THE AUTHOR.

I am a coach, writer, poet, but honestly I am mostly just a whore. At least that may be the assumption you arrive at if you spend enough time buried within my words. I thought when I sat down to write about transformation it was going to be beautiful words about making love to your life. I assumed transformation would translate as softness, and that desire and devotion would be about becoming the woman you were always meant to be. The Love Language of Transformation would be written about beautiful things, in beautiful ways. But life isn’t always beautiful. Sometimes it is violent, deep, dark and chaotic. It tears the fucking pages out of the story you thought you were writing, throws them into the flames and leaves you standing at the edge of the fire in ruins wondering if you stepped into the depths of hell. And so the words poured out of me in unexpected waves of crimson and with a hunger I was unaware I had silenced. It bought life to its knees, as it begged, demanded and clawed its way through the wreckage searching for something more. The pain flowed through rivers and flame as if the woman inside who has spent far too long choking down her desire for life suddenly opened her mouth to allow something wild to surface.

Her passion, intensity, hunger and ferocity.

Not the polished kind of desire we are comfortable admitting to, but the kind that makes you restless. You feel it in your body before you have the language to understand it in your mind. It almost tries to claw its way out of you, or beats in your chest like it is trying to shatter its cage of bones. The kind of restlessness that was once a whisper turns into something you are unwilling to ignore.

And perhaps that is why I started writing again, because becoming the woman you are always meant to be isn’t about reinvention and becoming someone new, it is about discovering the version of yourself buried beneath sacrifice and good behavior. We keep her hidden to ensure everyone is comfortable while making ourselves smaller, quieter and easier to be around. But eventually the ambition, the sexual desire, the grief, the indulgence, the chaos and the parts of us that make us feel ashamed bubble to the surface. And I want to know what happens when we stop trying to drown the parts of ourselves that make us interesting. What would happen if we became willing to meet every fucking piece of ourselves? Not because every piece is beautiful and not because every desire should be obeyed. But because we cannot truly know ourselves while we are busy amputating our depth and darkness in a desperate attempt to remain acceptable.

Maybe the darkness isn’t the opposite of transformation, maybe it is exactly where transformation begins. And underneath all the filth are the parts of us that make us interesting. The hunger, ambition, anger, desire, selfishness, grief and chaos. The inconvenient wants we have buried so deeply that sometimes we forget they belong to us. What would happen if instead of meeting these parts of ourselves with shame, we met them with curiosity? What if we stopped asking what is wrong with us and started asking what they are trying to tell us? What if we stopped trying to make ourselves less intense, less hungry, less demanding, less ALIVE and finally allowed ourselves to discover what exists underneath all the fucking restraint?

Maybe transformation is about finally having the courage to meet yourself in the dark?

Stripped bare, but unafraid…

When a life falls into ruin, you meet yourself in ways you have never imagined. I lost almost everything I had built and found myself standing at the edge of a life I no longer recognized. What remained were the people I loved and the deeply inconvenient fact that no one was coming to rescue me. And with that the next chapter became mine to write. While I lay among the ruins of everything I thought my life was meant to be, I started rebuilding, my body, my strength, my work, my independence, my identity and my life. And somewhere among the wreckage I discovered that I didn’t want my old life back. It is a different kind of freedom once everything has burned to the ground, because as you stand among the ashes you can ask yourself honestly what you do you actually want to do next?

This is why The Possessed Flower exists. It bloomed somewhere between the woman I had been and the one I was beginning to uncover. It exists for the strange, beautiful, filthy work of digging ourselves out of the lives we had buried ourselves inside.

Weight loss is a doorway into my world, because most of us care about changing our body. We want to feel stronger, smaller, more comfortable and more confident. And while I do care about all of that, I also care about the way you carry yourself in this world and the things you want to do with your one wild existence. I care about the life that whispers sweet nothings into your ear at 3am and the life that is buried beneath the sacrifice and good behaviour. I care about the life that claws at you from the inside begging on its knees for its moment. And the thing I care about most is the version of you that lies beneath a stone just waiting for you to have the courage to pick up the shovel and dig that bitch up. The one with the insatiable hunger for more, the one who is chaotic and sensual and selfish. The one who is ambitious and angry with desires she doesn’t know how to explain. The woman you abandoned because you thought being loved required you to leave pieces of yourself behind. She is still there, waiting for you to remember that she is the version of you that deserves to live, and you buried that poor woman alive.

This is the woman I write for and the woman I coach. She is no longer happy to be a supporting character in someone else’s plot line. She is finally allowing herself to have an appetite for life. Maybe she wants to lose weight, or regain her strength, maybe she wants to change her entire fucking life. Maybe it starts with a dress, or a plane ticket, or a career pivot, or a body she finally feels comfortable in, or maybe she has no fucking idea but something is making her feel restless. I am not here to teach you to be more polished or more acceptable, whatever that fucking means. I am here to help you become more intimate with the deepest, darkest and dirtiest parts of yourself. I want you to touch the beautiful parts and the ugly parts, the chaotic parts, the parts you are proud of and the parts you forgot existed. I want to sit with you amongst the wreckage, beside the flowing crimson river and guide you back to the source of your hunger, desire and ache for something REAL.

Because what is a life if we cannot say we did it raw?