a year in writing.

on the written word as an act of reclamation.

Hi. I’m Katie. This newsletter is a place where I explore my spirituality and my humanity in an intersectional way. Here’s what I’m thinking about this week…

I have always been a writer, but I haven’t always wanted you to know it.

When I was a child, stories slipped out of me as naturally as my breath. I would regale my younger sister and her friends with twisty tales of fantastical lands and endless coffers of candy. I created entire worlds with my father as we listened to classical music, striving to tell the tale that went along with the timbre of the compositions.

But at some point, writing, like my emotions, became a secret to keep.

I stole sheafs of paper from the printer in the basement of my childhood home and marked them up with fragments of poems and portraits of characters who existed in the recesses of my mind. I journaled, covering the page with the raw emotions that paraded inside and outside of my body, refusing to show it to anyone.

As I grew older, I used writing as a litmus test for trust, covertly sending snippets of my prose to people who I was still sussing out just to see their reaction.

I left a trail of abandoned, anonymous blogs in my wake as I moved about the Internet, a breadcrumb trail unfurling behind a woman who was never quite able to attach herself to her own words.

Hundreds of documents floated aimlessly on the desktop of my computer, preserved specimens that never developed beyond the nascent stage. Their labels are equally dismal: untitled (1), untitled (35), untitled (79).

I existed in this cycle of shame for years. I was ashamed of who I was when I wrote, the real woman behind those potent words.

For the longest time, I refused to let her see the light of day.

On September 21st, 2021, I pressed publish on my first post on Everyday Woo. The idea to start this newsletter was not one that I discovered on my own; it was handed to me, a gift from the universe.

My friend Priya casually asked one day if I had ever heard of Substack. I hadn’t. She told me that I should think about starting my own and sharing my writing in a more public way.

It was just the push I needed.

Over the course of an evening, I dove headfirst into the Substack platform. On a whim, I came up with name that I thought represented my approach to spirituality: Everyday Woo, a nod to both the mundane and the magical.

And I wrote this post, a journalistic exploration of the Queen of Cups, spiritual scammers and yoga for anxiety. I felt, as I always had, that my writing had to offer something practical to those who read it. The idea of writing simply for myself in hopes that this would be enough was still foreign to me.

Like the collection of untitled documents that languish on my computer, my first fifteen posts are simply numbered editions that explored topics like accessibility in spiritual spaces, how to come out of the woo closet, and mindfully listening to your inner child.

I’m proud of what I wrote—after all, I was finally writing regularly—but looking back, I realize that, for those first few months, I was still keeping my writing a secret in a way.

I was still controlling how much of myself I put on the page.

In February, I wrote this post. It was the first one that I didn’t title with just a number.

In it, I wrote from a place of raw vulnerability about how scared I was to let myself believe that life could be different, that I could perhaps move to St. Croix, join my partner, and leave behind the Midwest.

I let my writing breathe. I filled it with the spiraling descriptions that I love to let pour out of me when I am in the flow state of creation. I dripped my emotions across the page. I wrote as the woman I am, not as the woman I wanted people to believe I was.

And it resonated.

People who I hadn’t talked to in years reached out to tell me about the times they had done it scared. New subscribers began to appear, a steady trickle of new connections. Though I hadn’t realized it right away, it was clear that this baring of the soul, confessional sort of writing was exactly what I was meant to do.

To be the woman I was, both on and off the page, was not shameful. It was liberating.

Over the past year, I have published 88 pieces of writing on Everyday Woo.

I started with zero subscribers. I now have 602.

I have spent countless hours in front of my computer, typing away like my life depended on it. Because, in a way, it did.

I have found so much healing from writing about who I am.

The woman I was when I decided, finally, to move to the island. The woman I was when I broke up with the life I had always known. The woman who struggles to make friends, to believe that she is worth liking. The woman with a mental health disorder.

Over the past year, I have changed so much. And I now have a written record of that shift, a beautiful trail of breadcrumbs that, this time, I claim without hesitation.

writerly katie.

