the nursery became the apothecary

This room was meant to be the nursery. I was expecting twins.

But when I miscarried in January, everything just stopped. It’s almost like I hit the ‘pause’ button on my life and my ability to move through it.

The old, stained, pink carpet I inherited when I moved in sat untouched. Paint brushes and cardboard boxes remained scattered about the floor. And I couldn’t look at the whimsical wallpaper we put up without becoming heavy and sad.

It was like the room became a shrine for the halted process.

I couldn’t bring myself to move forward — not just with the room, but with anything at all. No walks, no yoga, and I was doing the bare minimum to keep Sunlight Oracle alive. I felt immobilized, alone, and misunderstood.

Miscarriage is a complex loss that is often deemed too uncomfortable, too confusing, and even too dramatic to warrant automatic and unwavering support. It’s often considered to be quite low on the grief-ranking scale we subconsciously project onto others.

“It’s actually common for this to happen”, "or “You can always try again” and “How far along were you?” being some all-too-normalized responses that outright dismissed my trauma.

Something no one wants to say, it seems, is that the actual process of miscarrying is scary as all hell. My experience will probably haunt me until the day that I die.

Miscarriage is the kind of loss that will teach you that you’re truly the only one who is coming to save you. And for me, that has been an empowering lesson.

And so last week — the same week the babies were scheduled to be born — I started to feel unstuck. I could press the ‘play’ button. And when I did, the in-process nursery became a beautiful and fully-functional apothecary within two days.

I moved in.

Not as a mother to biological children, but as a mother to my Self and the new plant work I’ve been guided to practice.

The apothecary has become a space where I can pour tinctures, talk to my rabbit, hang herbs, and tend to grief of all kinds. It has easily become my go-to space for slow healing and the messiness of nonlinear time.

And I while I put in some new floors, I decidedly kept the wallpaper. It’s like a wink from the spirit of my children who did not come to be.

I am choosing to share this update for a lot of reasons, but one of the main one’s is that it illustrates the life path I embody: that of eternal transformation. I don’t just talk about transformation as a goal — I live it as a process.

If you’re in the middle of your own becoming, there’s room in here for you here, too.

I’m opening the gates to Verdant Unknown — a course-that’s-not-a-course. It’s a mystery plant medicine journey for those moving through grief with intention, courage, and love.

It’s the most alive thing I’ve ever created.

You’ve known me as a psychic medium.

Now, I invite you to know me as a guide — alongside my plant and mushroom allies — through the Underworld of Becoming.

I can evolve, too.