This week my granddaughter, Lila, turned one.
As I celebrated her birthday, I felt a deep wave of awe move through me.
I remembered those tender days
last December—being in Colorado with my daughter, Alejandra, awaiting the birth, while at the very same time my heart was breaking under the weight of Greg’s recent cancer diagnosis.
I had never felt such an intense contrast of emotions. Joy and sorrow coexisted in my body with equal force.
I’d go over birthing plans with Alejandra, excited to support her in the delivery room. And then a few
hours later, I’d speak to Greg on the phone.
He'd had to stay in Mexico to continue chemo (gratefully his brother had been able to travel from North Carolina to be with him)—and he could barely get through a sentence without wincing in pain.
My heart didn’t know where to land.
I remember taking walks near my daughter’s home, the
Colorado mountains standing like guardians around me. My breath would deepen on its own—heavy, intentional, almost primal.
Only now do I understand:
I was regulating my nervous system…
and I was preparing to be reborn, too.
I didn’t see it at the time. I knew something was shifting inside me,
but I couldn’t name it.
And then, when I returned home to Mexico, life became a whirlwind—chemo appointments, preparations for a stem cell transplant, the long road of recovery afterward, and my daughter Lisa’s wedding, which was its own profoundly sacred milestone.
There wasn’t space to reflect—until now.
As I celebrated Lila’s first
birthday, I suddenly saw the initiation that season had been for me. It expanded my heart’s capacity.
It taught me how to hold the full spectrum of emotion—grief, hope, joy, fear—without collapsing, numbing, or turning away.
It taught me how to hold more of my Soul’s light.
And when I finally held Lila in my arms for the first time, something
magical happened. The joy and the sorrow didn’t cancel each other out—they braided together. They became grace. They became trust. They became faith.
This experience reshaped me.
It softened me.
It strengthened me.
It made me a more spacious, compassionate guide for my clients.
So, my dear heart-led helper, as we approach the end of the year, you may find your own reflections stirring emotions—some tender, some heavy, some unexpected.
Let them come.
Let them be.
You do not need to fix them or figure them out.
If it feels too big, too much, too sharp—this is
normal.
Ask your Soul to increase your capacity.
To widen the inner space that can hold your truth with gentleness.
This doesn’t mean not crying. It doesn’t mean not asking for help. I have cried A LOT this past year.
I have leaned on people. I have softened over and over
again.
But ultimately, this journey of aligning with your Soul…
of becoming the Sovereign Helper you came here to be…
is deeply personal.
It is your initiation into serving with authenticity, power, and grace.
With love,
Lisa
P.S. If you feel called to prepare your energy, clarity, and path for the new year, join me for Prepare the Way for Your Best 2026 — a live workshop on Wednesday, December 18, at 2pm CST. $33 • Replay included.
Come receive the guidance, grounding, and Soul-led visioning your 2026 is asking for. Register below.
