About Me



Weekly Share


Will told me his mother was staying til Sunday.

My face went sheet white.

I thought her departure to be Saturday.

That disgusting familiar feeling of ‘get the hell away from me’ towered.

Anger turned to rage mounting on top of panic.

48 hrs vs 24 makes a HUGE difference.

To the parts binding my breath, gripping my organs.

To the parts hyperaware of the surface, of her.

I know the surface can’t hold me.

It never could.

What I don’t know, intimately enough, is the visceral feeling of what can.

I’m starting to.

I’m in the conscious entrainment period.

Yearning for the day where I’m held without any effort at all.

For now, as in the case last weekend, I find the bathrooms.

Where I can breathe with brakes on.

And cradle the spectrum of emotions tied to ‘get the hell away from me’.

The slowing alters the electromagnetic field of my heart, lining it up with the magnetics of our planet.

Earth draws it from me.

I’ve learned letting go is simple science.

Undeniable + full proof when I remember it.

The bathroom door handle now jiggled.

Will playfully trying to come in.

He’s always trying to come in, bless his venerating heart.

But I kept the door locked.

I’m sorry my love.

And I’m sorry to your mama.

And everyone I’ve energetically pushed away during these years of graceless undoing.

I’ve been salvaging a sustainable space to accommodate all of me.

So I can meet you in the only way that feels true.

Colossal patience is where I’m at.

Because I’m getting glimmers into the repercussions of being wholly held and they’re seismic.

It means I can live beyond the world of bathrooms in my full spectrum.

I can receive + let go instantaneously.

But it also means ‘I’ and my kept definition of self must depart.

Until I’m just moving + undulating.

From quiet to loud.

Introvert to extrovert.

Slow to fast.

Depending on what I feel.

Oh but than who am I?

I am, I guess.

The best part :: lifelong envy is fading.

It was the detained definition of me generating a false jealousy of you.

Genuine bows now possible.

Thank GOD.

{PS Billie, Wills mom, asked that I include ‘she’s not a fire breathing dragon just a two-headed cyclops’}

Weekly Share


I turned down Xmas Eve mass in favor of the bath tub.

(despite disapproving shrugs from my father)

It’s increasingly easier to dwell in the reality beneath the reality.

Sans guilt that is.

So I submerged in warm water + slowed down my breath.

Waiting right there was a stream of information.

Tears began + beliefs surfaced.

This one :: ‘Nobody’s here for me.’

This is why I was home for Christmas.

To challenge said creed in the framework of family.

Amidst the corresponding speed + choice to slow down.

Alongside aspects of self that identify as separate due to differing pace.

With it came the kind of tears that are so implanted, all you can do is open your mouth in droolish moans as they dislodge + make their way down your face.

Nobody’s here for me.

An interesting conviction.

One I suspect lots of ‘feelers’ have.

We need to be matched with a corresponding capacity for feeling.

Or we will internalize that there is, in fact, nobody here for us.

Nobody who can hold us.

So we learn to hold ourselves.

Ever so tightly.

With impeccable control (errr addictions).

We flicker between realities.

We can’t just be.

Because there’s a tug.

The self we’ve developed for holding won’t allow it.

I got out of the bathtub with a knot in my intestines.

Pain everywhere.

The emotions invested in this belief, still devoted.

That evening, I lived amongst close family + friends in the less preferred reality.

The one above.

Where I smile + chat in an empty way.

Part of me writes these words in hopes they will read them.

So they know it wasn’t me they were talking to.

Me was tied up in a process.

One which developed further Christmas morning.

The tears now dislodged, fully flowed onto the oriental carpet which I lay.

Holiday tunes + household celebration echoed through the floorboards yet their was no pull to join.

I was falling through the cracks in my control.

Into something far bigger.

Something that could hold me in the world below with zero urgency to return.

There was no fight to get here nor any sense of estrangement for residing.

This place.

Surely I’ve been working toward it for lifetimes.

Rather toward trusting it exists.



Weekly Share


Last week’s destination:: London.

My whole family + our respective significant others.

There to surprise my older brother for his 35th.

On the second day, we found ourselves visiting Churchill’s underground War Rooms.

A bunker during WWII.

Around stop 7 of 39 on our guided audio tour, I peeled off the group.

