There I was.  Bored.  Creative.  Slightly feral from too many nights of herbal tea and responsible choices.  Armed with a mirror, five minutes, and a metallic marker that whispered seductively from the  mess on my coffee table,

> “You up?”

Was it designed for eyes?
Absolutely not.
Did it shimmer like the tears of a disco ball?
You bet your glitter-loving soul it did!

One swoop. Then another. I looked like a Y2K oracle.
An edgy raccoon.
A woman with absolutely nothing to prove and a roll of duct tape earrings on standby.

I made a reel.  I posted it.  I moved on with my life.

But the internet didn’t.

> “You’re going to get a nasty eye infection.”
“That’s not safe!!”
“Please don’t tell people to do this.”

Now, let me be clear:
I never told anyone to do anything.
There was no how-to.  No affiliate link.  No warning label because I’m not a brand, I’m a vibe.

It was a moment.  A sparkle.  A dopamine-fueled act of rebellion.  And before the wellness police come in with a citation for “non-sanctioned shimmer,” let me remind you…

People eat gas station sushi and chase it with Mountain Dew.
Some folks use Gorilla Glue on their hair!
There’s a guy on TikTok who brushes his teeth with butter.

Humans are weird.  That’s the magic of us.

So here’s the deal:
Free will is alive and well.  You’re allowed to make weird choices.  You’re allowed to be creative without clearing it with a board of dermatologists.  You’re allowed to glitter-bomb your face without a three-paragraph disclaimer.

Was it a good idea?  I don’t know.
Did I look fabulous?  Absolutely.
Do my eyes still work?  They do.  In HD.

And if that bothers you, I kindly suggest scrolling on to someone safer.  Like a DIY candle influencer named Susan. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Because around here?
✨ Creativity wins.
✨ Perfection is boring.
✨ And sometimes the best eyeliner comes from the office supply drawer!

🌀 The Cosmic Cop-Out

So Mercury will be in retrograde again (July 17th-18th.)  That magical time when texts go missing, appointments get double-booked, and every device in your house decides to glitch like it’s haunted by the ghost of dial-up past.   Instagram feeds fill up with warnings like, “Don’t sign contracts!” and “Avoid travel!”, as if the entire global economy is supposed to pause so Mercury can vibe in reverse for three weeks.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love a little planetary drama.  Astrology is a powerful symbolic language.  And you know what else is powerful?

Boundaries.  Sleep.  A decent backup plan.

Maybe your chaos isn’t written in the stars, it’s just been enabled by your chronic “sure, I can do that” syndrome.  Oof.  I said it.

—

🧠 Why We Love to Blame the Stars

Here’s a little brain candy: humans are pattern-seeking creatures.  We want reasons.  We crave cause and effect.  So when something goes sideways (especially repeatedly), we reach for something bigger than ourselves to explain the nonsense.

Enter: Mercury Retrograde.  It’s tidy.  It’s cosmic.  It’s not our fault!

Science (and your therapist) would like to offer another possibility: maybe we’re outsourcing responsibility because it’s easier than admitting we’re overwhelmed, under-boundaried, and trying to manifest peace from inside a mental group chat with 87 open tabs.

Psychologically speaking, blaming external forces gives us relief.  It also takes away our power.  And you?  You’re too magical and too capable to give that away!

—

🚫 Boundaries: The Real Retrograde Remedy

Let’s talk about that thing we all secretly struggle with: boundaries.

If Mercury Retrograde is the season of miscommunication, technology glitches, and revisiting the past, guess what helps?

Clear communication!

Tech hygiene (like, update your dang software.)

Saying “no” to people you’re not even sure you like anymore.

Mercury isn’t sabotaging you.  Your lack of digital discipline and people-pleasing patterns might be.

Set a calendar reminder.  Use “Do Not Disturb.”  Stop ghosting your own needs.

You don’t need to cancel your life.  You need to manage it like the brilliant, woo-curious adult you are.

