messy, sometimes for weeks. Yes, I fall behind on routines or just life in general. Yes, I have chronic illness that sometimes has me down for weeks on end. But do I beat myself up for it anymore? hell no. I implement small acts I know I can achieve, even on my worst days, that make my life feel more magical. I tattooed magical symbols onto my hand so that everything I touch brings that magic into my life. Not for everyone, but it’s right for me. Find your little practices that work for you.

• Blowing cinnamon in my doorway even if my place isn’t clean or I missed the first of the month. Calendars are made up by man anyway. Some guy named “Gregory” isn’t here to dictate my life lol. The moon tells me when the time is right. My body and life get in the way sometimes and that’s okay. Staying rigid to a course or practice that was right for someone else usually leads to giving up on yourself when it’s inevitably not right for you. Going with your own flow and forgiving yourself for being human is much more my speed. Allow yourself to do things on the wrong days or the wrong ways and let it be okay.

• I never conformed to anyone’s ideals as a kid and idk why I did in my twenties but it’s time to be me again. I say no to plans that don’t feel right. I ignore group chats that overwhelm me. I put my phone on silent. I cancel when my body tells me to. My friends know that honoring my body and nervous system is important to me and they also know how to contact me or my partner when they need to.

• Nature heals us. Supplements are not the enemy. Using a tool that makes life easier for you doesn’t make you weak. I take kava and cannabis for pain and anxiety relief, many supplements to make up for what my diet lacks (NAC, vit d & e are amazing for endo btw, I’ll write a whole article on that soon.), I bought a can opener made for the elderly the other day bc my hands hurt, I use/take/do whatever I can to make my life easier and more comfortable however I can. That doesn’t make me lazy, that makes me smart. Life is short, I’d rather spend 10 minutes petting my cat or going on a nature walk than fighting a can opener or dying of pain or scrolling videos that make me anxious.

A lot of these might not look like rituals because they’re not the manufactured pinterest board that’s been shoved down our throats. These are just little practices I’ve learned work for me and bring more magic and whimsy into my life, things I’ve done/do that help heal me in ways I never could’ve imagined, unglamorous snippets into the life of a witch with many ailments and how I manage. It’s not cute, it’s not meant to be cute. Life is messy, love is messy, magic is messy, living is messy, figuring it all out is messy — just learning how to be is priceless.

So, I implore you — don’t miss out on your precious life by spending it in screens, comparing it to others, trying to fit into boxes you were never meant for, staying too rigid to see any other path. Please please go live your life. Do it messy. Do it feral. Do it wild. Do it unabashed and free. Figure out what works for you and what was just a rerun of someone else’s life. What are some rituals or practices that you do to help heal yourself in this world of chaos? What is a messy or unglamorous thing you’ve been wanting to try? How do you connect with your inner child and teen and go wild? I would love to start a chat about it in the comments!

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And as always, feel more than free to share this with anyone you think might enjoy my writings. Let’s build a community of whacky, wild neurodivergent feral witches where we can talk to the moon with our tits out and rub mud on our bodies and run around the forest together!

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With love,

xo Fern Alydia

Written in my head for a month and put onto paper in 2 hours. Apologies if the ADHD is strong with this one. I had a lot to get out. XD

As a woman with chronic illnesses in a country with shit healthcare and even worse pharmaceutical warfare in my mid-30s, I tend to look back on it all — try to narrow down when it all started. Knowing what I do now, with no help from Doctors, I can see the signs a lot more clearly.

I always used to attribute the chronic pain and ailments to puberty or that time I got hit by a truck, but if I really think back — I can remember pain in my lower back when i was 7 years old. i remember laying flat on the floor, belly down, and wondering what that feeling in my back was. I didn’t even know how to define that sort of pain.

The migraines started in 4th grade. I remember my teacher’s face, in incredulous disbelief, thinking I was making things up to get out of doing my schoolwork. I remember getting my first prescription glasses in 4th grade, being told that would solve my migraine issues. 30ish% better is not solved, but I’ve never been very good at math. —\_(“.)_/—

I still had faith in my doctors. I was unaware of the balls vice grip big pharma had over them all. I was pushed numerous drugs that did nothing good for me and my developing body, no good at all. I dealt with countless Doctors, every last one making me feel helpless. I suffered for years until I decided to take matters into my own hands.

My mom’s big into doctors — even tho i’ve watched her be mistreated by the system my entire life — so she kept taking me until I moved out. I started reading and researching and pouring myself into herbalism, natural healing, Indigenous traditions/practices, religious studies, occult studies, etc. That started at around 13 years old.

I got hit by the truck at 14 years old. Trying to cross on a green light like a dumbass kid just bc I had to pee really bad and thought it couldn’t wait. The truck was blindspotted by a big semi in the lane closest to me, I thought I had the space to run after the semi but when I got out to the middle the truck in the middle lane came from what seemed like nowhere. I tried to sandwich myself between the two lanes as the truck swiped my hip at 40mph and twirled me around and threw me down. I puked, got up and bolted to the nearest bathroom instead of taking an ambulance.

By the time I was 16, the pain and POTS symptoms were in full swing. The drs told us it was sciatica and I would be in a wheelchair by age 18 and never get to dance again. But they had no idea what was going on. It wouldn’t be for 17 more years that I would figure out any truths about my situation. Instead, my mother took me to all those hospitals and drs offices. Torture. Cold, sterile torture.

By age 18, I was diagnosed with a laundry list of terrifying diseases and ailments but still no wheelchair needed. I dug my heels in about that one and forced myself to stay standing during POTS episodes for many years, just so I wouldn’t be forced to use a wheelchair. It took me all these years to just now finally start honoring my body and sitting when/wherever I need to, taking breaks when I need to, resting without shame, asking for help when I need it — instead of white knuckling and fighting against my body’s way of communicating with me.

I moved to the West Coast when I turned 21 and signed up for foodstamps and they also sent me health insurance in the mail with it. I was flabbergasted. Growing up in the Conservative Midwest, that was unheard of. I went to a Kaiser Permanente hospital and connected with a very kind, patient, understanding doctor. It was so surreal.

I started crying during our first visit together. The doctor looked concerned and asked me why I was crying. She was the first one that sat down and actually listened. When I gave her my laundry list the Midwest drs had given me that they thought was what was wrong with me she kinda scoffed and said, “well that can’t be right, let’s test you for all of these things and more. Do you mind some testing?”

I was diagnosed with only 1 thing, all the other 20+ fell away. Fibromyalgia. My mom was diagnosed with that when I was a kid, so I was familiar but I also knew what her journey looked like and it didn’t look much different from what I was dealing with already. Truth is, they still don’t know much about fibro. In the state of Missouri, only 3% of their yearly medical research fund is spent on studying it.

