The line between self-medication and addiction is terrifyingly thin, especially when what we’re trying to medicate is our trauma response. I know this intimately, from repeated personal experience; and, I’m only just now putting into action what I’ve come to understand about it through the years.

Let’s be honest: we’re all out here medicating. We call it “self-medicating” when we do it without the “supervision” of a doctor . . . but I’m not entirely sure doctors are doing our mental health many favors by medicating us, either. Sorry, doc. But it’s my experience I’m sharing here.

I’m here to say that medicating is a slippery slope. How easy it is to enter into it with the intention of easing symptoms only to backslide into trauma-induced addiction, eventually worsening the condition and building a difficult-to-escape cycle.

Let me illustrate:

I have historically been on the forefront of promoting the “safe” use of marijuana to medicate depression and anxiety. You can read about it plenty on this here blog. I’ve said that it is the only thing that turns the ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ inside my head from an onslaught to a static din. Which is true . . . at first.

Then, that static din becomes itself an object of addiction – not the substance itself (there are a thousand studies saying it’s chemically nonaddictive, we all know this), but what IS addicting is the static numbness in an otherwise stormy brain.

The ~ S C R E A M I N G ~  doesn’t go anywhere. And the more heavily I attempt to mask it, the more insistent it becomes – meaning more and more “medication” is needed to keep it quiet.

And, at some point, we have to ask ourselves what else are we quieting? For me, it’s intelligence, motivation, ambition, compassion, awareness, self-love, and the ability to connect with others. Yikes. Is that really a sacrifice I’m willing to make?

The ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ lies to me and says yes – yes, your brain is awful, turn it off, turn off your life, you need to look away, nothing good to see here, you worthless, hopeless, sad, angry disaster . . .

So it went, for me, for years. ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ followed by medicating until I realized I didn’t like myself that stoned, then cold-turkey waking up and putting into use some other coping technique. And so on and so forth.

But there’s another way. I started to discover it years ago, which is when I really limited my “medication” moments – I got to a place where I only used it if I absolutely couldn’t bring myself to an alternative.

The answer to medication is meditation. And we know that meditation can look like a lot of things.

Another way to say this is that the answer to NEEDING medication is self-regulation born of self-realization. Which, by the way, is a continual process. It takes a whole hell of a lot more work than walking into a dispensary, doctor’s office, or drug dealer’s living room.

But it works a whole hell of a lot better, too.

Because the ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ goes away. It self-resolves. No longer does it become a distorted, quiet, nondescript buzzing static only to return between doses, or in the middle of the night, or when we’re at our breaking point. It just . . . runs itself out. Becomes silence.

When we replace medication with meditation, we HEAL.

This is what it looks like for me:

Daily practice, to build resilience, so that when a trigger inevitably arrives, I am already in self-care mode. I eat healthful, plant-based foods and avoid nonsense shit things that have mind-and-mood-altering chemicals, drink TONS of water (about a gallon a day) and prioritize getting enough sleep. Every day, I move my body in ways that feel good, like taking long walks, hiking, running, and doing yoga. Every day, I meditate for at least 20 minutes – sometimes that means laying on my back with my legs up a wall listening to calm music; sometimes, it means sitting in silence with my back against a tree; sometimes, it looks like chanting angrily through my tears at the gods.

So, when a trigger arrives, and the ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ returns, I go into autopilot self-care mode. If I’m feeling anxious, or – as I have taken to calling it after a particularly tough year – adrenaline sick, I do something really strenuous like RUNNING a mountain. If I’m feeling low, I reach out to my support group and force myself to go outside, even if it means slowly walking with headphones in while I let tears stream down my face.

The difference, you see, between medicating (quieting) the ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ and meditating with it is that one allows it to process, to come up and out, while the other shoves it down – puts it under pressure – making it stronger and worse.

I don’t care how well you think your medication is working. If you don’t use your medication to get to a place of processing, you will never be free of it. “It” being the ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ and “it” being the need to medicate.