—

🔮 When Woo Works

Here’s where I get soft on you: rituals matter.  Taking a pause during Mercury Retrograde?  That’s smart.  Reflecting before replying?  Genius.  Writing intentions?  Chef’s kiss. 📝✨

The ritual is the medicine.  It’s not about Mercury, it’s about mindfulness.

So go ahead: cleanse your space, light that candle, and wear the smoky quartz.  And also? Check your email settings.  Re-read that contract.  And stop texting your ex “just to see how they’re doing.”

—

🌟 Cosmic Accountability > Cosmic Blame

Let’s upgrade the vibe.  Instead of using Mercury Retrograde as a reason to spiral, try using it as a checkpoint:

What do I need to review, revise, or release?

Where do I keep repeating patterns that don’t serve me?

Am I communicating clearly, or just reacting?

It’s not about fear.  It’s about awareness.  Astrology isn’t an excuse; it’s a mirror.  And you, my dear, are the one standing in front of it!

—

💁‍♀️ TL;DR

Mercury Retrograde is real, but it’s not your scapegoat.
Boundaries are sexier than crystals.
And you’re more in control than your horoscope would like you to believe.

Now go take a deep breath, update your phone, cancel that unnecessary meeting, and light some incense for good measure.  Not because Mercury demands it, but because you deserve a little peace and power.

Now that everyone’s in one group thread, it’s only a matter of time before someone rage-leafs.

—

🥒 Cucumber:
Anyone else feel like they’re being suffocated out here?  I’m having trouble breathing!
🪴 Mint: YOU’RE in my personal space.
🌶️ Hot Pepper: lol fight fight fight

—

🍅 Tomato:
Hey guys! Just checking, am I blushing too early?  I’m not ripe-shaming myself, just self-conscious.

🌽 Corn:
Standing tall.  Just saying.
🍅 Tomato: Must be nice, high and dry.

—

🌻 Sunflower:
OMG did someone move my head?  I swear I was facing East this morning.
💨 Wind: 😏

—

🥬 Kale:
Can someone please stop the cabbage moths?!  I’m on my last nerve and my last leaf.
🧄 Garlic: smh.  Should’ve planted me closer.

—

🍓 Strawberry:
Hey… just a reminder I’m cute and everyone likes me.

🍉 Watermelon:
And I’m seasonal, juicy, and in therapy.
🍓 Strawberry: …ok then.

—

🫑 Bell Pepper:
Has anyone seen my color?  I swear I was supposed to be red by now.
🥒 Cucumber: Maybe you’re just… emotionally green.
🫑 Bell Pepper: rude.

—

🪴 Basil:
Y’all better chill.  Mama’s coming out here with the hose.
🌧️ Rain Cloud: 👀 wanna tag team?

—

🥕 Carrot:
Can someone dig me out?  I think I’ve been forgotten.  Again.
🌱 Dandelion: You’re not the only one with deep-seated issues, sweetie.

—

🌼 Marigold:
Just reminding everyone that I repel pests and bring the vibe.
🍆 Eggplant: You repel compliments too.
🌼 Marigold: Go shine your ego somewhere else, nightshade.

—

Gardening isn’t just a quiet, peaceful pastime.  It’s a full-on group dynamic, with gossiping gourds, moody root vegetables, and diva herbs.  If plants could text, your garden would be just like any neighborhood group chat: chaotic, hilarious, and strangely insightful.

And just like in real life, some plants need more space, some need more sunshine, and some just need to be heard! 🥰

When I was little, my dad used to say, “You don’t have any iron in your nose, do ya?” Usually after I’d wandered off in the completely wrong direction.  At the time, I thought it was just one of those silly dad things , kinda like “don’t take any wooden nickels” or “you’ve got more nerves than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs!”

Years later, I found out something wild: humans actually have microscopic deposits of magnetite (iron) in our noses and brains that help us sense direction.  It’s like a built-in compass that nobody talks about!  Suddenly, my dad’s weird little saying wasn’t nonsense.  It was ancestral poetry!

That got me thinking: how many old sayings, passed down like family heirlooms, actually hold more wisdom than we realize?

Let’s dig into the dusty corners of the language attic and pull out a few gems that still have a place in our modern world.

