I didn’t rise.
I burned.
This is not my origin story.
This is the moment the mirror cracked—and I remembered who I was.
I used to think power was earned by being easy to love.
I spent years softening my edges so I wouldn’t be too much.
Polishing my voice. Holding my breath.
I chased certifications, palatable language, “aligned” branding… and I still felt hollow.
Because I wasn’t here to be digestible.
I was here to be a mirror.
What you’re reading now?
Was born from breakdowns no one applauded.
Nervous system collapse. Rage so holy it rewired me.
Grief that flooded every filter I’d ever used to hide.
The day the swamp rabbits ran toward me, I stopped running from myself.
Three times they came.
First to watch. Then to confirm.
And then—one ran directly to me.
I knew in that moment: the wild sees when a woman stops pretending.
That same week, I wrote "fuck the good girl act" on a mirror.
I burned it in ritual.
And I chose to let the woman who had survived die—so I could be born sacred.
Not safe.
Sacred.
I don’t offer services. I build altars.
I don’t sell ease. I sell initiation.
I don’t guide you back to who you were. I guide you into who you’ve always been.
My work is rooted in astro-somatic reclamation, nervous system sovereignty, and ritual collapse.
I weave trauma recovery with timeline sorcery.
I speak from the bones, not the branding guide.
I’m here to midwife your return—not to healing—but to raw remembrance.
You will scream here.
You will weep here.
You will rebuild from the wreckage—and not apologize for the fire it took to get there.
I am the Sacred Desecrator.
I am the Time Witch.
I am the threshold and the altar.
I walk with women through the holy dark.
I decode your chart, your body, and your shame until you remember:
You’re not broken. You’re bound.
And we unbind you through blood sermons, nervous system rituals, and resurrection business.
If you’re still reading this, something in you already remembers me.
And that means…
I remember you.