Tag Archives: Chronic Illness

Sunset Reflections

Written on the gold-speckled beaches of Coronado, San Diego
Written on the gold-speckled beaches of Coronado, San Diego

The softest sand I’ve ever felt nips between my toes

Like the downy stroke of a newborn calf

Nostrils open onto untold worlds: Salty and filled with coconut tears

I lift my soul to the sea, allowing it to thrush through my veins

Leaving markers behind, as soft whispers tend to do

I am Aphrodite with gossamer wings: Fragile but beautiful

With power burnt deep into hollow bones

Move me with your persistent trick

Your silent cry for timeless mercy

Take my hollow bones and make them your temple

So they may be fragile and weak

No more.

How to Hack Headaches Naturally (And Smell Like a York Peppermint Patty)

How to Hack Headaches Naturally (And Smell Like a York Peppermint Patty)

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE!!!

Oh, I’m sorry. Was that too loud for you? Headache got you down? I feel your pain. No, really, I actually feel your pain. A LOT. Which is why I was so thrilled to discover this super easy natural headache remedy that kicks my daily Lyme-induced headaches faster than you can say: “This is not the head you’re looking for…”

So let’s get started! Here’s what you’ll need for this delicious and 100% natural headache-busting concoction:

  1. Organic Peppermint Essential Oil. I like this one by Aura Cacia, but if you can swing the price, Young Living is by far the best essential oil company to use, as they’re therapeutic grade. DoTerra is also said to be fabulous, although I have yet to try them personally. Just starting out and don’t want to invest in top-of-the-line oils quite yet? Use code “Healthy15” for 15% off of link above!
  2. Jojoba Oil I enjoy this one by Desert Essence. Use code “Comeback10” for an additional 10% off, or check the deals section, as Vitacost is always offering great savings, and may have a better bargain!
  3. A 1/3 oz. dark glass canister to store your awesome blend. I use this one with a stainless steel rollerball applicator for ease, but you can use any dark glass container. Dark glass should always be used to protect the essential oils. Plastic should not be used, as the chemicals in it will leach into your blend, and essential oils can actually eat through plastic! This is also why any rollerball applicators should be stainless steel instead of plastic.

I’ve linked the ones I used because, hey, let’s just make life easy, right? Now that you have your supplies, find the two minutes it will take to make this super simple DIY and lets get a-mixing!

DIY Headache Blend: 

Step One: Pop out the stainless steel roller ball. Since we’re using a 1/3 oz. bottle, we’ll add 5-20 drops (3-10%) of organic Peppermint Essential Oil. It should be diluted, as it can irritate the skin if applied neat. How much you put in will depend on your preference. I actually prefer an even stronger potion than recommended, but everyone’s tolerance to essential oils is different, so start low. I can only tolerate very low doses of most other oils, so find out what your sweet spot is before wasting product (and risking skin irritation.) Want to learn more about diluting essential oils? Here is a great article on how many drops you should use for a wide variety of aromatherapy purposes!

Step Two: Fill bottle with Jojoba oil. Leave a little room at the top so the rollerball won’t cause an overflow when you insert it. I like to use Jojoba because it most closely replicates our natural sebum (oil), but you could also try Grape seed, Hemp, or Avocado. Avoid coconut, as the scent profile is too overwhelming to compliment the peppermint.

Step Three: Pop the rollerball back in and cap it. Shake, shake, shake. It also helps to dance around the room. Now uncap, breathe deeply the aromatic bouquet of minty goodness, and declare: “Headache, be-gone!” Then apply liberally to the back of your neck where the spine meets the ol’ noggin, lightly over your temples, behind your ears, over your solar plexus, and your pulse points if you desire. You can also apply some at the base of your spine. Oooh, tingly! (Tingling is normal. Do not be alarmed. Unless you didn’t listen to me and decided not to dilute the essential oil, or exceed the recommended amount. Then any skin irritation that may occur is totally on you.)

Step Four: Breathe slowly and deeply for at least ten breaths, and say: “I am calm. I am at peace. I have everything that I need.” It’s amazing how just taking a moment in a dark, quiet space to breathe into the pain can help- did you know deep breathing literally changes your brain chemistry?! No wonder yogis are so zen! Then sit back and wait for the amazing dance of the tingle-plum fairy to soothe that ache into oblivion!

Step Five: Wash your hands! For any of you who’ve ever used IcyHot and forgotten this crucial final step before rubbing your eyes, you know it is NOT fun!