—

🧠 1. “You’ve Got a Gut Feeling”

Translation: Your gut knows things before your brain does.

Turns out, the “gut feeling” isn’t just emotional, it’s biological.  The gut has over 100 million neurons, often called the “second brain,” and it’s deeply connected to our nervous system.  When you get a bad vibe about something?  Your gut might’ve read the room before your eyes even caught up.

Modern Takeaway: Trusting your gut isn’t flaky, it’s neurobiologically legit.

—

🪵 2. “Don’t Borrow Trouble”

Translation: Worrying about what might happen just drains your energy.

This one used to confuse me.  How do you borrow trouble?  But it’s actually a perfect metaphor!  Worrying is like taking out a high-interest loan from a problem that hasn’t even occurred yet.  You’re emotionally overdrawn before reality even shows up.

Modern Takeaway: Anxiety isn’t preparation.  Stay in the present.

—

🌾 3. “Make Hay While the Sun Shines”

Translation: Use the good moments wisely, they don’t last forever.

Back in the day, if you didn’t cut and dry your hay while the sun was out, you might lose your crop to rain or rot.  It was literally the difference between survival and scarcity.  Today, the same principle applies, capitalize on your energy, your peace, your joy.

Modern Takeaway: Don’t wait for the perfect time.  Act when the window’s open.

—

🔥 4. “That Rubbed Me the Wrong Way”

Translation: Something about that didn’t sit right, and there’s a reason.

This one always gave me tactile ick vibes.  It turns out our bodies are constantly reading social cues, from tone, body language, and micro-expressions, and sometimes they raise little red flags before we consciously know why.

Modern Takeaway: Your discomfort is data.  Don’t dismiss it.

—

☕ 5. “A Watched Pot Never Boils”

Translation: Obsessing over progress slows it down, or at least makes it feel slower.

Patience was built into our ancestors’ everyday life.  They waited for crops, for letters, for trains.  And somewhere along the way, they learned that over-focus breeds frustration.  Sometimes, you have to set it and forget it.

Modern Takeaway: Let go a little.  Life’s timing is better when you’re not micromanaging it.

—

👨‍🌾 Final Thoughts on All This:

We think of old sayings as dusty relics, things our grandparents mumbled while whittling something or stirring a pot.  And hidden in those quirky turns of phrase is a rich inheritance of insight.  Our ancestors knew things, about nature, bodies, emotions, time, they just said it in their own language.

And maybe if we listen closely, we’ll find that wisdom still fits like an old coat: a little worn, but still warm and feels like home.

There’s a moment you never forget:
When the person who raised you, loved you, and limped through your teenage chaos, starts to hurt in a way the experts can’t (or won’t) explain.

My mom’s legs had been crying out for years. Puffy, blistered, aching.
And what did the professionals say?
🩺 “Hmm.”
🩺 “It’s probably just aging.”
🩺 “We don’t really have an answer.”

Meanwhile, she’s got skin so sensitive it breaks open like thin ice and veins puffier than my pride after a good loaf of sourdough!

So guess what we did?

We stopped waiting for a diagnosis and made a damn balm.

—

Introducing: Venous Support Balm

🧴 The DIY that said: “I see you, Mama.”

This wasn’t just a lotion.
This was my love letter in herbal form.

It was me, looking at yarrow root powder and going, “Can you keep away this swelling?”
It was me, whispering to the chamomile, “Be the calm her legs forgot.”
It was me, finally doing something when nobody else would.

—

What Happened Next?

We rubbed it in.
We spoke kindness into the skin nobody had treated with reverence.
And that night?

“It doesn’t feel so hot anymore.”
“It didn’t leak today.”
“Can you bring more tomorrow?”


YES.  Yes, I can!

—

What’s In This Little Healing Jar?

🌿 Yarrow Root Powder – venous tone support, helps shrink those ballooning veins.
🌿 Calendula – builds back skin resilience like a contractor for capillaries.
🌿 Clove – moves that stuck blood like a tiny plunger.
🌿 Chamomile – because her skin deserves tenderness.
🌿 Bees Wax and Manuka Honey – anti-inflammatory and circulation support with heavenly vibes.

