Author Archives: Stephanie

Staying Spiritually Aligned When the World Is Falling Apart

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I go through bouts of depression that leave me unable to do much more than wake up, go to work, make dinner, eat, go to bed, and wake up to do it all over again. Sometimes, for variety, I cry or doom-scroll on my phone. And yet, I find myself luckier than most. My job pays me decently—even if it’s not the most fulfilling work. I have food on the table and a roof over my head. I have transportation, a comfortable bed, a fine education, and—most important—a family who loves me. I’m a blessed and privileged person.

Environmental and Political Collapse Are Already Here

Three images of disasters: flooding, fire, heatwave

But outside of my bubble, the world is literally burning and washing away. Severe storms and tornadoes are ripping across the United States weekly. As we enter the 2025 hurricane season, we have a FEMA director who doesn’t know there’s such a thing as hurricane season and the South is still reeling from Hurricanes Helene and Milton last year. Los Angeles burned to the ground. Massive flooding has struck Europe and China. The year 2024 brought 41 more days of excessive heat across the globe, and we may have now reached 1.5 degrees Celsius of warming—a critical threshold we must not cross if we hope to avoid runaway climate catastrophe.

And then there’s the political climate. As I write this, the new President of the United States has pledged to roll back any progress made on climate change—eliminating limits on greenhouse gas emissions and withdrawing from the Paris Agreement. He is deporting millions of immigrants, attempting to end birthright citizenship, threatening to seize the Panama Canal by force, threatening to take over Greenland and Canada, legally recognizing only binary gender identities, cutting food assistance for SNAP recipients, slashing disability and Medicaid benefits, and installing an oligarchy as the ruling class. And then there is the coming economic devastation of the on again/off again/on again tariffs.

That’s just the beginning. If you’re paying attention, you know the score.

Spiritual Life in the Face of Constant Onslaught

Beautiful souls, I don’t believe in separating the material world from the spiritual one. These worlds are entwined. We were not placed here with a guarantee that we’d always be safe, or that no harm would ever come to us. Thomas Paine wrote, “These are the times that try men’s souls,” during the American Revolution—a time when colonists lived in a liminal space between monarchy and democracy. Yet even more precariously, Native Americans and enslaved Africans lived in a constant liminal space of survival and death, threatened by the very people who took up arms against the British for far less.

Today, far removed from colonial times, many of us live in the comforting lie that we are safe from societal upheaval. There may be a mass shooting, a terrorist threat, a pandemic—but the continuity of our lives generally remains intact.

That, my friends, will not always be the case. We are rapidly approaching a time when our lives will be thrown into chaos. Whether through political upheaval, climate catastrophe, economic collapse, or some combination thereof, the age of living in a static societal bubble is coming to a close.

It’s Time to Align Ourselves with Our Values.

The material and spiritual worlds are not separate. As above, so below. The spiritual health of our world is in decline because, collectively, we have lost our way. We cannot speak of the Divine with one side of our mouth and, with the other, make decrees that destroy the planet and harm our fellow human beings.

Rainbow stained glass art of person in spiritual alignment

Think about what is truly important to you and then act on those values as though they are under threat. Because, they are under threat.  

If you value life, then truly value it—live in a way that supports life and helps it thrive in all its forms. Align your political self with your social and ethical beliefs. Beyond just voting, ask yourself what concrete actions you take to uphold life as sacred. Do you support social programs for single mothers? School breakfast and lunch programs? Legislation that improves healthcare access for children on Medicaid?

If you value the environment, then actively value it—make choices that protect and sustain it. Do you support local wildlife habitats? Vote for politicians committed to clean air and water? Advocate for climate initiatives that reduce CO₂ and greenhouse gas emissions?

Likewise, if you value mental health, then support policies and practices that make mental healthcare accessible and affordable for all. Do you speak out against stigma? Support funding for community mental health programs, crisis intervention teams, and trauma-informed education?

To live your values fully, your actions—personal, social, and political—must align with what you claim to cherish.

Spiritually Aligned to the Material World

Flying Spaghetti Monster, deity of the Pastafarians
The Flying Spaghetti Monster, deity of Pastafarians

Once you are aligned in the material world, look inward to the spiritual. It doesn’t matter whether you are Muslim, Atheist, Pagan, Christian, or Pastafarian—do your values align with your spiritual beliefs? As below, so above. If your spiritual beliefs are not in harmony with how you live your life on this mortal plane, the dissonance will play out as existential sabotage.