If you can use the temporary quietude induced by the medication to begin a daily practice of self-realization, however, you will be well on your way to healing. On your way to peaceful silence in place of ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ . . . on your way to wholeness.

And, like I always say, if I can do it – so can you. My ~ S C R E A M I N G ~ is loud AF, just like yours. But humans are resilient, strong, determined creatures. It’s in our nature to evolve. Developing new habits is well within our reach. I believe in you.

If you need or want any suggestions or help developing a plan, making a roadmap out of your cycle of medication, reach out to me. I’m not a doctor, but I am an expert in healing the trauma response. I’m not a doctor, but I am a human. I’m not here to tell you to quit anything cold-turkey, but I am here to tell you my story. And to listen to your story, too.

I’m not a doctor, but I’m done with medication.

“You do not have to be good. You do not have to crawl on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only need to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. … the world calls to you, like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over – announcing your place in the family of things.” – Mary Oliver

Heading home is what they call it when we go back to where we lived, before. But, for me, the places of my past feel more nightmarish than homelike. I didn’t choose to live in Minnesota, didn’t choose the slushy gray snow and biting prairie winds.

Going to the place that nearly broke me, or maybe did in some ways, was not a homecoming.

Spending time with my sister is home in ways that nothing else is. And I realize that, for her, the place is home. She has chosen it and built a life there. I hoped to see it through her eyes, to find beauty and joyfulness in that space.

There were moments of that kind of expansion, that kind of joy. Like my massage-healing-energy work session with Rachel at The Future. The place was magical, her room a liquid oasis of air and ether, glowing with elemental energy.

But then I returned to the home in which I spent six miserably formative years – only briefly, for a quick visit with my dad – and that flood of cold dread closed around my chest like a vice. I thought I had broken that hold years ago, but the nightmares poured into my mind and body with sickening ease.

We drove past my best friend’s childhood home, the place I’d run to with tears streaming down my face – even though that house had its own demons, it was a solace from my own.

We drove past the bowling alley parking lot where I lost my virginity in a drunken nonconsensual car encounter.

The house smelled like smoke and I swear it was in my hair and clothes immediately, like a thundercloud of misery from which I could not hide.

But.

I was in control. I drove myself and my child, I kept my boundaries up high, I did the benevolent “right thing” for a man whose days are wasting away in a cold basement – let him feel our light for as long as I could bear.

You do not have to be good. But I chose to be, and then I got up off of my knees and went to The Future and healed my body and soul. The water of the room cleared away the smoke, washed me clean of nightmares – and the ether of spirit took its place.

And now we are in the air, my little golden haired orb-child, my Starseed, my home embodied. Above the clouds we are flying, and something about the cold crisp too-bright winter sky this high up makes me feel like everything is home.

It’s harsh, and it’s exciting, and it’s calling to me “come home, take your place, the Family is waiting.”

What is it that I love? This. This freedom.

My place is in the sky, among the stars, in the too-bright light. And, though it travels with me, there are some places only freedom can go …. and I belong there as often and as joyfully as possible.

Dearest Brittany,

You are so loved. This year has been an evolution, like the dissolution of the caterpillar so she can become. And, like that courageous creature, you too have grown wings.

Last year, you were so afraid. You didn’t want to be “thirty-two.” You were triggered by ghosts of the past, so afraid of losing everything. 

You had closed the doors of your studio, the place you had created that was really YOURS. And that was heartbreaking. You didn’t know what your career would bring, didn’t know how to move forward following your dreams. You felt like you had come to the end. 

But that’s not what happened – you found a “job,” but it became a dream. You found your soul mate friend and partner, Dawn, and have grown immensely with her. You have been elevated to a leadership position for the GOOD of the community, and have brought yoga and meditation with you into the venture. You’re making a difference every day in ways you didn’t even imagine were possible.

You stumbled. A lot. You drank too much at times, made some poor self-care choices, and had a lot of negative self-talk to heal.