So, i was back at one but at least I had some real answers and beautiful Oregon air to breathe. I went about my life for the next 15 years thinking it was fibro, knowing that umbrella didn’t really fit but so tired of the battle of searching for the right answer.

I moved back to the Midwest a couple years later and stopped going to Drs, unless it was an emergency. I dove DEEP into my herbalism practice/studies, taking matters into my own hands, refusing to ever let another dr scare me into taking the drugs they get paid to push. Until I find another honest, patient, true doctor like the one I had in Oregon, I’ll continue to be my best answer — bc nobody knows your body like you do.

Over those 15 years, aside from trying to live life and be a soul in a human world, I spent countless hours learning how to listen to my body and honor its signals. Pages and pages of shadow work, therapy work, herbal studies/remedies, somatic work, Indigenous studies/practices, Eastern medicine research, and then opened my own apothecary — to share my knowledge and help heal others through nature.

Needless to say, it’s fucking hard to start a business alone, with chronic illness, so the apothecary is less a money-making company and more a hobby that nurtures and feeds my passions. I’ve never been able to keep a ‘regular job’ bc of the capitalistic mindset of “GO GO GO MORE MORE MORE WORK UNTIL YOU BLEED” bc my body just does not work that way. And there’s nothing at all wrong with that. There is not a single thing in nature that never takes a break, even vibrators need recharging.

And due yet again to the Conservative Midwest, since I’m “too young to be this sick”, according to them, I’m unable to benefit from any sort of disability program and unable to work regular 9-5s. Just out here free ballin it in the real world. So, I’ve always had to rough it. It’s not something anyone should have to get used to, but here I am. Now I live in an RV bc housing is too expensive and well, I just love being in nature.

I’m a homebody and a nature girl. Best of both worlds.

I’ve hoped to drive the RV to the West Coast and find good Drs again, but cost of living is too expensive — hell, gas is too expensive alone. And i feel that I’m needed here. I know there are many more here, suffering alone like I was, who need an apothecary — a medicine woman who learned the magic of the plants and how to use them — here in the Midwest. Ppl who can’t afford medicine or are tired of being poisoned by their doctors or just want to live a more natural lifestyle. There are tons of ppl like me on the West Coast. I’m not needed there.

It wasn’t until living on rural land in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma with friends just this last autumn that I figured out what was actually wrong with me. And it was just from someone who notices, who pays attention, and has dealt with this shit too and learned to take matters into their own hands — like me. They came up to me one day and said, “Fern, honey, I think you might have POTS.”

Classic me, I started researching ferociously, and lo and behold — they were absolutely right. Then, same person one day was rubbing my back and popping my bones back into place and said, “um, honey, I think you might have hEDS as well.”. Turns out, right again! “How??”, you may be wondering… they paid attention, they dealt with improper healthcare all their lives too and took the time to research and study, then they just implemented their knowledge through love.

That’s what I want to do. I want to help others like they helped me. I want to give the gift that I’ve been given. I will never forget the name of my truest dr, Krys. aka “dr xaddy”, but I can’t even remember the name of the doctor in Oregon who was so kind to me I cried. I will never forget the independence, strength, hope, and health dr xaddy has given me.

Knowing what it is was the hardest part of the battle, now I can move forward with my healing and management. Now I can have some sort of semblance of a “normal life”. Now, I’ll never stop dancing! I want to share that with others, so badly. So, I guess this is the first step to that process. Get my origin story out there, show I’m trustworthy, understanding, patient, down-to-earth, someone you could vibe with.

Then, i’ve gotta share my knowledge. Follow along or subscribe so you don’t miss any of it. I just started this Substack a couple months ago, and still finding my footing, but I’m getting better at getting the words out of me and documenting the art of becoming. The liminal spaces between healing and growth. The herbalists journey. Come along for the ride, I’m so happy you’re here.

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If any of this resonated with you, please don’t hesitate to lmk. It fuels me to write more. I really put a lot of heart into these writings, so please feel free to reach out any time. If you or someone you love has been mistreated by the Western Medical system as well and you just want to vent, get the words out, ask me questions, or anything else — comment below.

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I am not a doctor. I am a witch. I am an herbalist. I am done with the bullshit. I am woman, here to heal.

And as always, if anyone you know might also enjoy my writings — please share. =]

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xo,

Fern Alydia

written under so much brain fog, I had to pull the thesaurus out 9 times.

Litha, the Summer Solstice, is here.

I have spent the last few months in the liminal spaces, navigating the slow, often painful work of healing and growth. I have lived with grief, transmuting it into sunshine, and learning to trust the rhythm of my own body. And now, here I am. I have grown so much since the winter solstice. I feel the strength in my roots, the resilience in my stem, and the vibrant color of my bloom. I am almost ready for the harvest. I am so excited.

How have you grown since the last solstice? Comment below.

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For many, Litha has become a Pinterest board of white linen and flower crowns. And to me, that is beautiful. Aesthetic can be a doorway. It can be the gentle hand that pulls a new witch into the circle. But beneath the beauty lies the ancient power. This article is not about rejecting the new, but about honoring the old. It is about the roots that hold us when the wind blows hard.

I like to carry on the old traditions to keep them alive and honor the women who made them—the healers, the herbalists, the storytellers who knew that the earth speaks if you are quiet enough to listen.

The Myth of the Kings: A Cycle, Not a Battle

First, a brief mythological history.

To understand Litha, we must look to the old myths. In Celtic and European folklore, the year is ruled by two figures: the Oak King and the Holly King.

The Oak King rules the waxing half of the year, from the Winter Solstice to the Summer Solstice. He is the light that grows, the warmth that returns, the energy of spring and early summer. The Holly King rules the waning half, from the Summer Solstice to the Winter Solstice. He is the light that fades, the energy of autumn and winter, the time of introspection and rest.

For a long time, this transition was framed as a battle. The Oak King was "defeated" by the Holly King at the solstice. But this is a patriarchal lens, a story of conquest and violence. In the older, matriarchal understanding, there is no defeat. The Oak King freely passes the crown to his brother. It is a respectful handover, a recognition that every peak has its ebb. The light does not die; it changes form.

We must honor our own ebbs and peaks. We must trust that the transition is natural, respectful, and necessary. We do not "release" to a king. We are children of the Earth. We release to free up space on our paths. We let go of what no longer serves us so that the blessings of the coming months can flow in. We make room for the harvest, for the bounty, for the wisdom that comes with the turning year.

