Death & Grief

Life is unfair to everyone. We're in this together. You're not alone.

I really want to cry. Lately, I haven't been able to cry even though I feel so stressed. I want to be a better person. I want to be someone who is there for other people, but I don't know what to do... I wake up and wonder why I am not sleeping. I wake up and already decide that the day will not be worth opening my eyes for. I want badly to be understood but can not exert the energy to explain myself, or try to understand myself. I want to be seen by somebody for who I really am. But I'm scared that they will hate what they see. I am a coward, and I don't know what to do. I'm tired of reassuring myself. I'm tired of only thinking about myself. I am so tired of me. I want someone to tell me everything will be okay. I want to know that tommorow is worth waking up for. I want to be myself again. Everything might not be okay. But I can still try to continue, and it's enough for now. It will be okay as long as I'm still me. This might not help anyone, but I just had to find myself again, and sort out my feelings

Not every phoenix moment is dramatic.

Wish I could be one of those people who the spirits speak to. Are you born with the ability or can you cultivate it?

When life throws curveballs nonstop, how do you keep from giving up? Asking for a friend… aka me 😅

🌸🌸🌸

Today I was reminded how powerful our attachment wounds can be. I have what’s called a fearful-avoidant (disorganized) attachment style. Part of me deeply craves closeness and reassurance, while another part of me is terrified of rejection. When those parts collide, my nervous system can go into full alarm mode. This morning I felt that old childhood feeling of abandonment rise up in my chest. The same feeling I remember from being a little girl who believed she was alone and unloved. It would have been easy to shut down, withdraw, or assume the worst. Instead, I did something that is very hard for me. I communicated directly. I told my partner: “When you said you were tired, I felt rejected. It brought up old wounds from childhood where I felt unloved.” And even though it was uncomfortable, I asked for what I needed: comfort and reassurance. That moment may seem small, but for someone healing from trauma, it’s huge. Secure attachment isn’t about never getting triggered. It’s about repairing, communicating, and choosing connection instead of silence. Today I’m proud of myself for facing that fear and speaking honestly. Healing happens in moments like these— when the wounded parts of us learn that love can still be safe.

The Purple Phoenix Sanctuary Planet Somewhere in the universe there is a quiet planet where wounded souls land. The sky glows deep violet and electric blue. Giant mushrooms rise from enchanted forests, pink clouds drift through the air, and hidden portals open into other dimensions of healing and reflection. The beings who live here are gentle travelers—survivors from many worlds who were hurt in their former lives. They arrive carrying grief, fear, and broken pieces of their stories. But on this planet, no one has to hide their scars. Together they build peaceful communities in glowing caves and subterranean cities. They gather beside turquoise lakes and share their stories, witnessing each other’s pain and slowly growing stronger. Over time something beautiful happens. Fear softens into wisdom. Pain becomes compassion. Broken wings begin to grow back. And when they are ready, they step through the portals again—returning to their worlds a little stronger, a little brighter. Because this planet exists for one purpose: To remind every wounded soul that healing is possible, and no one has to journey alone.

Today I was thinking about dragonflies. They begin their lives underwater as small larvae, living in a completely different world beneath the surface. One day they climb up from the water, transform, and emerge with wings. Suddenly they belong to the sky. Sometimes I wonder if the people we lose are a little like dragonflies. They leave the water of the world we knew and enter another realm. They transcend the place where we once walked beside them. But maybe, just maybe, they can still look down at the stream where they once lived and see us moving through our lives. This spring I plan to visit a bench near a babbling brook dedicated to my dear friend and former partner, Mike. I imagine the water flowing over the stones, the forest green and full of life, dragonflies gliding above the surface. Maybe that’s where I’ll feel him again. Transformation. Impermanence. The water keeps flowing. — The Purple Phoenix Collective

You are allowed to move forward 💜🦋

It's okay...

Wow 🤯

Hello, anybody real?

The first step to self-love is self-acceptance. Not the soft, Instagram version. The real kind. The kind where you look at the parts of yourself you were taught to hide — the anger, the grief, the weird coping mechanisms, the scars — and instead of flinching, you say: “Yeah. That’s part of my story.” Many of us were taught that we would only be lovable once we were easier. Quieter. Less damaged. Less intense. So we spend years trying to sand ourselves down into something acceptable. But healing doesn’t start when you become perfect. It starts the moment you stop pretending you were supposed to survive trauma without getting a little rough around the edges. Self-acceptance is gritty. It’s looking at the ashes and saying: “This happened. And I’m still here.”