Abrupt exhaustion made it difficult to walk.

I needed something, sustenance, NOW!

My eyes panicked + darted after the arrows toward the café.

The bathroom came first.

So I ducked in, stood in the stall and breathed.

Sandwiched between exhaustion + panic, I observed how the fatigue and plot for food were protection.

Armor for the historical fear energetically seeping in-side these war rooms.


To be sheltering myself in a very structure made to shelter.

We choose to dwell in small spaces for safety.

Why? I asked myself, now crouching in the stall.

Could it be that protection is actually punishment?

Could it be that we choose small spaces out of deservedness?

I think so.

You see fear + war have run rampant since homo sapiens beginning.

We pass it from one generation to the next.

Through the umbilical cord.

In those developmental stages, we are (mal)nourished by ancestral distress.

Our brains begin to believe love can’t + won’t find us.

Couple that with the universal source ‘split’ we experience at birth and it’s no wonder we punish ourselves by protecting.

By living in tiny mental, physical + environmental constructs.

That promise safety.

We develop equally tiny personalities famished for true nourishment.

That shrivel + shake with ‘will you love me if I?’

My version of this persona has become too painful to merge with.

I dabble between rage + sorrow.

Rage for the small structure I’m in.

Sorrow for the false belief I deserve its lack of range + ‘must-do-to-earn-love’ parameters.

In that war room, I gave myself permission to let love find me.

Beyond earning or deserving, it’s a need.

It’s time to grant the love that couldn’t locate us ::

In the womb.

In the walls

In the wars.

Permission to find us.


{PS Thank you for finding me. Your open heart is allowing me to exit hiding + flat line my war}

Weekly Share


I’m not that.

I’m not the frustrated one.

I know because I’m watching her.

Every night she awakens with incredible restlessness in her legs.

Always for hours, sometimes til dawn.

It’s been five, maybe more years of this.

And I wasn’t always watching.

I used to rail against her.

Plead her departure.

Now, I listen.

So hard.

And it’s so hard.

Some nights I can’t listen.

The restlessness far too intense to meet with any assembly of softness.

But the nightly perspectives are heading to the thousands.

And the measured space surrounding the angst, growing.

I feel I’m on the brink of being able to greet all of it.

Simultaneously dropping into the purest of sadness.

Days + waves of salty eyelashes.

The surplus of energy out equals a weightlessness I’ve forgotten.

We’ve forgotten.

We’re not that.

We’re not the frustrated ones.

It’s simply how our hearts protected us from the fear of arriving here.

We’ve created an acutely vexed persona as our Earth shield.

And a life experience to match.

We play out the wan’t/can’t story to keep us irritated.

We feed our livers with sugar, alcohol, caffeine, etc to keep them hot + bothered.

We develop a personality overlay that holds a matrix of connections making us believe in our frustration.

But don’t believe it.

Next time you find yourself holding angst of any shade or color, ask it what it needs.

Keep asking.

Each time you will collect a new perspective.

Creating the measured space requirements.

To meet the fear of here.

Trust the time it will take.

The time is preparing us to encounter our true reflection.

And we’ve gota be ready for it.

Or we won’t believe how truly beautiful we are.

And we won’t be prepared for what’s next :: Our Mission.

XO – Kate


Weekly Share


Bi.o.rhythm / noun / ::

An attempt to predict various aspects of a persons life through simple mathematical cycles.

My biorhythms are ever more palpable.

Annual lessons which ask me to spiral closer.

Until I’ve reached that crucial distance from the re-emerging pain.

Where my heart is able to draw it in, finally.

November + December bring biorhythms of interpersonal (dis)connection.

No doubt the holidays make messy mathematical memory stores.

{for the girl who socially struggles}

So when I woke up to sheer terror last Monday, I had an inkling why.

Heaps of buried memories awakened in my system.

The resulting speed made it hard to breathe.

I yearned for grief, bubbling leagues below, to surface.

To slow me down.

But it wasn’t ready to go.

Not til’ Friday.

My God was I grateful for its arrival.

Bringing with it multiple beliefs ::

‘I don’t need people’ ‘People aren’t safe’ ‘This isn’t my home’

Tears streamed down my cheeks as ‘Kate’, as I have come to know her, shattered.

I walk around as the tree-preferring, introverted one.