The Seed’s Journey: A Seasonal Analogy

Think of your life as a seed.

• Winter: You were dormant, resting in the dark, gathering strength.

• Spring: You broke the surface, tender and vulnerable, reaching for the light.

• Litha (Now): You have blossomed. You are in your full glory. But you are also in a liminal space. You are not yet the fruit; you are the flower, still holding the potential of the harvest.

This is the time to pause. To breathe. To reassess. To enjoy where you are, without rushing to the next phase.

Protecting the Bloom from the Machine

We live in a culture that does not understand the ebb. Capitalism and the patriarchy push us to keep going, to keep producing, to keep growing, even when our bodies are screaming for rest. They tell us that if we are not productive, we are failing. They try to steal our blooms, to pick them before they are ready, to sell them before they have set seed.

We must resist this. We must protect our tender growths. Just as the young fruits are vulnerable to the harsh sun and pests, our own new growths—our ideas, our healing, our art, our dreams—need protection as we move into the more intense, active phase of summer. Litha teaches us that it is okay to stop. It is okay to rest. It is okay to let the sun do its work while we stand in its warmth.

Ancient Traditions Beyond the Fire

While leaping over bonfires was common practice, the Celtics also honored Litha through connection with the Earth and Water.

1. Foraging and Herb Gathering: This is the most potent time to gather herbs. Their solar energy is at its peak. Rosemary, lavender, mugwort, and yarrow are traditionally gathered at Litha for maximum magical and medicinal power. To forage is to participate in the abundance of the Earth.

2. Water Blessing: Fill a bowl with water at dawn. Leave it in the sun to charge it with solar energy. Use this water to cleanse your space, water your plants, or anoint your forehead. Water carries memory.

3. Dance and Movement: The Celtics danced in circles, mimicking the sun’s path. Movement honors the body’s connection to the earth’s rhythm. Dance until you are breathless, then rest. This is the cycle in action.

4. Offerings to the Earth: Leave offerings of honey, milk, or flowers at the base of an ancient tree or in a garden. This is an act of reciprocity. We take from the Earth, and we give back.

A Traditional Litha Feast: Honeyed Summer Fruits Recipe

The ancients did not just eat sun breads, as you'll commonly find in most Litha articles/recipes. Since I'm gluten free now, I've found a new/old recipe for this year's celebration.

They ate the bounty of the earth. Honey was considered a gift from the gods, a symbol of solar energy and immortality. Fruits were eaten fresh to honor the peak of the harvest.

This simple recipe reflects the Celtic tradition of consuming "solar foods"—foods that have absorbed the sun’s energy.

Litha Solar Fruit Bowl

• Fresh berries or melons

• Sliced peaches or nectarines

• Honey (local, if possible)

• Fresh mint or basil leaves

• A squeeze of lemon juice

• Add anything else that feels right, orange or yellow fruits, calendula or marigold flower petals, sunflower seeds

Instructions:

1. Wash and prepare the fruits.

2. Toss them gently in a bowl with the honey and lemon juice.

3. Tear the fresh herbs over the top. Add extras.

4. Let it sit for 10 minutes to allow the flavors to meld.

5. Eat slowly, with gratitude for the sun, the rain, and the earth that produced this sweetness.

A Closing Thought

As you celebrate Litha, ask yourself:

What have I blossomed into since winter?

What do I need to release to make space for the harvest?

How can I honor the ebb as much as the peak?

If you'd like someone to chat with about it, need an accountability buddy, or something in this article spoke to you - please don't hesitate to reach out.

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The sun is turning. The light is changing. But the seed is safe. The harvest is coming. Prepare for the bounty by resting before the harvest.

Happy Litha.

Xo, Fern Alydia

Youtube links for your listening pleasure, during your Litha celebrations. Two to choose from, depending on your vibe;

• Fun playlist-songs about sunshine (made by yours truly)

• Witchy playlist-ambient 432Hz for rituals

And as always, if you know someone who might also enjoy my musings and articles - feel free to share!

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_3:33

A comment someone made on my Native to the Liminal article got me started on this thinking train. They made this really great point about liminal spaces.

Thinking again about liminal spaces, about quiet integrity, about how lonely it is sometimes to take the high road. Consciously choosing to take the healthier order of operations than most people manage, even if it feels slow and lonely in the gaps...and you’re aching in those gaps. Absolutely drowning some nights.

Looking so forward to the days when ‘the garden’ is blossoming and all my hard work has paid off. Bc you've tried it the other way and it always hurts worse in the end.

At least this way we rip the bandaid off in the beginning and let the wound heal so it can scar over and move on with the actual healing. You've definitely tried putting more and more bandaids on it until it's pouring out the cracks and seams and creates a whole big painful bloody mess for everyone involved. At least now you'll make new relationships the healthy way, already content within yourself so that anything else just adds to your happiness.

But this all sounds very 'one day' and 'when I get there, I can relax' and 'once upon a time' mumbo jumbo… we never realize that these in between, lonely moments that feel like between chapters were actually their own chapters all along until we look back on it later, with wiser eyes. This moment now is the one you were working toward however many months ago. Relish in the now for a moment, girl.

You've come so fucking far. I'm so fucking proud of you. It doesn't matter if nobody sees it right now. I'm proud of myself. I've made it. I'm happy. I don't want to kill myself anymore. These are all huge wins.

My childhood dreams came true and I get to dream up new ones for my future. I have great love, even if I don't get to see them much. I have an amazing cat that's my true familiar in this lifetime. These are all amazing things.

I'm figuring out my health and starting to figure out how to live a mostly healthy life. I still get to dance! I get to create art. I get to live a romantic hardcore cottagecore lifestyle in the woods in my RV. I love where I am now.

The patriarchy always pushing their capitalism mindset, making me feel inadequate when I've got quite a blessed life. Maybe liminal spaces and the lonely moments aren't meant to hurt us, but to give us space to look back and appreciate how far we've come. Maybe the liminal spaces are just the water break on the marathon of life. To take a break and rest our tired lungs and legs, instead of always pushing on.

What if this loneliness is training me to find inner peace and appreciation for my journey? What if loneliness and the in between weird liminal chapters are just for building the self-sufficiency first so that when connection arrives, it's additive instead of load bearing?

What if we stopped comparing ourselves to everyone else and feeding in to the corporate capitalist monster and instead just enjoyed ourselves? Enjoyed our lives?

They say healed ppl heal ppl and that healthy energy frequency coming from a healed person can help heal the world, one bit at a time. Imagine if we all just said 'fuck you' to the man and decided to just enjoy our lives.

Every chapter.

