My daughter auditioned at a new theater and the energy was different. The kids seemed very serious and came prepared with their iPhones to play the music track and their decorated 3-ring binder with an 8x10 photo resume.

I came with a plain 4x6 photo I printed at CVS and an old iPad barely able to keep a full charge. I felt embarrassed and out of place.

A familiar feeling of the first day of school. Fresh off the farm, wearing second-hand clothes with a lunch card only the poor kids kept in their wallets. I remember that feeling well.

I’ve never been like “everyone else.” From as long as I can remember, I felt different and it became a limiting belief for a really long time.

After texting a friend, my phone died and I was forced to sit in quiet and feel my feelings.

What would I want my daughter to know that I didn’t know back then?

We do not need to possess anything for us to have value. Being our authentic selves and having the ability to be present and show up fully is where we shine the brightest. Having a genuine connection with others is way more valuable than the car we drive or the resume we carry in our binder.

What people need the most is to be seen. To be heard. To be loved. My whole life has been about me coming home to myself and it’s here in this place that I’m the happiest and able to be in service to others.

I may be a little on the outskirts of mainstream, but I love the life I’ve created, I’m proud of the person I’ve become, and I love that I get to show up for others and be present to their experience. That sort of connection is invaluable and would not have been possible had I chosen to “fit in” instead of just being myself.

The best part, I was the only one who felt insecure about not having the perfect photo resume to showcase. My daughter was completely fine and in her power. She performed beautifully because she genuinely loves theater.

And more importantly, she felt safe to be herself. Something that took me 50 years.

When I’m genuinely me and you are genuinely you, we are in the same place. And that is beautiful, my friends.

Xx,
​BeAnne

I spent hours writing a guided meditation for a corporate retreat in Serenbe, and it just wouldn’t come. I pushed, overthought, and tried to force something meaningful out of a place that wasn’t ready to give. All in the pursuit of getting it right.

Then my computer shut down. Unsaved. Gone.

My daughter watched the whole thing unfold. The panic, the frustration, and the overwhelm. In that moment, I knew continuing to push was only going to take me further away from what I actually needed.

So I did what I guide others to do. I got quiet.

In that stillness, something became very clear. I support people in moments of overwhelm. I help them reset so they can return to calm and peace. And yet, in my own moment of stress, I had forgotten the most important part. The pause.

When the body is overwhelmed, it isn’t asking for more effort. It’s asking for space. And I didn’t listen.
Had I paused sooner, I might have realized that what the group needed wasn’t a perfectly written meditation, but something much simpler. Something more honest. Rest. Presence. Quiet.

And then something unexpected happened.

My daughter came home from school and left a note on my computer, folded neatly into a small square. On the outside it read, “Yoga Poem for Mama.” She had written a poem for me to share. From her heart to theirs. From her soul to mine.

Instead of staying up late trying to recreate what was lost, I took it as a sign. I went to bed early. I rested. And the next day, I showed up fully present.

I shared her poem. I even played a recording of her reading it. It was simple, it was real, and it was exactly what was needed.

These moments, the ones we don’t plan for, often carry the most wisdom.

When something feels forced, when life starts pushing back, it may be redirection. A quiet nudge back to yourself.

Pause. Listen. Notice what the body has to say.
​
The reset isn’t doing more. It’s allowing yourself to stop long enough to return to peace.

​Xx - BeAnne 

​My childhood friend of 40 years passed away this week.

I keep saying it out loud, hoping it will help my heart catch up with what my mind already knows.

It was sudden. Unexpected. Tragic.

The world keeps moving forward as if nothing has changed, yet, everything has. Between work, caring for my daughter, and the quiet responsibilities of everyday life, I haven’t had much time to process. The tears mostly come in private.

Right now I feel a mix of things.
Numb.
Angry.
Sad.

Meg loved her family and friends fiercely. She was the kind of person who showed up. Always. Strong. Sarcastic. Funny. Compassionate. The steady rock.

Over the years we walked through so many chapters of life, side by side. Awkward middle school years. First crushes and heartbreaks. Prom and cheerleading. Long coffee dates and road trips. College. Careers. Marriage. Divorce. Birthdays. Children. Illness. Loss. And countless moments of laughter that made your stomach hurt.

Forty years of memories.

A part of me left with her.
And yet another part of her will live on inside of me forever.

I share this with you because life is incredibly precious.

We don’t always get the chance to say goodbye. We don’t always get the last hug or the last conversation. Sometimes the phone rings and life changes in a single moment.

And yet it’s so easy to forget in the rhythm of daily life.

We forget to soften. To really look someone in the eye. To smile. To forgive.
To love (anyway).

So much of the suffering we carry comes from the stories we conjure up in our minds.

One of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves is the courage to get quiet for a few minutes each day. Enough space to meet ourselves honestly. Our fears. Our judgments. Our anger. Our grief. Our doubts.

When we learn to sit with those parts of ourselves, something shifts. Compassion grows. Peace becomes possible. Love becomes easier.

Those taken from us too soon no longer have the time to do this work. We do.

Today is a good day to choose kindness. To reach out to someone you love. To say the thing that matters. To forgive the small things. To live in a way that leaves the world a better place.

Life is fragile. And it is a gift so let’s make it count.

Xx -
​BeAnne 

It feels fitting to arrive here with you today. Valentine’s Day. A day devoted to love.

Before you say anything, gently set down the expectations. The comparison. The quiet disappointments. Let the day be simple.

Love does not need performance. She does not need to be earned or proven. She wants space. Breath. Honesty.

Today is not about who bought the flowers or made the reservation. It is about remembering your inherent worth. About honoring yourself not because someone else celebrated you, but because YOU are worthy. You are enough.

No one will ever celebrate you the way you can celebrate yourself.

When we stop reaching to be chosen, we begin choosing ourselves. We soften. We return home. We stand in our perfectly imperfect humanity and realize we ARE enough.

Just as Thanksgiving calls us back to gratitude and connection, Valentine’s Day can call us back to love without condition. Not the kind that clings. The kind that opens.

Love expresses through patience.
Through respect.
Through forgiveness.
Through understanding and kindness.

When we act from love, children feel safe. Differences become bridges, not barriers. Diversity is honored. Growth becomes possible. There is room for forgiveness. There is space for thoughtful disagreement. There is alignment between who we say we are and how we live our lives.

Love is not sentimental. It is powerful. It’s truth. It unites. It restores. It heals what fear divides.

So today, let it be simple.

Choose love because it feels right. Because it feels sacred. Holy. Because it brings you back to yourself.

May you treat yourself gently.
May you extend that same grace outward.
May you fall in love with your life, exactly as it is.

Let us love today. And tomorrow. And the day after.

And in doing so, quietly reimagine a world we create together.
​
Xx - BeAnne