Hey y’all, welcome back to the broadcast.
Pardon my absence, but fear not—I remain very much committed to the brand. Peak Valley was created from a place of deep yearning to better understand why I continue to find myself in the throes of unshakeable despair. Many tears have been shed since the time stamp on my last (and only, lol) contribution to The Vault until now. I sit and write today to shed more light on my personal voyage—the continual unraveling, translating, and listening to my higher calling—in hopes that some of the gems of wisdom I’ve gathered along the way may be of use to you.
I go through what feels like waves of intense inspiration, where an idea, a string of words, or a concept comes through so loudly that I invest a considerable amount of energy in bringing it to life. These waves come and go, with no clear indication of how long they will last or where they might lead. One thing that remains true is that I always find myself returning to the breadcrumbs I leave for myself. It’s as if I follow an idea to a place that I somehow know will make sense when I revisit it later.
This manic flow of energy is usually followed by a storm—a test, if you will. It’s the process of integration, the Universe’s way of saying, “Oh, cool ideas you have there. Now let’s see how well you’ve truly understood the lesson.” I’ve come to accept that this “game” I’ve created is just part of my process. I’m learning not to resist the inevitable and to surrender to the current rather than swim against it.
Most of my time has been spent quietly within the four walls of my bedroom. So much of the energy I pour into understanding the depths of myself will never see the light of day or make sense to anyone but me—and that’s exactly as it should be. Let this serve as a reminder: many parts of your process are meant for no one’s eyes but your own. Reclaiming ourselves is an incredibly intimate journey. Your return to Divinity knows no boundaries, has no rules, and follows no fixed timeline. The most valuable skill you can learn is surrender.
Anyway, back to the plot. This year, I’ve felt a monumental shift in my timeline. Since my separation in 2019, I’ve been thrust into what feels like the depths of hell—spiritually, emotionally, mentally, physically. I experienced breakdowns so profound they stripped me to an empty shell on all levels. The only choice I had was to rebuild—but this time, for the first time, on my terms. In many ways, I’ve felt like an infant: a 30-something-year-old, mother-of-two, learning to “human” alongside her children. But by God, we are making it.
For the record, none of it has made an ounce of logical sense to me. That’s why, until now, I couldn’t share what I’ve been moving through. I now understand that this is exactly how it’s meant to be. Integration is intimate, perhaps the highest level of intimacy you can experience with yourself. It deserves to be protected and respected.
On the other side of integration lies embodiment.
It’s the phase where the lessons you’ve learned become embedded into your essence. This can take years. It took me every bit of five years—maybe more—to even begin speaking about where I am now. To be transparent, I still don’t know where I’m going or what lies ahead. But I do know this: the details always work themselves out. Where I am now is a place of embodied wisdom.
I speak from wholehearted surrender. I need nothing in return—not validation, not approval. My faith is unshakeable. I share freely, in the hopes that my story provides value to someone else. To not share would feel like a disservice.
Everything I share from this point forward was planted by me, for me, to return to. Without realizing it, I laid out a blueprint for myself—and none of it made sense until now. I knew only that I had to get it out of my head and into a form I could revisit. I wrote and created for weeks on end, then put it all away. I trusted that there would come a time to share these lessons, but it would require patience and the utmost respect for my process.
Over the past three years, I’ve turned to “poetry.” I had never written or felt called to journal before this, so I’ve always felt a bit odd calling myself a poet or writer. But that just happens to be the form of my communication with Source. It all started with a question, and that question unraveled into an ongoing dialogue with God.
Let’s dig in, shall we?