And we are seeing this sabotage unfold in real time: the collapse of the climate, the unraveling of social safety nets, dwindling access to healthcare, and the erosion of democracy itself. These are not isolated issues. They are interwoven symptoms of a deeper misalignment. Our minds, bodies, and spirits must be in alignment with our values and actions—and those values and actions must be in harmony with how we show up in our communities.

We cannot control what others do, but we can control ourselves. This is the time for stepping into alignment with our spirituality. And if each of us shows up in alignment with what we truly value—who knows what two or more of us might do to change the world.

Artistic rendering of person in crossed leg position in spiritual alignment.

Reflections of Venus: Healing the Wounded Self

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My initial reluctance to work with Venus came from something deeper than divine aesthetics—it came from my reluctance to accept parts of myself.

I’d only known Venus through the Greek myths of Aphrodite—or at least the versions taught in school. I saw her as beautiful, vain, shallow, erotic, petty. A divine mean girl. And honestly, that wasn’t someone I wanted to associate with.

And yet, that’s only part of the truth.

Sleeping Venus by Giorgione (c. 1510)

Venus is undeniably the embodiment of beauty—born from seafoam, shimmering with allure. So captivating, in fact, that Zeus married her off to Hephaestus, the so-called ugliest of the gods, just to keep the other gods from tearing the heavens apart. Whether that worked is another story entirely.

I, on the other hand, was called Cosmic Cow in grade school—for loving astronomy and being fat. I never felt beautiful. Not once. Schoolmates, sometimes even family, reminded me of this constantly. The people I crushed on never returned the feeling. I grew up believing no one would ever love me. But I didn’t really think much about marriage anyway—not as a kid.

What stuck with me most about Venus were the myths where she bickered and schemed. The golden apple in The Iliad, where she promised Paris the love of the most beautiful woman (already married, oops) and inadvertently launched the Trojan War. Her custody battle with Persephone over Adonis. Her jealousy over Psyche, so intense she sent her own son, Eros, to sabotage her.

Yes, these stories are layered. And yes, they come to us filtered through patriarchy—the lens of male gods and male poets, where goddesses are often reduced to archetypes of desire, jealousy, and vanity.

But I only absorbed the surface. Venus seemed petty, manipulative, obsessed with beauty—everything I was told I wasn’t. Everything I had grown to resent.

Why would I invite that energy into my life?

The truth is, Venus reflects more than beauty. She reflects truth. And part of that truth is that we all have moments of pettiness, jealousy, insecurity. Sometimes we’re the victims of it. Sometimes we’re the ones dishing it out.

Venus doesn’t condemn us for this. She illuminates it.

You may want to consider the possibility that you are a vampire. But we can work with that!

She holds up a mirror—not just to show us the parts we love, but the parts we’ve rejected. The stuff we’ve pushed into the shadows. She says: This, too, is you.

And most importantly: This also is worthy of love.

She taught me that the “Cosmic Cow” wasn’t some pathetic joke—she was a girl who loved stars and rocks and space and dinosaurs. She loved her family, volunteered in her community, and was a fiercely loyal friend. She also ate too much junk food, got into pointless arguments, cried over dumb things, and sometimes lied. A beautiful, messy, luminous human being.

It’s no accident that Venus—the Morning Star—shares her title with Lucifer, the Light Bringer. Both illuminate what’s hidden. Both reveal desire and shadow.

And I didn’t want to see my shadow. I didn’t want to see the petty, bitter, wounded parts of myself. I thought if I ignored them, they’d go away.

They didn’t.

They festered. They grew. They sabotaged me when I was tired or overwhelmed. They lashed out at the wrong people. They repeated the same old patterns like a broken record. And the Universe, seeing how often I hit “replay,” kept sending the same damn song.

Eventually, I got sick of the soundtrack. I was ready for something new.

That’s when Venus stepped in. She held up the mirror. She said: Look. This shadow, this thing you hate? You needed it once. It got you through something. It was your armor, your crutch, your coping mechanism. It may not have been pretty, but it helped you survive.

And now?

Now you don’t need it anymore.

