I Am a Miracle: On Anxiety, Healing, and the Quieting of the Mind

If you’d told me seven years ago that I’d hang a sign over my office doors that said MIRACLE — and know it was talking about my own life — I would have laughed in your face.

Seven years ago, there was nothing miraculous about the way I felt waking up.

Crippling anxiety.

C-PTSD.

Chronic pain.

A nervous system stuck in terror.

I was a mother of eight who was secretly smoking, numbing with wine, terrified of germs, drowning in shame, and convinced I was failing at everything.

Then one day in 2019, I did something I had never done before. I wrote every single thought that passed through my mind for twenty-four hours.

No mask.

No persona.

No pretending.

Just the raw truth of what it felt like to live inside my own head.

I called it Twenty Four Hours, and I published it publicly.

It made people uncomfortable.

It made me uncomfortable.

But that honesty became the beginning of saving my own life.

I’ve always believed that words carry frequency — that they aren’t just letters, but anchors, intentions, reminders.

That belief is why my home is full of them:

MIRACLE.

Awake My Soul.

All of Me Loves All of You.

Blessed Up the Butthole.

The House That Mama Runs.

And that’s why this image matters so deeply to me.

My vision board — the map of everything I’m calling into my life — hangs beneath a word that names the truth I had to fight my way toward: I am a miracle.

My mind is a miracle.

My healing is a miracle.

And the life I’m living now is a miracle.

Because I am not the woman who wrote that piece seven years ago.

Not even close.

My mind is quiet in ways I never believed possible.

My body no longer lives braced for danger.

I feel love in a way that feels cellular.

There is peace in me now — a sea of it — where there used to be only panic.

As this new seven-year cycle begins, I’m returning to long-form writing — not to teach, not to fix, but to witness.

Seven years ago, I wrote Twenty Four Hours to survive.

I’m sharing it again now as proof of what is possible.

Please only read it if you feel grounded enough today to hold it.

And if you do, I hope you feel the miracle of how far I’ve come — because if I could climb out of that darkness, so can you.