Especially the liminal water breaks in the marathon of life.

Take a break. Drink some water.

Read some chapters.

Look back and see how far you've come? I'm so fucking proud of you.

If you enjoyed my stream of consciousness, if reading my inner most thoughts resonated with you, or if you just want to gab — feel free to comment below or message me directly. Also, always welcome to share with your friends.

Love you,

Xo Fern Alydia

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Dear Skubee,

I’ve regrown all my cells twice over since I last saw you.

I’ve been at least three different people since you last lived here.

At my core, I’m still the me that you fell in love with.

Well, I’m finding her again. I’m almost there.

It’s been a long, hard journey. I sometimes wonder how much your passing had to do with my spiritual growth acceleration.

I still remember the time you asked me if anyone close to me had ever died. Such an out of place question. It seemed strange in the moment, until two weeks later when you were gone.

I had to write you this letter — though it may be sixteen years too late — to thank you for everything knowing you and losing you taught me.

Thank you for giving me my first book about magick, thank you for showing me the sunshine within me, thank you for showing me love still.

You were the storm that cracked my soul open so the light could shine through. I never knew love until I lost you. I never knew resilience until I lost you. I never knew grief.

I learned how to love myself through loss, not become defined by it. I’ve gone to a lot of memorials and funerals for friends and cherished loved ones, but none taught me nor molded me as much as the loss of you.

I sometimes wonder if a love like that, a friendship like that, a bond like that — something that is so strong, maybe you’re only allotted one per lifetime. I hope I find a friendship like that again.

It wouldn’t be a Fern writing without some quotes to popular culture that catches the vibe of what I’m feeling.

I’m reminded of a few quotes. P.S. I Love You — “You made my life, Holly. But I’m just one chapter in yours. There’ll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don’t be afraid to fall in love again.”

The Notebook — “There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.”

And, of course, Practical Magic — “I just want someone to love me. Maybe I’ve had my happiness. I don’t want to believe it but, there is no man, Gilly. Only that moon.”

Or Coco — “Our memories, they have to be passed down by those who knew us in life — in the stories they tell about us.”

So I’m gonna tell your story..

I was recently gifted a potted plant of marigold flowers. These are the flowers they use in Coco, or in Spanish traditions, to guide the dead home with their scent and color. In the movie, the bridge they take across the veil on Dia de los Muertos to find their way home is made entirely of marigold flowers.

Spiritually, marigolds represent the sunshine and are also associated with grief transformed into beauty.

I recently rebranded to Burning & Blooming for many reasons, and now it has my best friend attached to it as well. If I had to whittle down everything you taught me into one sentence, “Grief transformed into beauty” explains it perfectly. I will always share your story. I will always carry your legacy. I will always look for the sunshine.

So let me tell you about him.

My best friend could brighten even the worst day, make anyone laugh, always made time for the unfortunate, created a chosen family of misfits.

I met him when I was 13 years old, attending a bible study my neighbors held next door to my parent’s apartment. They would go downtown and preach to the self-titled “Square Rats” and bring them to their bible studies and feed them. It was nice, as far as organized religion goes. They provided a service for those less fortunate and showed love to people who had maybe never felt it from another before.

He came to a few bible studies and became fast friends with everyone around him, myself and my parents included. A few months later, during the summer, the neighbors had a homeless man living with them who seemed harmless. Until one day when he was trying to take my picture without consent to put it on the internet to have strangers vote if I was “hot or not”. At 13.

When I said no, he tried to attack me and chased me into a bathroom where I was able to lock the door behind me. Luckily, this apartment I had locked myself into was upstairs from my parents (the men lived in the upstairs one and the women lived next door) so I started banging and jumping up and down on the floor to get their attention.

When the religious neighbors had found out what happened, they chose not to kick the predator out and kept letting him live there and attend their events. When Skubee heard about this — he had words to say, to say the least. I seem to remember his butterfly knife and some threats coming out at one point.

The neighbors chose to kick Skubee off their property instead of the person who started this whole mess. The predator.

My parents said, “Well, we live next door and this is OUR property right over here and you’re welcome back here anytime you want for defending our daughter. You’re family now.”

And he was.

We became fast friends. There would be times I’d see him every day for weeks and then sometimes we’d go weeks or months or even years before we’d hang out again. Always as if no time had passed at all.

Although he had his own demons to battle, I’m almost certain what took up most of his time was his bleeding heart pouring out for everyone around him. He was always busy taking care of someone in need, or helping a friend through a heroin detox, or making sure no one was hurt or overdosed on his watch.

That’s actually what killed him. He was at a party that I dropped him off at (took me years to forgive myself for that) and he was looking out for a friend who was in an obviously abusive relationship — obvious to everyone except her. The last night he was on this plane, the couple was going to go down the road a couple blocks to get more alcohol and cigs for the party. Skubee didn’t want the man to harm his friend, so he tagged along to keep her safe.

He was only in the vehicle due to his desire to put everyone else before himself. He didn’t need to be there.

I can’t begin to tell you how much that alone taught me.

What he taught me. What he showed me, within myself.

I hope one day to be that for someone else. To show people the sunshine within themselves, the power they hold they keep giving away, what a priority that you, your body, your time, your thoughts, your dreams, your own happiness is. To teach people the beauty of nature and the natural magical abilities of plants and bees and the moon. To help someone learn to heal themselves through art, music, journaling, movement, dance, singing, crying, stomping around, being their true selves.

While it’s noble to put others before yourself, you should always fill your cup first.

I remember when he would heal or use reiki, he wouldn’t even disperse the energy out of him. He just held onto it. As if he deserved it. As if he was destined to take on everyone else’s bullshit. Then the physical symptoms started. He would break out in these hives on his hands. Negative energy trapped.

He cared so much more about others than himself. He poured from an empty cup for so long until he had nothing left to give and the world took him away from us too soon. He found the marigolds within others but never believed there were any within him. But he could always find the sunshine.

He was one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know, and I wonder if he had cared more about himself, if we’d still have him. The world will never be the same without him. Here it is, over sixteen years later and I’m still here writing this letter about grief on a Saturday instead of socializing with my community, like a sane 34 year old.

If you take anything from this, please fill your own cup first. You have no idea how much you mean to the people who love you, how amazing you shine in another’s eyes. Take care of yourselves so you’re strong enough to save the world and fight the good fight. Usually, the first act of resistance against the elite corporate monsters is self-care and self-love. If you’ve read this far, take some time for yourself today to practice resistance. Practice self-care. Stick it to the man.