Once I acknowledged it—owned it—I could release it. That’s when things began to change. New songs started appearing on the playlist. Songs I actually liked. Songs I didn’t know I needed.

I’ll never forget the first time I looked in the mirror and thought, I look…pretty. I didn’t see flaws. I saw me. Not an awkward embarrassment, but a woman who could look herself in the eye and smile.

And I do smile—so much more now.

Working with Planetary Magick – An Invitation from Venus

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“Choose me.”
The voice echoed through the dim cocoon of my basement office. Only the pale glow of my computer screen lit the room.

“I can show you everything,” the voice promised, silky as rose petals and just as sharp beneath the softness.

I swiveled back and forth in my chair like an oracle waiting for a sign. I needed to choose a planetary deity for my course on planetary magick. Simple task, right? Just pick from the celestial buffet: the classic inner planets, plus the Sun and Moon.

Picture: The Birth of Venus by Botticelli
The Birth of Venus by Botticelli

Naturally, I leaned toward the Moon. Who doesn’t want to hang out with a mysterious goddess who deals in secrets, cycles, and tides? She seemed like the right one to help me unearth whatever was blocking my financial flow.
Then there was Mercury—flashy, fast-talking god of communication, writing, luck, and memes (well, in my version). A logical choice. And Jupiter, ever the cosmic Santa Claus, beckoned with promises of expansion and abundance.

But then—

“You should choose me. I can help you the most.”

Venus.
Oh no.
It was her. Her.
The voice practically dripped in honey and glitter.

I resisted.

Venus? Really? What could the goddess of love, beauty, sex, and aesthetic delights possibly offer me—a frazzled adjunct professor stewing in financial panic and existential dread?

I shut off my computer and trudged upstairs. Venus? No way. My overactive imagination had clearly hit a sugar high. Still, why her?

Upstairs, my thoughts swirled. I needed to pick a deity. I needed a breakthrough. I needed… money. Fast.
I was barely scraping by teaching two online classes. One was ending soon. No new contracts. No net beneath the high-wire act of survival.

A few years back, I had left of a toxic job that left me feeling drained and defeated. Since then, I had been surviving on savings and side hustles—adjunct gigs in the Humanities (translation: soul work, terrible pay). Enrollment had started tanking even before 2020 came in swinging.

I threw resumes into the void and landed a few interviews—none of which stuck.
But here’s the truth: I didn’t want any of those jobs. Not really. Not beyond their potential to keep the lights on and me and my partner fed. My past in education left me feeling disposable, exploited. Admin work? Pure drudgery. I wasn’t built for bureaucracy.

The Fear kept me immobilized. I couldn’t even choose a planet. I slumped in my chair, spiraling into a melodramatic monologue about the futility of everything. Nothing would ever work again. Ever. Not the course. Not the cosmos. Not me.

Then, while brushing my teeth—classic mystical portal—I time-traveled to my youth. I forgot all about my financial troubles for the moment. In my mind now, a TV show featuring young, androgynous Johnny Depp lit up my mind. I remembered thinking he was heartbreakingly beautiful. Then came the reel: all my childhood crushes, a parade of androgynous movie stars. I started laughing. Then laughing harder. Full-on cackling in my bathroom.

Twenty years with a woman, and I still hadn’t pieced it together? I’d considered myself bisexual since my late twenties, but this was different.
It clicked. I had always gravitated toward feminine energy.

I remembered how all my stuffed animals were girls. How women flirted with me, and I missed it by miles. How I squeezed myself into a heteronormative mold because I grew up Catholic, where the only sanctioned option came with a veil and a side of guilt.

Even after embracing my orientation, I buried the signs. I swept the whole sparkling truth under the rug. But now, under fluorescent bathroom light and Venus’s mischievous gaze, it erupted.

I wept with joy. Venus had cracked me open.

She didn’t stop there.

With a firm but loving flick of reason, she reminded me: I was born this way to carve my own strange and sacred path. Not just in who I love, but in how I think.
I am autistic. Neurodivergent. I fought with my awkward self all my life. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own body.
And that, she whispered, is not a curse. It is a gift.

Picture: My alter to Venus, complete with pink bunny. The statue is Aphrodite holding the golden apple (of chaos) given to her by Paris.
My alter to Venus, complete with pink bunny. The statue is Aphrodite holding the golden apple (of chaos) given to her by Paris.