But am I?

Are we as sensitives?

Or is this simply a resulting persona of deep heartache?

An outcome of our retribution – where we’ve been sanctioned to human shadow.

Have our souls chosen to incarnate with a devotion to universal love per the agreement that human love is our curriculum?

I think this to be true.

I observe the addictions I’ve created in myself.

The recurring physical ailments + fatigue.

That keep me exhausted.

So that I may stay (un)comfortable in my story of interpersonal (dis)connection.

There I’m able to hole up inside universal love.

Where I never feel lonely.

But my humanity is pleading a different gradient of love.

At this point, experiencing both simultaneously feels like the only viable way to freedom.

I want both for all of us.

For us sensitives who’ve chosen the human love curriculum and for the hardier ones who have chosen universal love as theirs.

May we learn from one another.



Weekly Share


Last week I spoke on separation.

How we believe we’ve split from source.

And that it’s our fault.

Subconscious retribution ensues from our very first breath.

We allow ourselves to receive restricted amounts.

And thus only able to give the same proportion.

Sheer torture for the sensitive burning to give.

Our art, our heart, our WHOLE self.

For we cannot give until we feel worthy to receive.

Contributing more than a percentage of our potential won’t happen until self-condemnation drops.

Identifying this truth does nothing to remedy our misguided receiving.

We must learn to retrain every aspect of our body-mind.

To change this patterning, conscious intervention is beneficial.  It’s a process.  One I’m currently in + watching as my system balances out.

I thought it helpful to describe what I’m observing + implementing on different planes ::

PHYSICALLY :: Receiving happens at the end of a full exhale.  If we’re used to holding our breath as a form of penance, you best believe the connective tissue is seizing our breathing apparatus (most noticeably the pelvic floor, extensors, diaphragm + abdominal muscles.) Digestive issues + chronic stomach aches anyone? Notice > Are you holding your breath?  In that moment take a big exhale, bring your belly button toward your spine and feel your diaphragm rise as your ribcage pulls down. Next take an inhale from your pelvic floor with wide sit bones.  Practice the exhale.  A Lot.

EMOTIONALLY :: Subconsciously penalizing ourselves means we’ve signed up to receive all the heavy things.  To stay full on pain, fear + the weight of the world is our repentance.  Cue the empath paradigm. It’s time to move beyond this my friends.  I’m declaring this paradigm: terminated.  Notice > What are you holding on to?  Heavy emotions?  You don’t have to.  You don’t have to hold onto anything. If you find yourself stewing in baggage, your own, your mothers or the collectives, time to activate a deep exhale and let that sh$t go.

ENERGETICALLY :: The subtlest and therefore the trickiest plane to shift. Our systems must modify the way they seek nourishment + support.  This looks like moving from a system which feeds off external dense energy to one that sustains itself internally, on light.  Examples of external dense energy > certain people, food, thought forms, anything that feels addictive.  Notice > What are you feeding on?  What/who are you thinking about? Do you need something heavy to sustain you?  Rest your awareness deep inside your body.  Go into your spinal column.  You will find unbounded energy waiting.  This is you.  Feed on it. Teach your system to sustain differently.

Again, of all this is a process + takes time.

Which is why I’ve decided to run a group series starting next week.  We will join up for four live Universal Health Principles sessions in which I will tap into our collective web and see what sort of connections want to come online so that we may break this unworthy program together.  Feeling the power in #’s!


  • Four weekly group calls to be held via phone (call-in # to follow)
  • 3PM EST on Wednesdays :: 11/29, 12/6, 12/13, 12/20
  • 45-ish minutes in duration
  • Investment :: $75.00

If you can’t make it LIVE, the calls will be recorded and the results the same.  Once you commit, you’re along for the ride regardless of your physical presence day of.

You in?  Click here to purchase.  I will follow up with instructions on how to prepare shortly.

All my love,


Weekly Share


My loves,

It’s been a minute.

2 months to be precise.

I took off the month of October from just about everything.  I halted my ‘coaching’ practice as I felt that I was giving + receiving improperly.  Lots of subtle lessons landed which words won’t do justice….however, I did want to share a little, well BIG, lesson with you.

Something very subconscious surfaced which I believe is at the heart of our sensitive struggle.

