I Fell in Love Again
Updated: Sep 25
I fell in love again.
I went to Burning Man, and for eight days, I was completely disconnected from the world.
Completely out of touch with the physical world outside of Burning Man. My business. Friends. People outside of my experience.
And transparently, I didn't have any goals.
I went with an intention to deepen my love. To be in a space without conditions. To be curious.
And what I found was that concept, described in words, does not even begin to describe the expansiveness of love and possibility I experienced there.
During this space, I kept dropping into:
What am I allowing in at this moment?
What feels good?
And then... doing that.
Funny enough, I found myself in a space of awe. In a space of attracting the most beautiful experiences.
And I'm not talking about drugs.
I'm not talking about sex and rock and roll.
I'm talking about pure presence.
The presence within me.
The ability to be still when movement outside of me happened. To be in a space of curiosity.
I found friendships and synchronicities. I found all of the unfolding of love within me expressed outside of me.
And that doesn't mean every single moment was filled with joy.
Most of the moments were wild amounts of joy and bliss.
But some of it was held in grief.
Grief for the times I did not hold that expansiveness for myself.
That aliveness.
That bigness.
The freedom to move into a space and not care about what others felt or thought about me.
I moved and emptied and flowed in that embrace.
But I also witnessed part of me grieving the expansiveness I've stepped into. The changes. The person I thought I needed to be.
The woman who thought she needed to perform in order to survive.
There was something beautiful in that recognition.
If you are unfamiliar with Burning Man, it is not just a festival.
In my personal opinion, it is a space where you get to create your temple outside of you.
There is an actual Temple that is built and eventually burned. It holds space for people to share their grief and their loss, leaving pieces of it throughout.
And what I found so interesting — and so beautiful — was that in the contrast of witnessing people in their grief, I found myself in the most still peace I could have ever imagined.
I found myself witnessing how much love poured out of me.
I did not feel grief moving through me in that moment.
Energy flowed through me.
Love flowed through me.
And as I first entered the Temple, one of the most profound things I saw was a hanging wedding dress.
Written with it were the words:
You're allowed.
I don't know if the person who hung the wedding dress also wrote that message.
But I took that energy in.
I took that space in.
And I became overcome with joy.
Yes, I'm fucking allowed.
Breath.
Pause.
Letting that vibrancy, that truth, flow throughout my body.
The depth within me expanded.
And as Burning Man continued, the Universe dropped in experiences that were remarkable.
I decided to be vulnerable.
Upfront.
Fully fucking me.
Knowing that some — or maybe all — of these people, I may never see again.
In one particular experience, I allowed myself to be fully seen and witnessed. The next day, it brought something up within me, and I allowed myself to move and pause through it.
And the following day, I had the clearest understanding of truth and love moving through me.
I could fully see that I still had some walls up.
Some were still there.
So I went back into the invitation to drop into me.
And those walls busted out.
I experienced the most profound love within me.
To just fully be.
And how safe it was.
Wow.
How safe.
Creating this space through unattachment to whether or not there would be an outcome I favorably wanted.
It was purely experiencing this moment, truly as me.
And that's where I fell in love again.
With myself.
With the Universe.
With God.
With Source.
With every divine expression outside of me.
Every person.
Every material item.
Every experience.
Thank you.
What a joy to witness.
What I Didn't Expect to Find There
What I find almost funny now is how much this experience brought me back to something I have been exploring deeply:
Rejection.
And not just the rejection we experience from other people.
The rejection that happens before anyone else ever gets the opportunity to reject us.
The ways we reject ourselves first.
We don't say the thing.
We don't make the ask.
We don't let ourselves be fully seen.
We don't follow the impulse.
We don't allow ourselves to want what we want.
We don't let ourselves be as big, alive, expressive, weird, sensual, loud, soft, powerful, or fully fucking ourselves as we actually are.
Because somewhere along the way, safety gets involved.
Our conditioning gets involved.
Our survival patterns get involved.
And sometimes, before the world can ever tell us no, we have already done it for them.
What Burning Man gave me was this beautiful experience of the opposite.
What happens when I stop rejecting myself first?
What happens when I allow myself to be seen without knowing what the outcome will be?
What happens when I don't need the moment to become anything?
What happens when I trust that it is safe to be fully me?
That doesn't mean every experience has the outcome I want.
That's the part I think we sometimes get wrong.
Being fully expressed doesn't guarantee the yes.
Making the ask doesn't guarantee the yes.
Allowing yourself to be seen doesn't guarantee the yes.
But what if that was never the point?
What if the work is not making sure no one ever rejects you?
What if it's becoming safe enough within yourself that you no longer have to reject yourself first?
And maybe that is part of what those two words meant to me when I walked into the Temple:
You're allowed.
You're allowed to take up the space.
You're allowed to make the ask.
You're allowed to want.
You're allowed to receive.
You're allowed to be seen.
You're allowed to experience the moment before you know where it's going.
You're allowed to stop rejecting yourself before anyone else has even had the chance.
And that's exactly what we're dropping into on October 7th.
MAKE THEM TELL YOU NO
Stop Rejecting Yourself Before Anyone Else Gets the Chance
I'm hosting a free live webinar exploring the ways we quietly decide the answer before anyone else ever gets to give us one.
The email we don't send.
The opportunity we don't go after.
The conversation we don't have.
The desire we make smaller.
The version of ourselves we keep waiting to become "ready" enough to be.
We'll explore what rejection has to do with safety, visibility, worth, belonging, and the capacity to stay with yourself when you don't know what the outcome will be.
Because the goal isn't to guarantee that everyone says yes.
Some people will say no.
The invitation is to stop letting the possibility of someone else's no become the reason you abandon your own yes.
Make the ask.
Put your name in the room.
Say what you want.
Let the decision belong to the person whose decision it actually is.
Maybe confidence doesn't come before the ask.
Maybe confidence is built through discovering that you can make the ask, hear whatever answer comes back, and still remain with yourself.
MAKE THEM TELL YOU NO — October 7, 2026
Because maybe the question isn't:
How do I make sure I'm never rejected?
Maybe it's:
Who could I become if I stopped rejecting myself first?
You're fucking allowed.
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