—

Why This Isn’t Just a Hack, It’s a Herstory! 😉

This balm wasn’t about vanity.
It was about dignity.
It was about making her feel seen in a world that only saw charts.

She pays extra for care that doesn’t come.
She asks for help and gets told she’s fine.
So I stepped in, not just as her daughter, but as her advocate, her apothecary, her cheerleader.

—

If You’re Where I Was

Make the balm.
Say the words the doctors don’t.
Touch the skin that everyone’s ignored.
And let your love be louder than their apathy.

Because sometimes, healing doesn’t come from the clinic.
It comes from a jar you made in your kitchen… with herbs, hope, and hell yes energy!

Let’s be real, compost isn’t glamorous.  It’s stinky.  It’s messy.  It’s literally a pile of old banana peels, eggshells, and last week’s regrets.  And yet… it might just be the wisest teacher in the whole garden!

Why compost?  Compost is transformation in slow motion.

It doesn’t ask you to pretend your scraps never existed.  It says, “Bring me your moldy strawberries, your cracked dreams, your burnt toast mornings.  I can do something with that.”
It doesn’t rush.  It stews.  It simmers.  It processes.

And when it’s done?

It feeds everything!

That’s the magic.
That the very things we think are too far gone, too rotten, too broken, too used up, might just be the exact ingredients we need to nourish new life.  In our soil and in ourselves.

🪱 Worm Wisdom: Lessons from the Decomposers

The worms don’t judge.  They don’t go, “Ugh, cabbage core again?”
They say, “Perfect. Let me break that down into something beautiful.”

What would life look like if we treated our emotional leftovers like that?
Not as failures.  As future fertilizer!

That heartbreak?  Compost it.
That lost job?  Compost it.
That moment you yelled at your kid, your partner, your dog, or your reflection?  Compost it.

Let it break down.  Let it be worked over by time, microbes, and a little grace.
Then watch what grows.

🌱 A Little Dirt Never Hurt

You don’t have to be clean to be worthy.
You don’t have to be perfect to be powerful.
And you sure as heck don’t have to be polished to be planting something good.

Get your hands dirty.  Turn the pile.  Mix it up.
And remember: compost may start as a mess…
but it ends as nourishment! 🌺

You know the ones.  The creeping thistle of a comment made years ago.  The dandelion puff of a betrayal you thought you’d blown away, until it seeded itself again right when you weren’t looking.  Garden grudges are just like real weeds: persistent, sneaky, and surprisingly good at stealing the sunlight.

And just like in the garden, if we don’t deal with them, they take over.

The Roots Run Deep

Some grudges look small on the surface, an eye-roll, a forgotten birthday, a time someone didn’t show up when you really needed them.  And when you try to pull it, you realize the roots stretch all the way back.  Not just to the moment itself, but to a whole tangled ecosystem of unmet needs, childhood wounds, and old stories you’ve told yourself to survive.

And here’s the hard truth: you can’t just yank it out and call it good.  Healing, like weeding, is a practice.  It’s sweaty, humbling, and a little dirty.

Companion Planting for the Soul

Here’s the magic… Every weed is a teacher.

That bitter memory?  It might be showing you where your boundaries need reinforcing.  That old betrayal?  It might be nudging you to finally speak your truth.  Forgiveness doesn’t always mean replanting a relationship, it can just mean choosing not to let it hog your nutrients anymore.

Try this: Instead of asking “Why did this happen to me?”, ask, “What can I grow from this?”

Compost It

The best gardeners know that even the mess has value.  Dead leaves, pulled weeds, and spoiled produce all go into the compost pile, and from that dark, broken-down matter?  New life bursts forth.

So yes, go ahead and feel it.  Be angry.  Grieve.  Name your hurt.  And then, in your own time… toss it on the pile.  Turn it over with intention.  And watch how your garden begins to thrive!

—

✍️ Journal Prompt:

What grudge have you been tending to (maybe unknowingly)?  What would it take to pull it up by the roots?  And what might you grow in its place?

