August Kicked My Ass

Transparency moment.

This entire month has been a shit-show.

Before I launch into my rant about transforming shit into gold, I’mma point out that it’s 5:55 p.m. and I’ve had a protein shake, a bag of BBQ chips, and half of an Italian coffee.

Got it? Great.

So, boom…the lion’s gate portal was August 8^th. 8/8 energy. Great energy for manifesting. Great energy to surf that brilliant Leo energy into infinite abundance and blah blah blah.

I was hopeful.

And then…I was gob-smacked by old trauma.

Every week of August, something tried to take me down and kill my spirit.

The first week was innocent.

The second week, I felt odd. My dad’s death anniversary--he was my first encounter with a narcissist.

The third week, I felt like I’d been dragged into spiritual warfare.

The fourth week…I let it throw me around. I mean, I completely relinquished all control. Because when life is life-ing, you can fight it, or you can roll with it. 

I took the path of least resistance…which led me to today, August 29^th, 2025.

I’ve given up, but not in the way it sounds. 

Confused? I’ll backpedal.

So, for the last few months, I’ve dedicated myself and my time to writing in a way I never have.

Writing is my first love. Creative writing, specifically, is a secondary vessel for expressing my vivid dreams and imagination. Growing up, no one encouraged me to write.

I was encouraged to teach. I’ve tried it, and I hate it.

I was encouraged to be a doctor. The high-pay, high-stress didn’t appeal to me.

Then, after grad school, I was encouraged to do anything to make money. Well, not anything.

No one looked at me and said, “Hey, Steph. You should write. You should do that for money.”

But, thinking about it now, even if someone had encouraged me to write back in college and grad school, would I have had the mental space to do it? My mind was always filled with shit other people wanted me to do. Files on how I should act with this person and that person. How to be a people pleaser. How to survive.

And now that I’ve gotten to a space I can actually do that, and have encouragement to write from my husband, I’m receiving so much warfare.

Honestly? I’m sick of it.

All month, I’ve been crying, spiraling, noticing the disappointments of life, yet I haven’t stopped writing.

And the more I write, the more warfare I get. Like it’s an entity from the past trying to drag me back into an old way of being.

It shouts at me, “What makes you think you can make money as a Writer?”

It’s loud, insistent, angry, and rude.

Every day I get up to start anew, it rears its ugly head…dripping venom as it attempts to shame me back into line, “You can’t do this. No one in your family has done this. You can’t have this.”

Battling this old mindset has been rough because it’s so abusive. It’s a compilation of the abuse I received when my mom died, when I was friends with this person, when I gave up my youth for this person, when I dated this person, and so on and so forth. It’s like…Oh, God…it’s like the Rat King.

If you can stand it, because it’s disgusting, Google it. Blame my husband, he’s the one who showed me the picture, lol.

But yeah, it’s like the Rat King.

And I’m sick of it. 

So sick of it that I’m going to keep writing, because “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.”

I’m a writer, and I deserve to write. I’m not stopping.

Just an hour ago, I fell apart because I was frustrated. In tears, I declared, “I just wanna write. I just wanna write.”

I didn’t say “I just wanna teach” or “I just wanna make money” or “I just wanna win a million dollars”—I do, but you get my point.

It was a non-request to Source, a declaration, an order, a command.

When I cried, “I just wanna write,” I also declared, “Give me the mental energy and space to write. Snatch my time back from those who stole it in the past and deliver it back to me. Give it back. Now. Right the fuck now.”

Because this is my shit.

And I’m going to use my energy to perfect my craft and be the best writer that Stephanie can be.