Thinking over all this, I probably don’t even see how much I mean in another’s eyes, how I’ve already been that person for them in some ways. I’m sure that over the last sixteen years, every life I’ve touched has been blessed with a little piece of my best friend’s legacy. Time to pick up the mirror.

Thank you, Skubee.

Thank you for truly seeing me, for giving me everything when I had nothing, for defending my youth, for continuing to be the light in my life. I’ll miss you forever.

I feel you everywhere. I feel your love in a crisp breeze, or a sunset over a mountain, in a cat’s purr, on a brisk walk, in glittering snow and budding trees.

I dedicate this Grimoire to you. May it carry your light to shine on others. If any person or any step I’ve taken has led me to writing this digital journal and sharing my soul with the world, bare and raw and messy, it’s you. You deserve it more than the magic in my bones.

I love you forever.

Xx -Fernie

Written with my soul laid bare and my heart broken and the cracks filled with gold and sunshine on a Saturday evening instead of having a social life.

If you like what you’ve read and think other’s might as well, please feel free to share my Substack with your friends.

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And if you’d like to chat about anything, maybe you’ve lost a loved one and this brought stuff up you need to get out, don’t hesitate to reach out!

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I was in the depths of a horrible, toxic marriage — drowning in every way possible. I needed more magick in my life and I was recently gifted a tattoo machine and all the parts, so I did it. I ‘scratched’ my first tattoos onto my non-dominant hand. Five symbols, one on each finger — to bring more magick into my life, in the hopes that everything I touched would bring that energy into my life.

Healing. Blessings. Protection. Goddess. Purification.

Drawing the possibilities of new tattoo ideas around the existing symbols, I thought about all the ways those energies have come into my life since I did them over 5 years ago. It also got me thinking about that whole, toxic relationship in general.

I was taken back to the first time we ‘hooked up’.

I had been drunk, much too drunk to consent.

The next morning, I didn’t remember anything, so I asked him what had happened. His face went cold as he realized he may have taken advantage. This wasn’t the first ‘friendship’ this had happened with, and I didn’t want to lose another ‘friend’, so I played it off as if it didn’t bother me.

To make him feel better.

That memory flung me straight to the day he proposed. 2 years later.

Drunk again, of course — and I’m sure that wasn’t the only thing altering our state of mind — we whisked away to the trashiest pawn shop in town and bought the cheapest ring they had. It cost all the money we had, like 37 dollars. I made him take me to my family’s place and ask me in front of them. Hours later, when he finally got down on his knee in front of my whole family — drunk as a skunk — and asked me, I wanted to say no.

It all seemed so romantic earlier in the day, swept up in it all. I thought I was going toward something I wanted. But when he looked up into my eyes and asked me with slurred speech, I knew it wasn’t the life I wanted.

So I said no.

And then his face cracked and I couldn’t handle his sadness. So yet again, I played it off and pretended like it was a joke and said yes instead.

To make him feel better.

That was December 2019.

Now, even healthy blooming relationships usually have a rocky first year. And I’m definitely not blaming our inevitable doom on covid, but it definitely did not help.

So here I was, stuck in a trailer with this drunk asshole. Stuck with my own decisions. For a year. And it was my own personal hell.

I got out and found myself and found love and yada yada blah blah. This story isn’t about all that.

It wasn’t until just now, while doodling on my hand, 5 years or so later, after all this growth and shadow work… it wasn’t until just now that I realized that all that happened bc I did things I didn’t want to just to appease others. Just to make others happy.

At the complete expense of my own happiness.

Yes, I grew. Yes I learned so much. No, now I wouldn’t take it back. But I definitely wouldn’t ever want to do it again, or learn lessons that hardheaded anymore. Sheesh.

Three years of my life that I’ll never get back. The end of my twenties.

Yes, sure, fair… my twenties was chock full of hard ass lessons and toxic ass relationships. I think your twenties is for making mistakes and learning the hard way, so that it gets easier inevitably from there.

But gawt damn! We didn’t need all that trauma.

And now we spend hours upon hours learning how to resettle our nervous systems and UNlearning all the gaslighting. When we could be putting that energy into idk…tearing the patriarchy down brick by brick. —\__(“.)__/—

But I digress.

These were just thoughts and realizations I had while doodling on my hand instead of getting ready for bed. Now I’m writing this. Still not getting ready for bed.

I’m an adult.

I just ate cereal at midnight.

Think I’m gonna leave this in the rough draft form to defy the ai creators and rage against the machine. Also, I’m tired and don’t care.

Bc that’s what this was supposed to be about before i got sidetracked. Why the hell do we care so much what makes others happy if those others don’t give a flying fuck if we’re happy?? I think I’ve reached that beautiful age in a womans life when she stops giving any fucks. And I’m so happy to be here. Thanks for keeping the tea warm, gals. ;)

If my gut or soul or body says “no, I don’t want to do that.” then guess what? I’m not fucking doing it. I don’t need to cut off my edges to fit into your boxes anymore. I don’t want to be another cookie cutter jabroni. I’m the bitch they unknowingly created the ‘manic pixie dream girl’ trope about and I wear it proudly on my leg. (Another scratch tattoo I poorly gave myself and it’s one of my all-time favorites. So dumb and so loved.)

Hah! Thought you were gonna get a free foot pic? In this economy??? Hahahaha

Written in the old Jokerman font that hasn’t been seen since the 90’s, true to trope.

Would Ramona Flowers contort herself to be anything she’s not? Would Clementine Kruczynski do anything she doesn’t want to do? Would Claire Colburn make a decision her gut and soul told her not to? Would Phoebe Buffay stop singing if a toxic man told her to? The answer to all is the same. Hell fucking no.

I know they’re fictional, but the stories have always inspired me. The trope has always stuck with me. That’s the whole point of stories, isn’t it?

So I marked it to my body for the rest of my life, to wear that time of my life proudly. To remember all those mistakes and what they taught me. To see how far I’ve come.

But I still want to honor her. I still want to be true to her. True to myself. And say a big fuck you to anyone and anything that doesn’t align with me or feel right with me.

That’s what this whole growth journey has been about.

And it took doodling on my hand in defiant procrastination against my own self-made rules at midnight to let all the pieces finally fit together.

Goodnight tribe. Thanks for reading.

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xo

— Fern Alydia

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Not bad weird. Not crisis weird. Just… not myself. Untethered.

Floating in something too big to name, like that Blue October song ‘into the ocean’, where the ocean isn’t a metaphor anymore, it’s just where you are. No anchor. No drowning. Just vast and overwhelming.