But you returned to your values again and again! You started running, hiked – by yourself – a thousand times, and stayed true to your yoga practice. You spent your entire summer sober, meditative, awake. You held fast to your health and your healing and it has made you strong from the inside out. 

You were in love – so deeply – but so afraid of that feeling because you knew it would end in heartbreak. And it did. You crumbled into pieces, yes. You cried yourself to sleep … often … and have been utterly despairing. You doubted yourself, the gods, your practices – yet you held on, blindly, and stumbled forward through the pain until you finally made it out of that cave. 

You brought your god(dess)-son for a long awaited trip to see you. The time you spent together was magic for the entire world, from the conversations you had to the silence you shared – you will never be the same for that sacred connection. 

You made a trip back to your roots, back to the place you were born, to parts of yourself that were wrapped up in your mother and everything you didn’t want to touch – and it was beautiful. You healed even deeper, reconnected with your family and your SELF. Spent time with a woman who embodies “strong,” and took that courage home with you. 

The growth you’ve experienced this year has been nurtured by the crumbled pieces of what you released. Your pain led you into the woods, your tears broke open the faith you had lost … you learned to believe even when you couldn’t see the path, couldn’t hear my voice through the static in your head. 

And it dawned on you at some point that you did not need permission to become, didn’t it? One day you awoke and said, “I will not wait – not for my lover, not for an agent or a publisher, not even for my Destiny. I create this life. I love myself. I am more than enough.” And you began. 

You hired an editor, and rewrote your story again (and again). You began sharing it with the world, and – to your delight and amazement – the world is responding with love. Your work is being seen, heard, rewarded. 

You decided to love yourself the way you deserve. You date yourself, spoil yourself, continue to prioritize self-care, health, meditation, and your loves of skiing, running, hiking – solo and blissful. You are the one you have been waiting for your whole life, and you’re glowing with the love you feel. 

Yes, Brittany …. it is happening. I know there are answers you still crave, dreams on the cusp of manifesting, and sorrow steeped in hope for things you are yet unwilling to relinquish. And that’s okay – these things are part of the journey. 

You are becoming fluid in the way of Destiny, and each step or stumble forward is perfect. 

The thing about flying is … it’s in us all along. You don’t need to fear, dearest, because your heart knows the way. 

You were always meant to become; I am so happy you have come to believe in it, as well.

With joy,

Your Highest Self

How long did it take you to write? – most asked question about Finding Starlight

The honest answer is that it took my entire life, and a few days, and a few years. I knew from the time I was a child that I wanted to write, and that the first book would be the story of the life I’d lived. I have been putting pen to paper, creating stories, poetry, and philosophies since I was seven years old; since I was nine, I have been reading and speaking these words in front of crowds.

Some people spend their lives trying to figure out their Purpose. Living my life, and telling that story, is mine. I’ve always known it. Of course, there’s more to this than just . . . talking about myself. Every fire I have walked through, every time I almost died, every tear I ever cried – these were all allegories of human expansion.

I’ve experienced many traumas with an air of separation from them. This is not necessarily like the traumatic response of disassociation, but, rather, the meditative objectivity of witness consciousness. People have told me that I’m strong, resilient, wise, and even lucky. But I think it’s something else, something more Destined than that.

Nearly everything I’ve endured, I have simultaneously experienced and witnessed. I have been the “victim” while holding onto compassion for the aggressor/abuser. I have loved those who hated me the most – and I still do. I have written about things immediately after they happened with forgiveness dripping from my pen. There’s hardly a piece of prose I’ve created that didn’t end with hope; the very telling of it heals me.

I believe I came here to live through these things on Purpose, as my Purpose, to be able to relate to millions of others – to reach millions of people in their darkness. Why that matters is only just now becoming clear to me

“Not all of us are as brave as you are to share such private moments and memories with the world. You are a strength for those of us who are not strong enough to talk about their issues. Thank you.” – direct message on FaceBook from a person I’d never spoken to before in my life

… and so, so many more like this have come through. People saying to me, “I’ve been through this, too, and hearing your story helps. A lot.”