And that’s it! Now that your blend is made, you can keep it with you on the go, and apply whenever your head begins to feel like a tiny Ewok is running around, bashing your noggin like a stormtrooper helmet. (RE: Final scene in Return of the Jedi.)

Enjoy! If you make this, leave me a comment on how it turns out, or take a picture and tag me on Instagram @KaitlynGGuay.

Happy Tingling! (Okay, that just sounds weird, let me try that again…)

Happy Blending! (Much better, yes?)

Unlocking the Wisdom Within

Unlocking the Wisdom Within

Today’s Words of Wisdom:

“Know Thyself.”

~Socrates

Have you ever just known something? Like, there you are, walking down the street, and then, BAM. You find yourself open-mouth fogging a storefront window over the fully automated R2D2 replica inside that you know will change your life.

No? Just me?

Fine. Maybe lusting after battery-operated toys isn’t your thing. (Or maybe it is. Heh. Heh heh. Oh, yes, I went there.) But you can’t deny the existence of things like gut instinct. Intuition. That tingly feeling on the back of your neck when you’re in a dark alley in a bad part of town and you just know you’re being watched. (Or you’ve just watched too many bad TV dramas and have an acute imagination. I cannot relate to this at all. Ahem.)

We get these signals because– I hate to break it to you, folks– but your subconscious? Is smarter than you are. It KNOWS things. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But it does. The good news is, once you learn how to tune in, you can know things too! The bad news is, it’s sometimes hard to tell when you’re fabricating that wise Yoda sitting half-lotus in your brain telling you: “Eat that last brownie, you must.” So how do we unlock the wisdom within? Simple. Just TAG it!

1) Trust yourself. We are all walking around with untapped wisdom inside of us. But before we can unlock it, we have to trust that it’s there. We are all wiser than we think. (With the possible exception of whoever came up with the character Jar Jar Binks. That person may be coming back as a slug. Just sayin’.)

2) Ascertain the cosmic importance of the question you’re asking. (If you’re pondering whether to swipe the last sticky bun, I’m pretty sure you don’t need any special intrinsic wisdom to help you out. But if you’re contemplating leaving a job you hate, taking a new path, leaving a relationship, or trying to find new ways of healing, that sounds like a job for the wisdom widget in your noggin! (Sidebar: how awesome would that be??!! To, say, tug on your earlobe to activate the widget, and shazam! Instant wisdom infusion.)

3) Go with your gut. Also known as: Don’t overthink it. ‘Nough said.

Trust. Ascertain. Go with Gut. TAG! You’re it!

Bottom line, we all have a beautiful innate wisdom within us yearning to help us make the most of our precious lives. We just have to learn to listen. We have to WANT to listen. So often, we get beat down by life- whether it’s from an acute, chronic illness like mine, destructive relationships, bad childhoods, you know the drill. Sometimes we get so beat down that we begin to think we don’t deserve to be blissfully out-of-our-mind happy on a daily basis. So we don’t listen to our voice of wisdom. Because we don’t think we deserve the rewards it has to offer. But we do.

So I’d like to leave you with this: what question have you been struggling with finding the answer for?

TAG! You’re it!

Love and Light,

The Foda

Giving Yourself Permission when Your World is in Pieces

Giving Yourself Permission when Your World is in Pieces 

Picture this. You’re a confident, self-sufficient Homo Sapien. Poised. Driven. Ready to take over the world with a wave of your hand. But then, BOOM. Life happens. Suddenly, you’re sick. Depleted. Dependent on the good will of others. And while relying on the kindness of strangers may have worked well for Blanche Dubois, you’re not so enamored with the concept. You become desperate. Smaller. A beaten warrior, trying vainly to keep going when all your resources have been plucked from you without so much as a “by your leave.”

How do you feel after reading this? Have your shoulders hunched up? Is your neck tense? Are you angry? Indignant? Sad?

This is what a person living with a debilitating chronic illness goes through every day. We wake up, and for one brief, shining moment, we’re the person we once were. Confident. Driven. Poised to seize the day. And then it hits us. We’re not that person anymore. And this knowledge can be just as crippling as the illness raging within our bodies.