Earth doesn’t need to prove herself.
She simply is.

She holds everything, the mistakes, the miracles, the compost of old versions of us, and she asks nothing but patience.  She says, “Stay.  Grow slow.  You’re safe.”

So far this week, I found grounding in the smallest things.  My hands in warm water, washing my blender bottle.  A rock I picked up and didn’t put down for some reason.  The smell that fills the air when I water the lavender.  My body knew what it needed before my brain caught up.

Sometimes Earth is a whisper.
Sometimes she’s a full-body “no!”
And sometimes she’s just a nudge to rest already, before life makes you.

I let her guide me this week.  I stopped rushing.  I made lotion.  I cleaned off the table that I’ve been avoiding.  I made a list, then promptly ignored it.  And the world?  Still turned.  The garden?  Still grew.  My worth?  Still whole.

There’s a lesson in the compost: nothing is wasted.
There’s a lesson in the roots: what supports you is often unseen.
There’s a lesson in the stones: stillness can be sacred.

So if today you don’t bloom, if today you’re still underground, know this:
You’re not behind.
You’re becoming! 🌺🎆 💐

There’s a kind of fire that doesn’t destroy.
It doesn’t rage or scorch.
It calls.

It’s the kind that glows behind your ribs when you hear your name said just right, or when an idea lands so hard that you have to stand up and do something (I prefer a little dance.)  That’s the fire I’ve been feeling so far this week (I’m aware it’s only Tuesday), not chaos, not burnout.  Just a steady burn.  A forge.

It’s the pull to protect what matters, and create something new!  A primal knowing that says: this is mine to tend.  Not everything is, but this, just this.

And isn’t that the trick with fire?  Knowing what to feed, and what to let go to ash.

Fire doesn’t waste time.  It demands clarity.  It burns away the excuses, the distractions, the dead branches of “maybe later.”  It says, now!  It says, what are you waiting for?!

So I asked myself:
Where is my energy calling me?
What am I meant to heat, to shape, to guard with my whole spirit?

The answers didn’t come as words.  They came as a clench in my gut, a rush to my cheeks, a sudden urge to clean the entire house, make lotion, and reorganize my seed packets at 2 AM.  (Fire’s weird like that.)

It said:
Make the thing.
Say the truth.
Draw the line.
Be the damn flame! 🔥

This isn’t about lighting the world on fire.  It’s about tending to your hearth.  The part of you that knows what deserves your heat.  Your time.  Your ferocity.

So if you’ve been feeling that inner spark, that restless energy, that urge to move or make or scream or shine, that’s fire talking!  Don’t ignore it.

It might just be calling you home.

Some days, I don’t feel like a person, I feel like a tide.  Rising, receding, reshaping everything without ever meaning to.  I’ll be making coffee and suddenly find myself crying over the freshly grated cane sugar that I insist on using.  Not sad, just… full.

Water doesn’t just break down doors.  It seeps.  It softens.  It returns again and again until even the hardest stone gives in.  This weekend, water showed up everywhere for me, not just in the rain that pelted the hen coop roof like it was trying to make a point, but in my dreams, in my bones, in the quiet ache behind my ribs (my heart, I think… 🤔)

Emotionally, I was flooded.  Not drowning, just submerged.  The kind of submerged where you can hear your own heart beat louder than the world.  That in-between silence, like being underwater and knowing you’ll surface when it’s time.

Plants don’t resist the rain.  They open to it.  Let it soak them down to the roots.  And maybe that’s what this weekend asked of me, to stop resisting.  To let the feelings come.  Let them flow.  Let them carry away the sediment of old stories I’ve told myself for far too long.

There’s wisdom in water.  She reminds me that “stillness” is action.  That “rest” isn’t retreat.  That “soft” isn’t weak.  This weekend, she asked me to pour myself back into the cup of my own care.

And so I did.  I cried.  I stretched.  I sat still.  I soaked.  I let the storm pass through, and when it did, I noticed something had shifted.  Something had healed.

We are mostly water, after all.  It would be foolish to pretend we’re anything else.