I’ve been living in these weird in-between spaces that feel so alienating since starting my growth journey. And life has me by the tits lately with numerous other liminal spaces1 taking over my every day. I’ve been sick for two weeks. My period is ending. My husband went back to work on the road and we’re apart — even tho we live in an RV so we don’t have to be apart when he’s on the road. My cat is asleep and not wanting any cuddles. I ate cereal at 2pm and that’s the most I’ve been able to do today and I’m trying to be okay with that.

I’ve been sitting here, trying to locate myself and I can’t find her. She’s sleeping, maybe. She’s tired. She’s depleted.

And then i started counting the in-between spaces and lost count.

I’m post-sick but not yet well. End of cycle but not yet reset. Just came back from a life changing event, but not yet in the next chapter. Close to my beloved but just out of reach — fucking gas prices are too high and the money isn’t here yet and that’s just the math of this season. Mid-health journey. Mid-shadow work. Mid-thirties. Mid-everything.

I let go of the friends who weren’t right for me but haven’t found all my people yet. My house is not clean but not yet dirty enough to want to clean. I started a poly relationship journey without knowing what it’ll look like fully formed. I used to be such an extrovert and now people think I’m antisocial. I’m not antisocial. I’m just done performing. I’m done putting energy into anything not worth my time.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen liminal spaces I’m in. I stopped counting around twenty.

But here’s what I keep coming back to.

This isn’t new for me.

I’ve always lived here. In the liminal. In the in-between spaces not yet defined. Before there was a language for it, before the definitions caught up, before anyone else seemed to notice there was a space between the spaces worth living in.

‘Bisexual’ before pan was a thing. ‘She/they’ soul before the definitions came. ‘Quirky’ before neurodivergent had a name. No political party when they demand you pick one. A basket of religions I chose from that personally fit my soul. Not a genius but not a dumbass. A non-conformist in every direction, not as a brand, just as a fact of existence.

I didn’t fall into liminality. I’m native to it.

The problem isn’t that I’m lost. The problem is the maps were never made for people like me. And I keep being surprised by that, which is humorous in its own right.

I used to have followers. Fake ones. Lots of friends. Fake ones. People who stayed until I had boundaries. People who had to go as soon as I had standards. Now i have quiet integrity and loneliness for miles.

Female friends burned me. Male friends always wanted more than friendship. The community I’ve been building still somehow leaves me alone, floating in my RV in the middle of nowhere Midwest wondering why I can’t hold down a single thought or even find myself in the chaos of my mind today.

Being out here, among people who don’t get me is lonelier than being alone. At least alone I can move at my own rhythm. At least alone I don’t have to explain myself or perform normalcy or pretend the box fits.

But where else would I go? How do I find community talking to the birds and the moon?

This is what no one tells you about transformation years.

They’re so lonely in such a specific way.

Happy to see how far you’ve grown but longing for the next chapter. Glad toxic people are out of your life but yearning to find others like you. Waiting for the moment you find them and can share your knowledge and love but losing faith in the journey at times.

If this resonates with you, please reach out. I’m trying so hard to build a community of individuals going through these weird, liminal spaces so we’re not so alone. The people who have deleted the social media apps and find themselves lost without that sense of community, but wanting to build a real and healthy one instead of the shallow, vapid groups we used to be part of. The dreamers who didn’t let the man get them down and join their nightmare. The mystics who still tell the moon their secrets and hopes and believe she’ll listen. The poets who find a whole universe in the dewdrop on a spiderweb. The neurodivergents showing the world how to regulate a nervous system and that conformity was never the way. Let’s build a new way of living by bringing back the ancient ways.

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Because the old world is dying. And while it dies, we still have to live inside it. Sacrifice inside it. Make money inside it to build the thing that gets us out of it. My best friend and life partner has to travel all over the country working his fingers to the bone so we can eventually grow our own food and not need to sacrifice or be part of the corrupt system anymore. That’s the sacrifice we’re making. I know the deal. I understand the deal.

And yet.

It doesn’t make it any easier or less lonely.

So here I am, on a Sunday afternoon, reaching out to other weirdos like me who might feel a little lost in this liminal space — between chapters. Before the world shifts. Before the patriarchy falls. While we still have to survive in this corporate world, waiting to thrive in the world we’re building. I ask you to subscribe freely to my grimoire and join my strange niche world where we don’t watch the news and we play with bugs and chat with the moon with our tits out.

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I have always been the obscured one.

The one written out of the story before the story started. The one who existed before the language did. The one in the gap between lightning and thunder, between the calm and the storm, between what was and what’s coming, between who I was and who I will be.

I used to think that was a wound.

I don’t think that anymore.

Today I’m tired and untethered and can’t write and feel weird and lost. Today I’m reaching out.

I’ve been here before. In between. In the liminal. In the weather. Lost on the map.

She always comes back.

She always comes back.

written on a Sunday afternoon when I couldn’t write or even think clearly but had to get it out of me and into the world.

There’s a post floating around burner culture called 'don't divorce your parakeet yet' written by the Arctic Mokey’s. The central rule is simple; don’t make any life-changing decisions for three weeks after you come home. Don’t quit your job. Don’t divorce your partner, your dog, your parakeet. Let the dust settle…literally and otherwise.

I read it again on the drive home from one of the burns I recently went to. I nodded along. I took my 5-HTP (not to be taken with anti-depressants). I drank my electrolytes.

Somewhere along the playa and the driveway, I told my husband ‘This one didn’t feel like a life-changing burn.’

I was so wrong.

The transformation didn’t arrive the way I’m used to. It wasn’t the new leadership, it wasn’t the performances or the cleansing fires, it wasn’t through my art or sacred rituals - it was the fish.

20 pounds of rotten trout — left in my personal trash can by someone I had trusted, invited in, given opportunity and space and peace and gifts I made with my own hands. Someone who lied to my face repeatedly and then just… left me to deal with it. At a leave no trace event. Breaking at least 5 principals in one fell swoop and making our camp look bad.

I stood there in the heat and just cried and cried. I felt something shift within me.

Not rage. Not even hurt, exactly. Just - clarity.

Here’s what I learned. Not from the magic of the burn, but from the unglamorous hard parts on the other side of it:

There is a difference between being kind and being nice.

Niceness is a mask. It smiles and accommodates and swallows things down and calls it ‘keeping the peace’. Kindness has a spine. It tells the truth warmly, holds a boundary without cruelty, and trusts the other person enough to let them sit with the consequence of their own behavior.

I wrote her a message. I couldn’t wait 3 weeks; I had to inform her why I wouldn’t be helping her with her event next weekend. Why I needed time away from this friendship. How deeply she disrespected me. I used only kind words. I said what needed to be said. I held her accountable for her heinous behavior. She called me a bully. That’s not on me, that’s on her. I genuinely hope she can grow from this. But I didn’t shrink. I didn’t over-explain. I didn’t perform niceness to make her comfortable at the expense of my own integrity.

