REAL TALK: The Crazy One…

There’s one in every family, isn’t there?
The one who makes people roll their eyes at gatherings.
The one whose name gets brought up in whispered conversations followed by, “Sure you know what she’s like.”

That’s me.

I’ve done every so-called “woo woo” thing I could get my hands on.
Taught numerology.
Ran weekly meditation groups in front rooms and community centers.
Gave talks on crystals, healing, ancestors, karma, trauma, you name it.
If it sounded like a lifeline, I grabbed it.

Not because I wanted to be different, or because I thought I was better than anyone else.
But because somewhere deep down, I couldn’t bear to live on autopilot.
I couldn’t look at the world the way everyone else seemed to.
I couldn’t pretend not to feel it, the ache, the chaos, the grief nobody spoke about, the questions nobody asked.

And maybe that makes me the mad one.
The witch.
The black sheep.
The weirdo.

Fine. I’ll wear it.

Because here’s the thing: I see people as souls on their own journey.
Not as “the eldest” or “the favorite” or “the eejit of the family.”
But as hearts carrying their own lessons, wounds, and stories.
And sometimes those stories don’t make sense to anyone else.
Sometimes they never will.

But that’s the point.
We’re not all here to walk the same path.
Some of us came to clear the old family dust.
Some of us came to break the rules.
Some of us came to leave the lights on for others when they get tired of the dark.

And yes, it’s lonely sometimes.
Yes, it hurts like hell to be misunderstood.
Yes, you lose people.
But you find yourself.

You learn to stop asking for permission to exist the way you do.
You realize your job isn’t to fix anyone, convert anyone, or be understood by anyone.

It’s to be a witness.
To hold space.
To leave breadcrumbs.
And to live your truth, quietly, stubbornly, defiantly and beautifully.

That’s my path.
And if it makes me the crazy one, so be it.