So what’s a life-long optimist to do? We don’t want to become bitter and hateful, becoming a victim, spouting off why the world owes us. We want to thrive. To rise above the illness. To be the strong warrior others can look at and say: “Wow. You inspire me.” So we search for a new purpose. A new way for our lives to matter. Perhaps it’s exploring a new passion, or focusing on the little moments with your family. But then, just as you start your transition into Redefining You, that voice appears. The one in your head that tells you: “you’re not doing enough.” That compares you now to you then. That holds up a measuring stick comparing you to “normal” people.

Man, I hate that voice. It does me no good. I call mine Charmaine. (Mainly because I love alliterations, and saying: Shut up, Charmaine!! just trips off the tongue so satisfyingly.) But I digress.

I give that nasty voice in my head a name because I want to be able to call her out when she tells me that I’m not good enough. That I should be able to push through the crushing fatigue, or handle this emotional rollercoaster better. Charmaine doesn’t help me. But lately, I’ve learned how to banish her to the top of a dragon-guarded ivory tower. (Take that, Charmaine!)

My weapon of choice? Simple. Permission. Instead of beating myself up when my illness places limitations on me, I give myself permission. I quite literally say: “I give myself permission to…”

Take a break. To listen to my body. To push myself a little farther, and then be proud of myself when I have to lie down, instead of being angry that I’m so depleted. I give myself permission to be sad or angry or frustrated when I’m feeling particularly bad, and permission to be happy in spite of how hard my life is. I give myself permission to enjoy the little things, to notice the blessings in my life. I give myself permission not to compare who I am now to who I was then. (And I give myself permission to tell that charlatan Charmaine to shut the hell up!)

It may sound silly, but often, what we really need is to allow ourselves to be who we are and do what we must without judgement or guilt. After all, our lives are already hard enough. So let’s be proud of what we accomplish. Let’s celebrate the warrior within us. Let’s give ourselves permission to embrace our own beautiful humanity in all its mess and imperfection.

And as for that jerk Charmaine? Tell her to take a hike.

What about you? What do you give yourself permission to do today?

Love and light,

The Foda

What No One Tells You About Asking for Help

What No One Tells You About Asking for Help

What no one tells you about asking for help when you desperately need it is that most people? Actually REALLY want you to.

I know. Step back. You’re probably remembering your friend Shirley right now who scoffed in your face when you asked her something painfully mundane, like, to pass the salt, thinking, “Shirley definitely doesn’t want me to ask her for help!” Well surely there are Shirleys out there who are shameful charlatans when it comes to helping humankind. (Yes, I do enjoy dropping alliterations behind me like a trail of bread crumbs, thanks for noticing!) But Shirleys of the world aside, most people are good and caring at heart. (My most sincere apologies to any readers out there who are actually named Shirley. I’m sure you’re lovely.)

So if people are so willing to help, what is the real issue? Why do we all feel that lump of pride sheepherding our pleas of need back down our gullets before they get within two inches of the atmosphere?

I have news for you. It’s not them. It’s you. (Okay, sometimes it’s them. RE: Shirley.) But most of the time it’s because we don’t know how to ask.

This past week, I needed help. My husband Mandalf was leaving on a much needed respite, and I had no one to help take care of me. Ugh. I still retch in my mouth a bit at that thought. Needing someone to take care of me at thirty. But I digress.

So I swallowed my pride and reached out to an amazing group of women, plainly asking them to take time out of their busy lives and come stay with me. I had not one, but THREE “hell, yes!” responses, and a fourth couldn’t take off work, but generously loaned her car since ours would be hanging out at JFK airport.

Flash forward a week later to when they arrived, and I found out they had always wanted to help. They just didn’t know what I needed. Because I NEVER ASKED FOR IT.

Immediate interior monologue: “You mean all this time, all those years when I felt so isolated, so cut off from the world because of a disease that kept me housebound, it was all because I didn’t know how to plainly put out what I needed? Gah! Pesky pride! A pox on your house… wait. I am the house. Scratch that…. Be gone, ye scallywag! Pesky pride. <Snort.>” 

Asking for help is hard. When you’re chronically ill, you’re assailed with tsunami-force waves of guilt. Feeling like a burden. Feeling like you should be able to handle it on your own. Feeling angry at yourself that you can’t swallow this life-altering illness with complete ease and grace.

(Newsflash: You’re human. Not a droid. Although I suspect C-3PO wouldn’t be able to handle it either… super whiney, am I right? I, myself, am a die-hard R2D2 fan.)

So think about what you really need. And if you’re ready, try opening up. Be vulnerable. Let the world in. I promise, it won’t run shrieking like a kid from a haunted house. People really DO want to help. You just need to tell them how.

Until next time,

The Foda

You Have a Gift to Give the World

I have a gift to give to the world. 

Say that out loud. I have a gift to give to the world. Now spin around three times in front of a mirror and when you open your eyes, you will see…

Han Solo standing roguishly next to your very own Mini Cooper!!!

Just kidding. You’ll see you.

But if you do see a royal blue Mini Cooper with white racing stripes, well, DIBS! But I digress.

I’ve been MIA for the past month because my stomach- forevermore dubbed “the Sarlacc”- decided to turn into the pit of Carkoon, and not accept anything other than broth and bread without violently spitting it back out. This caused me to go off all my medication, with the exception of two lovely bicillin shots a week (which, if you don’t know, go straight in your rump. Yowza!) And yet, as the huge quantities of medicine fled my system like Sand People spying a Krayt Dragon, my head began to clear, and I- despite the whole living on broth part- began to feel more like, well, ME.

Which is great, because on top of my newest affirmation “Surrender is Freedom”, as mentioned in my last post (click here to read), I have a new one.

I have a gift to give the world.

Now, this one is huge. Because to give a gift, you have to have something to give. And when you’re struggling with a chronic illness, you often feel so depleted, so desecrated, that you have nothing left even remotely worthy to offer the world. This usually spurs a kind of self-loathing. And I am going to be really honest with you, folks– until attending a transformative conference at the Omega Institute, I had a lot of that self-loathing.

Enter interior monologue: I am weak. My body is crippled. I am a burden to all around me. I have nothing to offer. I am helpless. Useless. I will never be of value again until I am healed. 

Feel the indignation as you read those words? You probably wanted to smack me upside the head and say: “now, wait just a dang minute! That’s plumb crazy talk!” (Oh, you’re also a character out of a Clint Eastwood Western… apparently.)  And you’re right. It is crazy talk. But it was the tape running through my head, until I realized…

Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I can’t love myself. Because I have gifts to give the world. And they have nothing to do with whether or not my legs work. They have nothing to do with whether I need a wheelchair to go out, or my husband to drive me places. Because who I am– my purpose, my value– transcends far beyond my body’s limitations.

I have a gift to give the world. And you know what? You do, too.

Well, dang, don’t that feel good. So go on. Find yours. Give yourself a celebratory hand gun salute. (Literally. Literally hand-gun. As in imaginary guns made out of your thumb and index finger. Just to be clear.) So ask yourself. What is your gift?

Yee-haw! (Pshew, pshew, pshew!) <—- Firing into the air

The Foda

“Will Power Hour”

Will Power Hour

Today’s Words of Wisdom:

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.”

~Mahatma Gandhi

The Foda’s Take: Gandhi, man! A gift to the world that just keeps on giving. For example, today he taught me a new word. Indomitable: Impossible to subdue or defeat. Which may have prompted a moment where I went to brush my hair and yelled at the baby-fine locks at my temples: “You cowlicks are indomitable!” But I digress.

Good morrow, fine people! Today we shall dissect… <drum roll, please>…..

Will power. Not to be, ahem, conceited or anything, but I’ve got it. I’ve had to have it. As anyone with a chronic illness knows, you have to commit yourself one hundred percent to doing everything within your power to get well, no matter how unpleasant. Like drinking activated charcoal. (Which– for those of you who don’t know– tastes, I’d imagine, very similar to bantha fodder.)

So with such a plethora of finely honed will power at my disposal, you can imagine how frustrated I can get when– like yesterday– my brain is set on GO-GO-GO but my body is lying prone on the couch, stubbornly refusing to move its “feels-like-they-weigh-ten-thousand-pounds” limbs. Which naturally spurred me into a state of “AAARRRGGGGGG!!!!” all Charlie Brown fumbling-the-football style.

But then today I woke up. (Yes, I’m being both literal and figurative.) Because as I shuffled to make my morning breakfast, body already feeling like the tin man rusted over, it suddenly dawned on me. Why have I only ever correlated will power with my physical accomplishments? Why not use my abundance of will to empower my brain? And why did that thought bring dread to my very soul?

Which is when “Legally Blonde” Elle Woods popped into my brain and quipped: “What, like it’s hard?” Um… YEAH.

Oh, yes. I’m talking about MINDFULNESS, people. That old nugget.

So this week I’ve decided to incorporate a practice my mother– referred to in this galaxy as Professor Momgonagall— calls “power hour.” It’s something she does once a week with the sole purpose of accomplishing all those annoying “I don’t wanna do it but I have to” kind of tasks. Like the annual cleaning of their basement, where my parents graciously store items for us that won’t fit in our tiny place. (This is significant, because in addition to being allergic to pollen, dander, and dust, my mother is also deathly allergic to clutter. And yet she routinely consents to storing my larger seasonal goods. Which this year prompted the making of an adorable video wherein she displayed my things all Vanna White style to see what I’d like to keep.)

Only the mind can’t just be trained once a week. It needs daily attention. (Needy noggin!) So instead of one power hour per week, I’m going to try logging 10 power minutes per day. Then 15. Then 20. My theory is that with time, I will eventually be able to live mindfully throughout the day.

You see, all the will power in the world is not going to get me better faster. I’m already doing everything I can to heal my physical form. But the mind… that I can work on. So here goes. Power up, people!

Activating Cranial Thrusters,

The Foda

“The Face in the Mirror”

Hi, everyone! I’m back! I had a rough several weeks there, and my writing took a hit. Brain fog, am I right? (All my fellow Lymies just nodded in sage solidarity.) I did, however, manage to write this poem on a dusky April night a couple weeks back, and am finally ready to share it. It’s not a lighthearted warm and fuzzy read, but it’s real. I’ve since alighted to a better place, but I felt this was important to share.

Cheers, The Foda

“The Face in the Mirror”

I’m combusting, she said.

Like cellophane squeezed over too much bread.

I’m bursting with nothing but skin to contain me within.

These emotions

Beholden to anyone living and learning while tucked in a body that

Screams in the silence.

Each cell like a prison,

For my cells are violence incarnate.

Cells selling me out so they erect

a cell wall;

Make it tall

so the coup is complete, yet I can’t claim defeat.

Oh, to replete.

To replenish.

My stores are empty;

I’ve used all my wares,

and I’ve still so far to go,

she sighed with a far-away stare.

You’d think, she remarked, I’d get better with coping.

With overriding this ornery statue of limitations on hoping.

My world is a pinwheel;

It spins in shades of blue

and what more can I do

and will I ever be normal like you?

So give me your prayers, she asked quite plain,

and I’ll show you my heart.

It’s brittle and beaten,

But just like a gem, you won’t know its strength until it’s been

Dropped.

Do you see me now, she asked, and I nodded with her in perfect align.

And our eyes filled with dreams

long spilled

and sorted to grace a shelf of some other time.

The face in the mirror.

The face that is mine.

Thirty

“Thirty”

Thirty.

Thiiiirrrttttyyyyyyyy.

Rhymes with “dirty”, “flirty”… and if you’re a Texas ranger, “purdy.” As in, that’s one right purdy filly there.

Why my interest, you ask? Well, today, my friends, just happens to be my last day in my twenties. That’s right. As of tomorrow, I shall be thirty.

And until a week and a half ago, I was completely sure I wouldn’t be one of those people who freak out because of some societally trumped-up milestone.

Until my family asked me what I wanted to do to celebrate.

<Picture a camera rushing in on my face, exposing a close up view of me instantly panicking.> Kind of like…. this.

 

My cat Yoda!
My cat Yoda!

I know. How cute is he??? But I digress.

All of a sudden, thirty DID seem like a big milestone. And the panic? Was because for the latter half of my twenties, I haven’t been able to do any of the things I wanted, because this illness has essentially turned me into a hermit. Which, of course, left me feeling the way so many twenty nine year olds feel: that judgement day has arrived, and I’m about to cross some metaphysical line… and I’m not prepared.

So here I am, feeling like someone’s about to hand me a church steeple when I haven’t even laid the foundation yet (odd metaphor, I know, but it’s the first one that came to me, and I’m going with it) and I’m a little excited, but mostly, I feel like I’m not ready.

Which, again, is totally odd, because due to my vastly unique experience of living like an eighty year old for the past four years, I have no problem with aging. When you’re old, you can be crotchety and opinionated and stubborn, and no one will call you out on it. But here’s the rub. I’m not old. And all those societal cliches? Don’t apply to me.

So once again, I have to redefine thirty to fit with my set of circumstances.

Thirty, for me, is not going to be anything other than “adios” to half a decade of illness. It’s going to hopefully be the start of the decade where I finally get my health back. And it’s going to have absolutely no bearing on how I feel about myself, how I measure my self worth, or how I compare myself to what other thirty years olds are doing.

So fare thee well, twenty nine. With the exception of your involvement in finishing my first novel, starting two more, and having a wonderful family, I shall not miss thy reign.

Oh, and thirty? Just in case you’re planning on being as ornery as twenty nine? BRING IT.

Cheers,

The Foda

It Is Easy Being Green: Kate’s Magik Review

It Is Easy Being Green: Kate’s Magik Review

 Oh, my back. Oh, my head. My eyeballs have a pulse. My hair hurts. I can feel my blood. (One should not feel their blood whilst inside one’s veins.) I’m walking like an arthritic ostrich. GRAVITY, WHY DO YOU PLAGUE ME??!!! WHHHHYYYYYYYY???!!!!!!!!!

 Welcome to the interior dialogue of anyone who lives with a chronic illness. Okay, fine, welcome to my interior dialogue. So it should go without saying that finding some kind of relief from said woes is rather remarkable. Well, what if I told you that not only did I find it: the ever elusive ohmigosh-this-is-amazing product that will relieve what ails ‘ya… but that will also make you look and smell <hair flip> très, très chic?

Two words: Kate’s Magik. (Click here to peruse her website.) Some items are also available on Amazon.

IMG_0278

My obsession started small. A bottle of reiki-infused lotion, labeled “Water,” designed with all natural scents meant to be most pleasing to a Pisces like me. I found it right after I started writing my book, Elements, which has to do with– you guessed it– a secret group of people who embody and manipulate the earth’s elements. I saw the bottle, and it was like it was made for me! That, and it smelled delicious. And it did what no other lotion or oil could do this winter– heal my chapped, cracking hands. (And I tried a LOT.) Sidebar: It also may have caused Mandalf to exclaim upon touching my arm: “How is your skin so soft??!!” To which I said: “Magik.” (Heh. Heh.)

Then I was curious. I had to know more. Was there more? What else did this Kate make? Days later, I had a shipment of goodies. Different products specifically selected to (hopefully) help manage my chronic pain, insomnia, anxiety, and, well, the general side effects of being debilitatingly sick for four years. (Her website offers a resource of which products she recommends for whatever your intent: health, peace, abundance, etc.)

I was astounded. The Peace and Purification anointing oil when applied to my temples, throat, heart, and behind the ears helped alleviate my constant headache, and I felt immediately calmer, in a peaceful (non-drowsy) sort of way. (A week later, and it’s now officially on my stranded-on-a-desert-island list.) Next, I slathered on her Moonlight oil twenty minutes before bed, not really expecting much. (My insomnia is legendary. And I don’t do well with strong scents.) But I could actually feel it bringing me down into a sleep-conducive state with each inhale. Now, I attribute it as my most effective sleep aid. (Take that, insomnia!)  I also got a bar of Monsoon Rain soap, because it was described as having anti-depressive qualities, and hey, let’s be real, being “all sick, all the time” is a real joy-sucker sometimes. I loved it and would love to make it a staple, but fancy soap is a luxury in my book, so it will remain a special occasion purchase. The same goes for her Blue Morpho perfumed body oil. Amazing, absorbs well, a great subtle scent, (and named after my favorite butterfly for its transformative intent) but for me, more in the luxury category as apposed to the I-NEED-THIS because it seriously improves my quality of life category.

I also purchased the Muscle Works massage oil to help with my wayward nerve endings that, if unchecked, lead to some rather wicked migraines. Only I can’t review that, because I haven’t had to use it yet. Possibly because the anointing oil is also said to help relieve headaches, and since using it, I magically haven’t gotten any… Fascinating, yesssss… <Strokes imaginary beard quizzically.>

So for all my readers who are chronically ill like me, or who are working towards an intention, whether it’s peace, mindfulness, or whatever your pleasure, I know a lady who just might be able to help. Her name is Kate. And her stuff is wand-erful. (Get it? Magik?)

So check it out. Now where did I put that anointing oil…

Snnnniiiiiiiffffffffffff. Ahhhhhhhh. That’s the stuff.

The Foda

P.S. For people like me with scent sensitivities, I’ve had no issues with any of the products I’ve tried.

P.P.S. I have not been paid, coerced, or hoodwinked into saying any of this.