Practicing this doesn’t have to be a big confrontation. You can simply get what you need to out and let them babble while you remove yourself. When a neighbor says something sideways, when someone in your orbit oversteps, when anyone crosses your boundaries or hurts you, when it’s a random Tuesday, the same principle applies. You can simply say, ‘I don’t appreciate that.’ and walk away. No justification. No argument. No defense. No explanation. Just the truth, stated plainly, and then the removal of your presence. You don’t owe anyone a debate about your own worth.

If you’re wanting to help them grow as a person, by all means explain your reasonings at a later time, after you’ve cooled off. The Arctic Monkey’s post says to wait 3 weeks after a burn, but sometimes that’s not always an option. That’s when we use our discernment. Ask ourselves, ‘is this emotions or clarity?’ and usually the answer is pretty clear. If they choose to still not take responsibility for themselves, know that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them and their self-worth.

Kind, not nice. In the big moments and the small ones.

I learned I don’t need everyone to like me or even be my friend.

I recently took on a leadership role at our local burn, greeting everyone home. I greeted 800 people home, by myself, on the first day! It was so draining and exhilarating. That was right before I learned this lesson. I used to pour energy into people who weren’t filling anything back up. Trying to be understood by people who weren’t capable of seeing themselves. Thinking greeting them or greeting with them meant that makes us friends somehow. There are so many amazing people in my life — my husband, my partners, my closest friends — who are so genuinely incredible that spending one more drop of energy on someone who throws fish in my trash and lies to me is almost funny in its absurdity.

Pour toward the incredible. Give back what you’re given. Let the rest go.

I learned to ask opinions of loved ones.

Before you open your circle to someone new — before you give them a key to your city, a co-lead title, a spot in your camp, a room in your heart — ask the ones who love you what they see. Fresh eyes miss things. Trusting hearts miss things. Your people who see you won’t miss it. Trust them.

& I learned that my craft is more powerful than ever.

I made her a protection jar for her new home. Poured intention and love into it, sealed it with care, handed it to her with genuine goodwill for her. The moment it left my hands; she began to show me exactly who she was.

She had been making promises for months leading up to the event, said she wanted to be my co-lead when I got nominated to lead greeters, promised to help store some of the camp infrastructure at her new home, planned out events to host like tie-dye and massages, promised to keep camp peaceful and not fight with her partner in front of us, signed up for camp shifts and meals — and she flaked on every last one. My camp and I weren’t only left with rotten fish, lies, and disappointment — we were also left to carry the massive weight she left behind by her irresponsibility.

I’m not saying I hexed myself, I’m saying the magic worked. The protection jar I made for her actually worked for me instead and protected me from pouring anything more into her by showing me her true colors. My intuition had been whispering but my big ol dumb heart was still bleeding for her — the craft finally spoke loud enough for me to hear.

Trust your knowing. It’s not paranoia. It’s pattern recognition dressed in older clothes.

On being a strong, opinionated woman with solid boundaries in this world;

There is a particular kind of exhausting that comes from being a woman who holds a boundary clearly and gets called aggressive for it. Who speaks the truth kindly and gets called a bully. Who leads with integrity and gets punished for having standards. Who never receives an apology after explaining how they hurt you.

We are trained from childhood to make ourselves small, palatable, easy to swallow. To smile through discomfort. To prioritize other people’s feelings about our boundaries over the boundaries themselves. And when we finally — finally — unlearn enough of that to stand upright, sometimes the cruelest voices calling us back down belong to other women. Women who are still in the cage and can’t yet see the door.

That is not a betrayal to be angry about. It’s a wound to have compassion for. But compassion doesn’t mean compliance.

Especially now — in this world, in this moment, when the message being sent to women from every direction is sit down, be grateful, stop asking for so much — finding your ground and standing on it is not just personal growth… Its RESISTANCE. It’s sacred. It’s the most quietly radical thing you can do.

You are allowed to lead. You are allowed to have standards. You are allowed to have a voice. You are allowed to name what is unacceptable and remove yourself from it without performing guilt or shrinking into an apology you don’t owe.

Being a strong woman doesn’t always mean being hard. It means being rooted. Soft enough to feel everything, sturdy enough not to be moved by other people’s discomfort with your wholeness.

Stand tall. Especially now.

The Arctic Monkey’s guide says, ‘don’t divorce your parakeet’. Good rule. Sit with your feelings before blowing up your life or embarrassing yourself.

But here’s the addendum I’d offer, from the other side of the fish debacle of ‘26;

Know the difference between playa brain and genuine clarity. Know when to open the cage.

The work is building the tools to tell them apart — a regulated nervous system, honest language, a body that’s been fed and rested and supplemented back to baseline. From that place, you’ll know. You’ll know what’s a rash decision and what’s simply clarity.

I thought this burn didn’t change my life because during, it felt like any other time I go home and see my chosen family. Then the burn was over and I bawled over fish and reflected on what sort of person can do that to someone they claim to care about. Clarity hit me through my tears, and all of her awful behavior became clear to me at once. This isn’t someone ready to receive, respect, or see me. I don’t have to pour my love and energy into anyone who doesn’t deserve me. I’m strong enough now to tell the difference between a friend and a flake… and know when to open the cage and let the parakeet fly away.

I’ve known this strong, kind woman was inside me all this time, it just took this heartbreak to finally bring her to the surface. She’s kind. She’s boundaried. She’s healthy, mature, and a little feral. She knows exactly how powerful she is and what she’s worth. And she’s not letting anyone ever take that knowledge from her again.

It’s so nice to finally meet her.

In my head, a composed wise woman sits calmly, sipping tea and gracefully processing her emotions while watching the birds. In reality, it’s a feral goblin in a way too messy RV on day one luteal phase screaming into a journal about crickets and ghosts while waiting for the water to boil on the kettle.

Whatever other people told you that your life is ‘supposed’ to look like, they’re not you and they were most likely told that by someone before them and someone before them and we just continue this rhetoric without knowing who it belongs to. I’m taking belonging back into my life now. I invite you to join me.

Find out what your definition to different things are, challenge the authority some invisible person placed over your life, question why you do things that way and if you even like it that way. Ask yourself, ‘is this me or the program?’ bc nine times out of ten, it’s the program. I’ve noticed enjoying going against the status quo, against the grain, but still with the flow works much better for me. With my own unique flow that works for me.