I have no idea where life will take me over the next year. But I know now that I will write about it. I must write about it.

With each shift, my words will be a reflection of the woman I am. The woman I was. And the woman I am yet to become.

I hope that, in finding myself, my words might help you find a little bit of yourself, too.

In celebration of writing for one year, I’d love to hear about how my writing has connected with you.

---

suspension: a free, online gathering

I’ve been drawn to the energy of the Hanged One recently, especially the concept of being in a state of suspension. In collaboration with Katie Vann, a fellow intuitive, I’d like to cordially invite you to an online gathering themed around the 13th card in the major arcana.

Both Katie and I are familiar with being in the in between, so in this hour-long session, we’ll be sharing our personal experiences with suspension, plus offering up ways to explore the Hanged One through writing and individual card pulls for each participant.

It’s free to join, and I’d love to see you there. Come explore the sensations of suspension with us.

---

✨cards for humanity: the ten of pentacles ✨

Whether you’re into tarot or not, here’s a few things to consider about this weird thing called life.

When I was thinking about which card to write about this week, it felt sort of self-aggrandizing to choose the Ten of Pentacles. After all, when it comes to my writing, I most certainly do not feel like I have “made it,” as this card seems to suggest. But I do feel like I have arrived at a significant milestone, which this card represents.

Prosperity and initiation are two words that immediately come to mind when I see this card, an invitation to celebrate what has been accomplished while still moving towards what is new and yet unknown.

Two figures are about to step through an archway and enter into a new realm, heralded forward by two crossed banners dotted with an abundance of pentacles: ten to be exact. They glance at each other in silent agreement: this move is aligned, and the resources needed are available.

In my own life, the energy of the Ten of Pentacles has been so salient over the past few months. Time and time again, I have been the recipient of prosperity and tangible affirmation of my decision to leave St. Louis: I’ve had exciting tarot opportunities arise, I’ve been able to express my creativity through in-person workshops, and I’ve been paid for my writing: 30 people have become paid subscribers of this publication, a number that always blows my mind.

When I look back at what I have accomplished, I feel proud. I do not believe that money is required for something to feel right, but I do believe that prosperity follows aligned action. And in the Ten, we are enveloped by the banners of all that we have produced in the past cycle. We are held by what we have made. We do not measure our worth by our creation, but we acknowledge its power.

The Ten of Pentacles reminds us of the beauty of transition: a changing of the guard is happening in this card. Intergenerational curses are being shattered. And though the way forward is unknown, the breadcrumb trail of pentacles behind us is a tangible reminder of all that we have produced in order to arrive here, at the threshold of a new, exciting chapter.

When the Ten of Pentacles appears in a reading, it’s time to take stock, to celebrate, and to move forward. Though we cannot see where the two figures walk, I like to imagine that they will arrive on the bottom step of an ascending staircase, one where they can continue to make deposits and receive abundance from the universe.

A cycle closes with the Ten of Pentacles, but a new one begins. For now, we are invited to pause, to look deeply into the eyes of those who have made this journey with us, and to take a deep breath as we continue back to the Ace.

---

✨prompts | the ten of pentacles ✨

Meditate. Journal. Pull some cards.

☀️ What milestones have I reached recently in life?

☀️ How do I celebrate where I am while preparing for where I am heading?

☀️ What resources will I need for the next part of my journey?

☀️ What patterns are shifting as I open myself up to a new cycle?

---

✨weekly mantra✨

I am grateful for how far I have come.

One year of writing this newsletter has taught me that I want to keep doing it. If you enjoy my writing and want to support me in a more tangible way, consider shifting your subscription to a paid one. It’s $5 a month, and you’ll get an extra, subscribers-only newsletter on Friday.

As I navigate my big move, I’ll likely have to pause free publications, so this is the best way to stay in touch and hear all of the sordid details of my transition from St. Louis to St. Croix.