• My Inherited Blueprint

As I walked through my personal garden—hands in the soil, for me this is posture of surrender, signifying my heart is open to change—I began to see the invisible and visible architecture of my life.                                                                                 Not the plants or pathways, but the blueprint of verbal and non-verbal agreements I have consciously or unconsciously made with the world: my family, my coworkers, my friends, even my adversaries. These agreements were etched deep, shaping how I showed up, how I gave, how I withheld. And I knew then—the work ahead would be both hard and holy.                                                                           It would require intention, not impulse. Oh crap impulse was one of my favorite agreements, I was very good at reacting so loudly and clever, things would turn on a dime in my favor. But because I am now awake and aware I’ve learned to respond in a healthy new way.

In the quiet of self-reflection, I traced the origins of my mental wiring. My upbringing, family dynamics, and work ethics have taught me how to play safely, how to care deeply, how to keep peace even when my own needs went unheard. I inherited beliefs about my worth, my responsibilities, and the conditions under which rest was “allowed.” These patterns—while once protective—began to fracture under the weight of my own becoming.

And so, I began the shift. Not to discard the past, but to rewrite the story. To choose new agreements. Ones that begin with me.

I declare I am building a bridge from my inherited blueprint to my active transformation—the mental rewiring is both a strategy and a sacred act of self-devotion.

My Inner Renovation (Demo Day I can hear the voice of Chip Gaines say, I love Demo Day)

Once I saw the blueprint, I couldn’t unsee it. The patterns were precise, familiar, and deeply embedded. But they were not permanent. Walls could come down for that open concept (Clarity)  that would begin the work of mental rewiring—not to erase who I had been, but to reclaim who I was becoming.

This process isn’t linear. It is layered, like the soil in my garden—some parts compacted, others rich with possibility. Like many layers of wallpaper telling the stories of all the people, families, who had lived in the house.                                              I leaned into practices that helped me unlearn, reframe, and re-root and reclaim my property ME: Come back next week as I walk you through this Renovation, one room at a time.