It’s why I see the world differently. Why I struggle in systems designed for sameness. Why joy hides in weird corners and sudden moments.
She told me I’d suffer now, but find freedom later. I believed her.

That night, I chose her.

I dedicated two crystal charms and a pink stuffed bunny to Venus. (You heard me.) I ordered ritual supplies and dove into the course with a Venusian wink.

Then just a few weeks later—plot twist—I got a job. Not in my field, and not from anything I applied for. Just… an email. Unsolicited. A phone interview. A lucrative gig. Out of nowhere. Not perfect, not forever, but it carried me through the chaos of COVID and to today.

A few years later, while studying astrology, I discovered that Venus rules my birth chart. She lives in my First House—the house of self—in Taurus, the sign of sensuality, stability, and self-worth.

Suddenly, everything made sense.
Of course she called to me.

Working with Venus has been nothing short of magical. She unearthed lost parts of me, restored my joy, and showed me the dazzling power of love, beauty, and self-worth. She prepared me for working with other planetary deities and beyond!

I hope sharing this story inspires you to explore planetary magick—not just as an abstract concept, but as a personal myth.
Let the planets speak. Let the gods flirt with you. You never know who’s waiting in the shadows of your soul, whispering:

Choose me.

Emerging from the Void (in amazing technicolor!)

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Me and my dog, Dobby in January 2023

It’s been a long time since I posted anything. Honestly, this “being alive” thing? Not always user-friendly. Between the chaos of the new U.S. administration, the slow grind of work, and the heartbreak of losing my beloved dog, Dobby, I fell into a deep depression.

Now, even on good days, I struggle to find time or energy to blog, make stuff, or do anything beyond sheer survival mode. So when life goes completely off the rails? I do what any overwhelmed mystic with executive dysfunction does—I go to ground. Deep, burrow-down-in-the-cave, eat-cereal-in-bed ground.

I’m late-diagnosed autistic. I’ve known I had ADD since childhood, which has now been bundled under the snazzier umbrella term: ADHD. But surprise! If you’re not hyperactive (I’m hypoactive if anything), you’ve got what they now termed “Inattentive ADHD.” No one sent me the memo. The psychologist who diagnosed me admonished me because “Type IV ADD: Overfocused” isn’t actually a thing. Cool. Sorry my diagnosis was 40 years ago when they used different terms.

So now I’m AuDHD: Autism + ADHD. It’s a neurodivergent double feature, with a runtime of forever.

This cocktail of brain wiring means I sometimes vanish like a cryptid in a fog bank. No reward or pep talk or productivity app can pry me off the couch. I keep up just enough to maintain my job and occasionally forage for groceries (because cooking? Not happening). I ghost my friends, cancel plans, eat food that screams “regret,” and spiral about my blood sugar. Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s less “self-care” and more “dystopian feral.”

Mostly herbs for plant medicine and yummy foods: Basil, parsley, chives, lemon balm, thyme, yarrow, calendula, tomatoes, carrots, zucchini and beets.
Mostly herbs for plant medicine and yummy foods: Basil, parsley, chives, lemon balm, thyme, yarrow, calendula, tomatoes, carrots, zucchini and beets.

But! Lately, I’ve been slowly crawling back from the abyss. A little art here. A little cooking there. I even bought some herbs and vegetable plants for my garden like the whimsical swamp witch I aspire to be (my cluttered house? I like to call it cottage core, thank you very much!).

And—drumroll please—I’m writing again.

Now, why am I telling you all this? Because if you’re neurodivergent and stuck in a similar slump, I want you to know: I see you. I believe in you. I am 100% cheering you on from the mossy sidelines. Life hurls curveballs, and sometimes, we just need to curl up and rest. Really rest. The kind where your body turns off and you go to ground like Lestat de Lioncourt after yet another emotional relationship meltdown.

Lestat from AMC's Interview with the Vampire, beat up and bloody
Lestat from AMC’s Interview with the Vampire

I’ve recently learned how real and brutal autistic burnout can be—for the body, the mind, and the soul we all carry inside us. So if you need rest? REST.

But when the time comes—and only you can say when—start again at your own speed. Go toward what gives you life. Don’t force yourself into the grooves of other people’s timelines. As Theodore Roosevelt may or may not have said, comparison is the thief of joy. And joy is already on a tight budget.