How long did it take me to get here? Many, many years. My first attempt to start the book was in 2008 when I moved to St. Croix USVI; however, I wasn’t finished living it. When I moved to New Hampshire in 2012, I met a woman named Katrina who would take me on a past-life journey to the center of my soul. The transcript of that session became the basis of Finding Starlight.

I wrote the first 35,000 words over the course of a couple days in a very Hunter S. Thompson style inspirational rage, with clove cigarettes and Caribbean rum on repeat while I sat on my sunny porch, fingers flying over the keys. Then, a few years passed and I shifted my focus to founding an international nonprofit, having a child, and becoming a yoga teacher, healer, and business owner.

Finally, in 2015, I returned to those original 35,000 words. Telling the rest of the story took me a couple months, into the next year, and then I sent it out to my first round of readers. Twelve dedicated, contracted-to-secrecy, cheerleader & critic readers poured over my sloppy first draft and gave thorough feedback, which I would then sit on for a few months and incorporate into the second draft, which a second, smaller focus group reviewed. Another rewrite and I began querying agents in 2017.

The first dozen agents I queried either rejected or ignored me. I sat with my sense of unworthiness for a while, then ran an indiegogo campaign to self-publish. Many people, over two-dozen of you, contributed. I raised enough money to hire a professional editor, and did so.

That edit took place over the summer, and came back much more promising than I’d anticipated. I sat with those edits, then simultaneously incorporated them and came up with this Rupi Kaur -inspired “shameless publicity stunt” idea to read the entire thing aloud here on the internet one chapter at a time, while I continue to query agents and hope to get discovered.

“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is,” Mary Oliver wrote, “I do know how to be idle and blessed . . . which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done?”

I don’t know exactly what I’m doing or why. But I do know it’s moving people. I do know it’s healing my wounds even more deeply than ever before, and that when we heal ourselves, we heal the world.

Tell me . . . what else should I have done? What other story should I tell, than the one of my wild and precious life?

At one point in my life, I wondered why I had to go through so much sh*t. Now, I get it. People keep saying to me, “I can relate to your story.”

. . . and as awful as it is that you can relate (I am so, so sorry) – it’s also suddenly apparent to me that my endurance over these many traumas has become the very gift I have to offer the world.

If I had gone through just one or two things, I’d still be pretty relatable to tens of thousands – perhaps even millions – of people. But the statistics on what I’ve experienced are staggering (I just realized), AND suddenly my overwhelming desire to be on a global platform, telling my story to MILLIONS of people, makes a whole lot of sense.

Did you know:

1 in 6 women have been sexually assaulted? – so have I.
21 million Americans are addicted to something? – so was I.
140 million children in the world are orphans? – so am I.
2.9 million (reported) US children are victims of abuse each year? – so was I.
1 in 30 children were homeless (at the historic height) in America? – so was I.
43.8 million adults suffer from at least one mental illness in the US? – so do I.

And my book, “Finding Starlight,” tells the story of all of that and more. It’s the ultimate #metoo. This is the story of my darkness, yes, but also how I have healed through it all – and believe me, if I can heal, you can, too.

Why do I care so much? Why do I so badly want Reese Witherspoon and Ellen DeGeneres to discover me? Because MILLIONS of people are out there suffering, just like I did! And I just know – in my soul – that I can offer a different perspective, an opportunity to heal, some inspiration to look for the light. Or, at the very least, I can show them that they are not alone in it. None of us are.

I have risen, again and again, out of the ashes of despair, of my own mistakes, of all the sh*t other people did to me – and I wouldn’t take back a single experience. I wouldn’t un-cry a single tear. I would do it all again – and, in a way, telling my story, I kind of am.

Why do I care so much?

Because I love you. I’ve been there, falling apart in the dark. I’m not afraid of diving right back into the darkness, grabbing every single hand, catching every single tear . . . bringing every single person (who is willing) back to the light within themselves.

I have lived every moment of my life for this.