Flash Flood Warning

It’s not a secret that I have a history of repressing my emotions from a young age. Having feelings wasn’t always safe during my childhood. I learned to self-monitor how I was truly feeling inside in many situations. By the time I was in high school, I was proud of my the hard exterior I consciously constructed for myself, as if that was something to be proud of. Vulnerability just wasn’t appealing to me.

Learning to let emotions flow freely has come with much time and practice. My modus operandi now is to build up emotions for several weeks until there is a cataclysmic eruption. Recently, my mentor in my Jungian Life Coach Training program coached me on the very day that my eruption was spraying lava in all directions–but it was more like a river flash flood of tears engulfing everything in its reach. I didn’t know it at the time, but what I truly needed was to be seen in my most vulnerable place and to be accepted despite my many emotions. Ending the session with a vagus nerve visualization with my mentor, I moved a little closer to my own internal anchor of safety and connection.

I continued crying throughout the day and learned another valuable lesson. I wanted to do a pure awareness meditation, but I couldn’t stop crying. An awareness meditation is about going beyond the ego into a state of pure consciousness. But my ego wasn’t ready to take a rest. Emotions come from the ego, and it had many more to release. Meditation isn’t always the right answer for what one needs in the moment. So instead of getting mad at myself for being unable to slip into a meditative state, I ended my meditation early and just continued to let myself ugly cry.

After a full day of catharsis and lounging about the sofa like a damsel in distress, I intuitively knew there was only one way to write the ending chapter on this exhausting day: An ass-kicking sensual pole dancing class in heels. “Ass-kicking” in the sense that it was really fucking hard and I was three steps behind everyone else but tossing myself around the pole like a newborn giraffe with earnest commitment. So I proudly rocked my 7-inch holographic heels for an hour, and despite my puffy red face, I felt sexy and embodied. Revitalized but tired, I came home and passed out for about 10 hours.

And I must say, the flash flood of tears was all worth it. I woke up feeling like Vanna White.

I continue to peel back one layer after another on this journey of chaos I’ve chosen for myself. One emotion hides beneath another. One breakthrough offers release until a different issue comes bubbling up. Fears trade places with each other like a baton relay race. I’ve named the nut-tightening sensations in my chest and stomach my “inner band kid” because 12th grade Krissy was too insecure to be first chair clarinet so she quit band altogether.






But I wouldn’t trade this discomfort for stasis–no matter what. I’m summoning my inner Wanderer and Magician to guide me on a spiraling journey of transformation. I don’t grow through complacency or monotony. Bring on the dragons and demons. I’m just getting started.

My calling is to support womxn on their own journey of healing, awakening, and courage. I’m gonna hold up the metaphorical mirror to reflect back on my clients what they already intuitively know but hide from themselves. And I’m gonna re-introduce my clients to their innate sensuality and creativity. My goal is to cut through the fog clouding their heads so they can see the gorgeous, radiant goddesses already living within them.

I’m ready to high kick the masculine malaise in the balls and revive the almighty divine feminine that is our birthright.