Monthly Archives: September 2014

Next Divine Essence Hypnotherapy Workshop Series

Ladies only, please – sorry Gentlemen – but thought you might know someone who would like to join us.
Thank you kindly.

Open to Love
Open to your Feminine Essence

godess blueNext 6-week Class Series Starts September 24, 2014 – Contact me to Reserve your Seat – Space is Limited

For Women Only—Single or Partnered

Open your heart, life and body to allow Real love. Connect with the juicy, sacred, powerful Divine Feminine Energy that you really are.

This is a 6-week class on Wednesday nights – in NW Ft. Collins, CO

We’ll explore the polarization between feminine and masculine energy, talk about how to activate your own feminine energy and stay in that space.

We’ll discuss specific issues you have (or have had) in your relationship(s) and how to resolve them from a powerful, respectful, feminine perspective.

This class is not about manipulating men or any other superficial issues. This class is about celebrating men and women and discovering your own true vulnerable self and being able to live from that place of power.

When we live from that place of authenticity, we can’t help but improve our entire life—including all of our relationships.

​Contact me to reserve your seat – space is limited. ​Details here.


Grace is a Certified Hypnotherapist and Registered Psychotherapist in Ft. Collins, CO, USA. She gracethanx2013.3sees clients and facilitates Divine Feminine Hypnotherapy workshops for women. She’s a flaming, Earth-loving, tree-hugging, save-the-bees, believes-in-faeries, bike-riding, card-carrying, spiritual but not religious, hippie cowgirl liberal poet—yep, they do exist. She writes for The Scarlet Orchid and elephant journal. You can find her blog here and her creations here. You can also connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.

I’m Allowing Myself to Gain Weight.


Because everyone knows that no woman in her right mind wants to gain weight, right?

I’ve made some major shifts in my life in the past few years—always in the pursuit of happiness.

I maintained a rigorous “happiness” routine until June of 2013. At which time, I began to be drawn to connecting with the Divine Feminine (DF), and my life began to change again. I say “drawn to,” but it was really more like an insistence.

I felt like I didn’t really have a choice.

I had been warned, in the DF research I was doing, that the DF tends to turn lives upside down before the proverbial dust settles. I can testify to that.

The First Shift

In 2011, after taking a depressing and sobering look at my life (a ¾ life crisis?), I knew I had to do something—anything—to change my life into something more authentic, something happier. It was way too depressing to think that I had so little to show for my life up to that point.

So I got busy redecorating and redirecting my life. It was not easy, and I did not like the process. But after experimenting for several months, I finally—through trial and error—hit upon a routine in late 2011 that seemed to provide the right combination of all things to produce and sustain my happiness.

I worked out in some fashion, as well as riding my bike to work, every day. I did cardio three times a week for at least 30 minutes (usually longer) and yoga twice a week. I meditated every day.

Due to health issues, I was only able to eat a high protein, low carb/glycemic diet—no grains, no starchy carbs, very few fruits, no sweeteners of any kind—except for stevia. Plenty of fats and meat and low-carb veggies. Is that a paleo diet? I have no idea. It doesn’t matter. It was necessary.

I became physically fit.

I didn’t look like a body-builder or anything, but I was strong. I have the type of body that when I work out a lot, I don’t bulk up, I just get very wiry and essential. I weighed more than I have ever weighed at 148 lbs. (I’m 5’8”).

But I was also wearing the smallest clothing size I had ever worn as an adult.

The only reason I know the specific pounds of my weight, was because I ended up having to go to the doctor for a checkup. I very seldom see my doctor, so when he came in and looked at my chart, he instantly (and wisely) asked, “Have you been working out?” I said yes; he (again, wisely) didn’t say anything else.

When anyone called me “skinny,” thinking that was some kind of complement, I was offended. I would usually come back with something along the lines of, “I am not skinny. I am substantial. I may look skinny to you, but I am not; please don’t call me that. I’ve worked hard for this body, and to be this happy.”

I didn’t exercise to lose weight or even to gain muscle mass. I did it because the endorphins made me happy. It felt good.

It had been a long, winding road to figure it out, but I finally liked my life. I liked my body. I felt healthy. My body was not perfect by any standards, but it was the most fit and strong I had ever been.

Mostly, I was relieved to have finally figured out how to be happy.

And while it had not been a conscious decision to mold my body into anything specific, somewhere in me it registered that I had finally gained the body I had always wanted.

I had finally “mastered” my body. I had beaten back the flab, and along with that, the worry that my body wasn’t good enough. I felt victorious and strong—proud.

The Divine Feminine

But in June of 2013, as I began exploring the DF and how to embrace it and call it up in myself, I gradually became aware that I didn’t like rising at 5 AM every day to work out. I didn’t like having such a hard, masculine body.

Some mornings I woke and started crying when I heard the alarm. It felt like my inner drill sergeant was pushing me around, and I didn’t like it.

I did not welcome this new unhappiness into my life. It was doubly depressing because not only was I no longer happy, I didn’t know how to get back to happiness.

Desperately—and quite frantically, I began experimenting again; I didn’t know what else to do.

I began to sleep late on some days. I skipped exercising sometimes. I was still riding my bike everywhere, but I was not doing much other than that. I began to notice that my clothes were fitting tighter. I began to get rounder.

I began to worry.

Part of me desired to be softer, rounder and more feminine. I desired to let go of the strict, debilitating ideas about women’s bodies that I’d soaked up all of my life—beginning in childhood. I wanted to be able to gift myself with this allowing, this permission to just be a woman, to simply be soft if I wanted to be soft, round if that’s what I wanted.

I felt like it was the DF speaking to me, through me, inviting me to relax into my body just as I was allowing my mind and beliefs to relax. I liked that I was beginning to trust my own body, letting it settle at whatever weight, roundness, muscle-to-fat ratio it wanted to without trying to force it somewhere it maybe didn’t want to go—maybe had never wanted to go.

Another part of me was terrified at the roundness, the bulges. