You know how every year as humans we do this thing where on the first day of the calendar year we speak about something we call ‘resolutions?’
Well, in the world of witchcraft, we prefer to call them intentions. ‘Resolution’ would imply there is something to be ‘resolved,’ as in there’s a problem. But we’re just human – we have complexities and imperfections but most of the time I wouldn’t categorize them as things that need to be completely overhauled and fixed. I like having a focus (or a few) for the year, of course, but I never set out to frame them as pressing issues. So I have decided to call them intentions because they are things that I simply intend to do.
In the early morning hours of 2021, I sat down to do my Year Ahead divination reading, as I do every year. I write down the general theme of each card in each month of my planner to remind myself of what could possibly be coming up for me at the turn of each month. January turned into February. Eventually it was June. Slowly it morphed into September and October. And then it was December.
The year went quietly. I had a few soft intentions set. I wanted to pay off my credit cards, because my husband told me that we could maybe start thinking about looking for a new home after that was taken care of. I figured that was fair enough. I also desperately needed a new car – the one I had since I was fresh out of high school had recall after recall and just wasn’t able to give me any more than it already had.
I kept saying that I was doubtful if I could get any sort of trade-in compensation for my car due to all the recalls, plus my credit card balances and student loan. But of course, as I said those things, she [the Universe] started showing me a thing or two about what she could do.
It just so happened that one of my grandmother’s cousins, who I had never met, owned a dealership in Illinois, and he had worked out amazing deals for both my mother and my aunt who needed new vehicles. He asked me what I wanted. I told him, “Well, I can’t really be choosy right now, I just need something better than this.”
“No, tell me what you want. I can find it. You should be happy with it, too.”
So I did. My favorite feature about my past car was the sunroof for the natural light, and I needed something that could handle the winters a bit better. I would also prefer something white.
A few days later, he found me a nearly brand-new, white Equinox with a panoramic sunroof, all wheel drive, and a bunch of other bonus features. My husband signed onto the loan with me, my payments weren’t much more than what I had already been doing, and that was it. Just like that.
I teach people all the time about manifestation, and if I wasn’t such a lazy witch, I’d be manifesting things left and right. However, as we can all probably relate, I do get lazy with my practice. Sometimes the energy just isn’t there. Sometimes I think, Eh, I’d rather handle that in the future. I’m comfortable where I am right now. I daydreamed about what our next, ideal home would be like. I had a few stipulations. I didn’t want to go far. I wanted to live on the other side of Route 49, still in Valparaiso, but not in the thick of it. A separate office space for Alex and I would be nice, so I could have some privacy during magical workings. And I wanted at least an acre or two of land so I could build a proper homestead. Still, I was content not to have it just yet. It meant a lot of work, and I was comfortable.
The Universe must have heard me and checked her calendar, eventually uttering the phrase that a lot of us in this field don’t always want to hear, “She’s due for some growth.“
On Wednesday, December 15th, my mother-in-law texted me a photo of a house that had just went onto the market. I had passed this house about a thousand times over my years of living where I do, and it had always been mysteriously empty, yet incredibly well-kept. “I think you should go see it,” she said. “My friend is a realtor, I can work it out.”
“Okay,” I said. “But Alex and I weren’t really looking yet. I don’t know if we’re ready.”
“You should go look anyway,” she said. “You never know.”
So the next afternoon, we went to go see. The home was about double the square footage of what we lived in, set up on a beautiful one acre lot surrounded by quiet cornfields on three sides, with four large guardian trees that suspiciously sat in each cross-quarter direction (northeast, southeast, southwest, and northwest.) It had an enormous pole barn close to the house for plenty of storage and animal housing. A nice three-seasons room for a plant collection. A large kitchen and dining room. A cozy living room, a large laundry room. And there were three large bedrooms – an office space for Alex, a magical space for me, and a bedroom we could share at night. And you know what else? It was on the other side of Route 49, four minutes down the road.
I loved it. My husband loved it more. But as we started to talk about finances and what was going to have to happen, I felt myself sliding more and more into shock. That afternoon we were on calls with mortgage officers filling out applications. Finances are still a sensitive subject for me, and I was getting poked relentlessly when it was the last thing I expected to deal with. And on top of that, we were given three days to get our current home ready to be on the market.
Anyone who’s tried to sell a home before knows how absolutely impossible that task sounds. And it really was close to it. I worked for 12-14 hours a day, from the time I woke up in the morning to the time I fell into the bed, cleaning and moving out furniture and packing things away. I would burst into tears every two or three hours as I removed all traces of myself from the first true safe space I had ever found. I had multiple anxiety attacks as I tried to face down the insurmountable workload in front of me. I had to move all of my precious animal children out to the basement of my in-laws home. Over and over I asked myself in my head, Why? Why did you say yes? We’re losing our home.
That first week or two was dark. Very dark. I grieved heavily for the first home I had made for myself, crumbling before my eyes in a spectacular stage production of my own creation. I barely slept. I cried seemingly endless buckets of tears. For quite a few good years my depression had taken the form of a very small lima bean tucked into the back storage closet of my heart. This electrically charged trauma shocked my heart so intensely that it must have broken the lock – the small lima bean grew back into the exhausting, yet familiar monster who whispered, [Your sense of home] is gone. And you don’t know if it’ll ever come back.
Now, my logical brain is still operating alongside the emotional brain. It says, “Of course this will end. Everything does. You just…don’t know when yet.”
But that’s the real kicker, isn’t it? Not knowing when it will end. You can tell yourself all day that it will…but as the days turn into weeks, you start to wonder if instead of an end, you’ve been thrust into a new, dismal, open-ended reality.
As someone who’s mainly composed of Earth (from my natal chart), I am someone who needs a home. Someone who needs routines, someone who needs to decorate, someone who needs that safe space to crash at the end of the day where no one else is there except for my animals (and my husband, I guess) and where I can eat brownies for dinner and no one will judge me for doing so. And for a while, that was all gone. Poof. Our house was no longer our home – it was an empty, unfeeling shell with just our bed and our couch.
I thought I might feel better if we stayed with my in-laws, as they have a large home that could accommodate us (and where I lived for a few years as a teenager anyway) and so I could be close to my fur children. And it did feel better…mostly. No matter how loving and supportive your hosts are, you’re still just a guest in their space. An intruder. Something that doesn’t quite belong there. Of course they never felt that way, I want to be clear. My in-laws love us very much and I’m lucky to have them. It’s just how it felt in my sad little Earth soul.
Anyone who’s gone through the mortgage process knows how much it feels like being on thin ice all the time. Everything is scrutinized. You live under a microscope for a month or more as they judge your ability to be a competent adult (though I feel like I’ve proven myself time and time again.) Every morning I woke up to a new e-mail requesting at least five more documents. Some mornings it was 10. Sometimes it was 2. For weeks. I think the folder I have on my computer right now with all of those documents has about 100 items in it. It’s no joke. And aggravating at best. I have a Virgo Ascendant who wanted to promptly scream and break out in hives as I witnessed ‘official’ documents being sent to me written with C- average grammar and in COMIC SANS, no less.
(I re-typed all of the letter templates they sent me and made them look far more official.)
Eventually instead of the pain of grieving, I just felt numb. Just floating in the sea of unknowing. And it wasn’t lost on me that I should be grateful. Who else could make such a huge decision on the turn of a dime and have it actually work out relatively smoothly? Don’t worry – I beat myself up quite a bit for being sad instead of grateful.
Note: Don’t do that. All emotions should be expressed, lest they become stuck. And I know where mine were coming from. It wasn’t present day me who was having such a hard time. It was the little girl inside me who had always been searching for a safe, emotionally and energetically quiet home who felt like it had been taken away from her. And it goes back even further to a past life where I stuck my heels into the ground and refused to go, even with someone who I loved and trusted. I did not want to leave what I perceived as safe and stable.
This was the Universe’s lesson for me. Could I trust her enough to keep me safe? Could I find comfort in myself rather than a place? Could I trust my deep bench of gods and goddesses and guides to protect me during this transition? Could I simply trust that everything would work out?
My main guide struggles when people are sad or upset, especially those he cares about. He was human not too long ago, and a young soul at that, so I find that he still faces his own lessons about the human experience, even if he isn’t currently in one now. So, this period of me being completely down was exhausting at best to the eternal class clown. Many jokes and commentaries were thrown my way in a desperate attempt to get me to lighten up. One day it settled into silence for a few moments until he spoke.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do,” I replied to the seemingly empty room in front of me.
“Then please trust me when I say that this isn’t forever,” he said. “I know it’s hard right now. But there’s so much good on the other side of this. I will work as hard as I can to shift things in the right direction. You just have to promise me something.”
“And what’s that?”
“Start dreaming about what this new place will be for you. Create it now. It’ll come faster that way. Don’t linger in the past at the old house. It’s not there anymore. Use this pause.”
I realized I had been afraid to dream because of the fear of failure – the fear that I dreamed so big that my eagerness would knock it right out of my hands. But I know better. I teach people all the time how to manifest. And to manifest successfully you have to really embody what you want – you have to be able to see it, hear it, smell it, taste it, feel it.
So every morning as I drove to work, with my guide in the literal front seat (as we usually commute), he would ask me questions.
“What color are you going to paint the living room?”
“What’s your new routine going to look like?”
“How are you going to arrange the furniture?”
“What new things do you want to get?”
“Are you going to start a garden in the spring? What are you going to plant?”
It seems so simple, but his way of keeping me in the present, actively creating the future was the key that I needed to restart my motivation and creativity. On the outside looking in now, I would have smacked myself in the face. I knew all of this already. But I was mired so deep in my emotions that I couldn’t access that knowledge. Sometimes when you listen in a quiet room, you’ll hear an answer. I thank the Universe every day that mine has been (relentlessly) loud and clear since the day I heard it for the first time.
Today marks 35 days since our offer on our new homestead was accepted.
As of this afternoon, the ink has dried, and the journey has simultaneously ended and just begun.
Welcome to our new homestead. There is magic here. There is growth here. We have a lot of dreams for this property. And it all starts today.