I created a short (8-ish minute) video that I hope will provide a bit of color.

All my love.

More to come,


Weekly Share


‘Lay on your backs.’

A directive I grew to fancy last week.

At Feldenkrais Training.

Amongst a room of 50+ students in the Chelsea district of Manhattan.

Such solace found in the invitation to mutually go inwards.

The shift in the room, palpable.

Each time we laid on our cobalt blue mats, my body LIT up.

I could feel me in a way I haven’t to date.

Was this me I sensed? Or them?

My mind dire to understand the magically sedative tingle teeming every inch.

I’m back in Vermont now and still don’t understand.

The quietude of late summer welcomes the tears I’ve been expecting.

Bringing clarity to the process that began in NYC.

A new level of precision on where I end + you begin.

I’ve been brought in deeper.

To a place that naturally has a more finite boundary.

One that, in this moment, feels devastatingly lonely.

My eyes look up, gripping the trees with longing.

I miss them terribly.

Will I still be able to feel them inside my new periphery?

I can’t yet know.

What I do know is that it’s time.

The adrenaline habit of not feeling myself is halting.

And as my system slows down, so too does the rate at which I’m magnetizing the world’s speed.

The worlds fear.

There’s a vibrational understanding of the whack ass antennae I’ve been.

I’m left wondering, why?

Why do we show up like this?

What’s the purpose of being so responsive, an extreme satellite dish?

Perhaps we magnetize the world so we can know it.

We become experts in fear so we may become experts in its opposite.

But I’m discovering magnetization is no good without knowing oneself as separate.

Devoid of an edge, we loose our ability to choose what we resonate with.

For a minute, there, I lost myself.

(33 years worth of minutes)

Mad homage to you my magnificent tree kingdom, for letting me resonate with you for awhile.

You’re everything to me.  But you’re not me.

And that’s who I’m looking for.



PS  There’s gold within the Feldenkrais Method.  It gives kinesthetic imprinting to Alduous Huxleys ‘feel lightly, even though your feeling deeply’.  And kinesthetic imprinting is how we learn. 


For my Vermont peeps :: http://www.vermontfeldenkrais.com/

For my NYC peeps :: http://www.feldenkraisinstitute.com/

For everyone else :: https://twincitiesfeldenkrais.com/


Weekly Share


Will handed this to me.

Maine Sea glass.

He’d been to the beach + back already.

Shortly after, my parents began to stir in the room over.

The day was starting and its movement magnified my resistance to stay put.

On the floor.

In the constructive rest position I’ve been drawn to each morning for months.

Operating on adrenaline is no longer viable.

Neither is letting the space of others define mine.

So I lay until my within says ‘get up’.

Before arriving on this week-long family sojourn, I knew the floor was going to be extra challenging.

I also sensed it critical.

I was coming home so they could witness me, IN ME.

My invisibility had an impending expiration date.

Their presence necessary for the ending.

Taking the sea glass from Wills hand, tears lodged in my throat.

I wanted to share what was happening.

But even I didn’t know quite yet.

So I made my way to the kitchen for breakfast.

Passing a hallway mirror, I stared; startled + mesmerized.

The vividness of my reflection, unmistakable.

Oh my God, I’m coming THROUGH.

It’s happening.

And it hurts like hell.

To recognize how very veiled I’ve been.

But the grief holds something else, something massive.

A rearrangement of my points of connection with the world.

If I don’t need others to define my (in)visibility nor the space I take up (or don’t); what role do others play?

Looking at my parents between bites of eggs-over-medium, I felt awkward + bumbling in how to relate.

I wanted to tell them that I still loved them even though I didn’t need them.

Not in the way I did.

The safety of the space they defined had served its purpose.

But I have forgone my feeling self to maintain it.

And the more my feeling self holds sway, the less I need their definition, any definition.

A natural order is replacing a transient familial one.

Do they feel this grief I wonder?

They must.

Their space is surely changing too.

Ahh frick, my heart.

Gazing at the sea beyond our breakfast table, I recognize her part in all this.

Her truth telling makes the looking glass so clear.

Like the waves in the distance, my rearranging points of connection are still in motion.

But I’m getting flickers into a new way of needing others.

A truer way.

I think it’s for love. I know it’s for love.

And I can’t wait to need them, him, her, you in that way.