My neurographic art in circles. I do a little each day.
Incomplete circle art. I’ve add a little more to it each day over 3 months so far

For me? Art is medicine. And to be crystal clear, I am not a trained artist. I just really like mixing colors and making weird little swirly things on paper. I watch YouTube tutorials on watercolor, acrylics, markers—whatever catches my interest—and I copy them, badly and joyfully. My hands shake, my depth perception is trash, and I do it anyway. It calms my nervous system in a way that nothing else does.

Art is, in my view, a subversive act. A holy rebellion. When we make art, we tell the productivity-obsessed world to take a seat. Art is full-brain engagement. It’s meditation with glitter. And for those of us who can’t sit still and “empty the mind” without intrusive thoughts spiraling out of nowhere, this kind of creation is our meditation.

I’ve tried for years to meditate, but if my brain is stuck in hyper-focus hell, forget it. Art, cooking, gardening—these are my portals to peace. They slow the thoughts, reset the circuits, and help me reconnect with my intentions.

Perfection? Nope. Not needed. I’m just trying to silence the inner noise and make something that feels like me.

One particular practice that helps me is neurographic art, a method created by Russian psychologist Pavel Piskarev in 2014. It’s kind of like drawing your own neural pathways into peace. Here’s a great intro video by Keren Tamir if you want to try it:
👉 https://youtu.be/p4bTnRqUNSM?si=o7knq1kO5sppqzDo

My own example of neurographic art
My attempt at neurogrphic art

Too much? Totally fine. Here’s another option: Grab a kid’s watercolor set, swirl the brush around like you’re casting a spell, and call it a masterpiece. There are no rules. No deadlines. No judges.

Use what you’ve got. Want to make smiley face thumbprints? Yes. Stick figures? Absolutely. Doodle in the margins of your bills? Divine. Watch art tutorials for hours and never pick up a brush? Still counts. The point is joy. The point is you.

Hand painted watercolor bookmark: circles
This is a bookmark I created in watercolors just making circle swirls. Pretty, no?

So if you’re emerging from your own cocoon—or still chilling in it like the mysterious, magical creature you are—I hope you know you’re not alone. I’m here, swirling paint and whispering nonsense into the void, cheering you on with every brushstroke.

You’ve got this. In your own way. In your own time. And I’ll be here, making swirlies until you’re ready to join me.

Hand painted watercolor bookmarks
Who doesn’t need a plethora of handmade bookmarks ?

Happy New Year!

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2025, we made it through another year!

We made it! Another year down, a new one begins. I hope you all had a fabulous and safe holiday season. It was a year of ups and downs for me, but I feel blessed in my fortune for 2024. Everyone in my family is still here, we have all our needs met. My wife and I are together and mostly healthy. The pets are happy. Despite some of the current political realities that are beyond our control, I can’t complain.

This year, I’ve decided to revitalize my website and commit to writing weekly. Yeah, yeah, I know I said that before and it’s been two years. Life has a habit of getting out of control. But I also know, I’m happier when I’m writing. This year’s goal is to increase the amount of happiness in the world. The only way I know how to do that, is to begin with me. I love to share what I’m learning, places I’ve been, new projects I’m working on, and my general philosophy of life. When I’m not doing that, I feel isolated, sad, and hopeless. Enough of that! It’s my hope to build a community of people who want to see change in the world through self transformation.

What do I plan to write about? The usual; spirituality, cooking, gardening, traipsing about, astrology, playing with animals, talking to plants, kitchen witchery, life as a neurodivergent being, ecospirituality, the Divine Feminine and anything that brings joy and laughter to my heart.

You can view all my old writings by clicking the Awakening the Witch tab above. There’s some great stuff there going back 8 years.

I’m also collaborating with my good friends Nick Mather, who runs Rebel Spirit Radio, and Jeremy Anderson, of Kill-Divill:Rum & Cocktails, on a monthly live streamed podcast we lovingly call Cocktail Apocalypse: Happy Hour at the End of the World. You can view out last episode, Year in Review below.

If this looks like your jam, please consider following and posting comments. Here’s looking forward to a fabulous 2025!

Please be a bit patient with me as I relearn WordPress and remember how to arrange all these plugins and widgets again!