Challenging the status quo gets peoples feathers ruffled. ‘How dare you draw outside the lines when I’ve never thought to! I wish I could be so brave and I’m jealous and taken aback and in awe of you.’ is all I hear when they give me any guff tho. What does it matter what they think, anyway? This isn’t their fucking life.

It’s time to take control of our lives, how we live it, and why we live that way. Change the program, take over the simulation, handle our own controls and fly freely. The fact of the matter is; nobody knows anything and is just falling in line, following the leader…but when all the leaders are corrupt, who do we turn to?

The rebels, the outcasts, the artists, the dreamers, the creators, the one’s coloring outside the lines and creating their own paths, creating their own color pages. In this climate where the evil eyes are trying to fill you with fear and feed off that energy, the biggest rebellion we can do is take our own path.

Laugh, smile, create, touch others’ lives and hearts, inspire, dance, dream, question everything, color everywhere = Rebellion. Revolution.

Think about art during or directly after any Revolutionary Era. Frida Kahlo comes to my mind almost instantly. She painted what the world told her to hide. After the Mexican Revolution, during a time women were not supposed to be that visible or raw or political or honest. She is my artist idol, for many reasons, but mainly bc she colored so far outside every line they drew for her that she essentially invented her own canvas. She made the unspeakable into art and said, ‘look at this, this is real, this is me, this happened, I will not stay silent.’

I implore you, find your own way and color outside of every line they told you to stay in. Then, tell me in the comments what that looks like for you.

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I was able to calm myself down by journaling about my earlier issues today and made my special calming tea blend1 instead of spiraling out and having a full manic melt down (like I used to) and quite possibly ruining something beautiful I’ve been building. It’s fine to be in touch with our feelings, but sometimes it’s just hormones lying to us or classic overthinking and that shit is best kept in the safety of your journal pages. Sometimes, we may have a picture in our heads, but who is enforcing you must do it that way?? I used to deal with things much differently and now my picture is constantly changing, and that’s okay. Nothing has to be set in stone.

I’m reminded of this photo I took on vacation in Seattle in 2024 of my hand touching a piece of the Berlin Wall, covered in graffiti. This moment was so powerful for me, being able to actually touch history like that. The fact that something that was built to divide us, contain us, to enforce one picture of how the world ‘had to be’ was reclaimed as a canvas and torn down.

People coloring outside the lines so hard and reclaiming their power so strongly, you could still feel it in the concrete all those years later, you could see it in the artwork. Even though I wasn’t alive when the Wall was still up, I could feel it all. The pain, the despair, the rebellion, the self-empowerment, the inspiration. I could feel everyone in that wall fighting back to break free. All those years ago, and yet it’s still something we’re dealing with today. Constantly being separated from others, being put into boxes, labels, invisible borders, trying to divide us further.

The feeling of inherited resistance within me, carrying the weight of histories I didn’t live but somehow survived anyway, flows through my veins tonight as fiercely as it did 2 years ago while touching that Wall. Always tearing down walls we didn’t build and making it to the other side, somehow…but how?

From the inherited resistance that lives in our blood and our bones from everyone who survived before us. Our ancestors, the collective human spirit, anyone who ever hit a wall and found their way to the other side… inherited resistance isn’t just surviving, it’s arriving already equipped to thrive with the strength of everyone who came before. We’re not painting anyone else’s dreams but our own from now on, with the wisdom of our ancestors and the strength of warrior women.

If you’ve noticed, even my newsletter has changed... that’s if you were here before. Either way, welcome to my grimoire journal. In this I’ll share intimate thoughts, crazy adventures on the road, exciting art projects, rituals and recipes and all the witchy stuff in between.

Now, back to all that change. What did Smashmouth say? ‘Could you spare some change for gas? I need to get myself away from this place’

So, end of last year was my hibernation phase, where I did a lot of big moves in silence, lots of shadow work, health scares, cut out toxic family, set strong boundaries, and went gluten free. Since then, I’ve also found the strength to finally quit smoking nicotine after 20+ years, figured out my insane health issues (for the most part), rebranded my company to go more analog, started exercising and lost almost 20 pounds. 19.5 but that still counts as 20 in my book.. and hey, this is my book.

My husband and I recently opened our relationship back up and are poly again. We used to be open and exploring until we got handfasted a year ago, and we closed it up for a year to focus on each other and ourselves. I’m so very glad we did, and I’m so excited for our futures. I feel closer to them now that I’m flirting with others with intent, than I did before poly. The level of communication is amazing and surprisingly sexy. After years of traumatizing relationships and years of therapy and shadow work, I’m more than grateful to have the space to feel safe and trusting enough to take this journey with them.

I’ve finally found myself in my passions and turning it into a career. Sewing. Creating wearable art. Altering. Adding pockets, fringe, whimsy. It all started when I decided to create my own theme camp at our local regional burning man event and I bought a sewing machine to create a giant lily pad cushion. I meant to return the machine right after I had finished the cushion.

I meant to.

Something within me sparked. Suddenly, I was thrust back to childhood when the old woman in our cult who used to take me square-dancing decided to teach me to sew, so I could make my own square-dancing skirt with ALL the sequins. All her little tricks and tips came flooding through. Considering the years of drug abuse I had implemented on my brain, I was shocked the memories were coming back so clearly. I was cuddled up in the comforter I made all those years ago. I was twirling in the first dress I ever helped sew. All of a sudden, my inner child was swimming in sequins.

Since then, I’ve created 11 lily pads of various sizes, jumpers for clowns, Musical Skirts, festival outfits, Renn Faire garb, dungeon master robes, cosplay costumes, added 27 pockets to a onesie, the list goes on. I’ve always loved creating and my AuDHD demands new, interesting tasks so my art has always been all over the place. Enter label; “multimedia artist”… but sewing allows me such freedom to explore. I also paint, write, sing, play ukulele, dance, make jewelry, scrapbook, crochet, flow fan, collage, garden, apothecary healing, decorate, party plan, make soaps and potions, etc. but sewing feels the most like me.

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I’m not trying to share this to rub it in anyone’s face how well I’m doing now. I worked really fucking hard for a really fucking long time to get here, so I’m really just so proud of myself. I promise I’m just sharing to inspire, not in a ‘little miss thing wants attention’ way. This is me, welcoming you to my witchy journal, inviting you into my life. Pouring my life into black and white, words on a page. If you like what you see so far, join me. I plan to bring you along for all the wild rides my RV and magical life take me on and delving into some stories from my past as well as sharing my massive wealth of knowledge.

Thanks for being here and joining the collective. We are the weirdos, mister.

xo

-fern alydia

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Till next time. <3

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