I’m no longer trying to outrun the ocean
On learning to swim. Plus, Tarot + Tea is around the corner!
God, I used to hate standing still. From the day I could walk, my parents were yelling, “slow down, Sarah” as I raced up the stairs to lose myself in whatever activity was calling my name.
As I got older, I only became more addicted to the speed at which my feet could carry me. It showed up in the way I bought plane tickets for my next adventure before I was home from whatever country I was currently couch surfing my way through. Or the fact that I crammed extra credits into a summer so I could graduate from college a year early, desperate to find out what would come next.
No matter where I was or what I was doing, I always had one foot out the door, eyes on the horizon, curious to see what lie beyond the next turn in the road.
For much of my youth and the entirety of my 20s I struggled with debilitating mental illness and unresolved trauma. Whenever things got too still, I could feel the weight of all that pain swelling like the start of a tsunami, readying itself to decimate whatever lie in its path. I had to move—to outrun it—or else the rising tide would pull me under.
I applied to and quit jobs on a monthly basis; I broke up with anyone who seemed to like me too much; and I never spent more than a year in the same city if I could avoid it (often less than that).
I often think about the day Charlie and I signed a lease on an apartment in New York City. For the first year-and-a-half of our relationship, we’d been long distance, and I’d just agreed to move to NYC so we could give our fledgling relationship a real shot. I thought it was what I wanted; I loved Charlie, and a part of me longed for something steady and predictable.
But then, in Spring 2018, we signed a lease, and I had one of the biggest panic attacks of my life. Hyperventilating on the corner behind the real estate agent’s office, I wiped away the tears as massive sobs racked my body. The sight of my name on a paper that promised I would stay put for 12 whole months terrified me. I felt trapped and afraid and certain everything would go wrong. I didn’t know what would happen if I couldn’t run when the waters started to rise again, and I dind’t want to find out.
From June 2018 through March 2020, I fought tooth and nail to keep myself from drowning. I hopped between five different jobs, floated from one friend group to the next, and took every opportunity I could to spend weeks or months anywhere else—California, Italy, India, Costa Rica… you name it.
In March 2020 I dragged Charlie to North Carolina, convinced changing locations would remove the water from my lungs and let me breathe again. But then lockdowns happened, and I couldn’t travel, and I was working a steady 9-to-5, and everything was still and consistent and stable, and it absolutely terrified me. I got the sickest I’ve ever been in my life thanks to a post-viral heart condition, then we had bed bugs, and lockdowns were still in place, and I couldn’t get out and I had to get out or I was going to drown, and I started to panic. And when I panic, I run.
I ran to a small apartment above my parents’ garage in Carnelian Bay, CA. I left my job, my partner, and my home behind, looking for anywhere to land where the waters might not reach me.
Only, what I found when I landed in Tahoe was not an escape. What I found was a really good therapist. When I told her that, in the ten years that had passed since graduating high school, I hadn’t lived anywhere longer than a year and half, she looked me in the eyes and said, “I want you to stay here for two.”
Once I promised her I wouldn’t move the minute things got hard, she turned me to face the angry ocean, and led me under. We swam in those waters for months, digging out twenty-year-old traumas and feeling the waves of grief, fear, anger, and sorrow that I’d spent so long trying to run from.
It was a lot, and there were multiple times I considered running—to Costa Rica, to Long Beach, back to the east coast—but I held to my promise.
I stayed. I felt. I grieved. And, finally, miraculously, I healed.
I’ve been living in Tahoe/Truckee for nearly four years now, and I don’t have any imminent plans to leave. Charlie and I are engaged; I love my work and have been committing myself to it more fully every day; I have friends and a community that are consistent and grounding. I’ve let myself grow roots and, most days, I’m not afraid they’ll be ripped away by the next storm.
It’s not a perfect system. Commitment to my future and trusting people to love me is still really fucking hard. When Charlie and I bought a ring last summer, it took many deep breaths and long walks surrounded by trees to keep myself from having a panic attack. And while less often these days, I still sometimes come home from social gatherings and have to sit in a hot shower and talk myself down from the ledge, convinced everyone I’ve ever cared about secretly hates me. I haven’t quite kicked the habit of planning entirely knew lives for myself every time I see a job listing or visit a town that would offer a blank slate. But I am here.
I’m doing the work.
And when the waves swell once more, I will choose to stay. Because at the end of the day, no matter how deep the water gets, I know how to swim.
A ritual bath to make space for lingering grief
What You’ll Need
A bathtub
Epsom salts
Some or all of the following herbs:
Lavender
Lemon Balm
Linden
Motherwort
Holy Basil (Tulsi)
A pot and fine mesh strainer
A white candle
A journal & writing tool (optional)
What You’ll Do
Fill a pot with hot water and the herbs you’re using (feel free to add any others that feel aligned with themes of healing the heart and soothing grief)
Bring the water to boil, then simmer for at least 20 minutes. In the meantime, sprinkle a fine layer of epsom salts on the bottom of your bathtub and fill the tub with warm water, swirling the water until the salt dissolves. Leave a few inches for the herbal concoction.
Strain the herbs from the pot and pour the hot herbal water into the bathtub.
Light the white candle and say your intention out loud. For example, you might say, “As I prepare this bath, I cultivate a sacred space where my grief may be felt, heard, and honored.” Feel free to tweak the language as you see fit.
While in the bath, you may choose to simply sit in silence and allow space for whatever emotions need to come through, or you may choose to journal, draw, or otherwise reflect. I recommend fully submerging yourself beneath the water at both the start and end of the bath.
When done, try to give yourself time to transition. Drink some water. Take a walk. Put on cozy PJs and read a book. Your energy may be low and your heart may need a little extra TLC. Take your time and be gentle with yourself.
☕ February 23rd - Tarot + Tea
Wondering what March will bring? Want advice from the Tarot on how to lean into the energy of the month, and what to leave behind? Have personal questions you want to ask the Tarot? Join us for our monthly Tarot + Tea gathering and enjoy delicious tea, yummy snacks, powerful tarot readings for both the collective and you as an individual, and a chance to mingle and bond with your fellow mystics!
Sunday, February 23rd from 5-7pm at Spirit Rebel in Truckee
sliding scale $25-40 per person
🌸 Help Me Decide What to Offer this Spring!
I’m busy working on my Spring events & offerings, and I want to know what YOU want to see more of! Fill out this survey to add your opinion and get more of the offerings you want on the calendar in 2025.
Charlie celebrated his 30th birthday over the weekend and anyone who knows me knows I LOVE birthdays. We kept it low key, as is Charlie’s style, but it was so nice to have an excuse to shirk all responsibilities and spend a weekend fully committed to enjoying ourselves, moving at a slow pace, reveling in all the little joys of life, and eating a shit-ton of sushi.
Local: Truckee Pride has started their monthly planning meetings, and I’m so stoked to be a part of the effort to make our second annual pride even more epic than last year! Find out more and get involved at https://www.truckeepride.org
Collective: Educate yourself on how to defend against ICE and share this information with your community
LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!!!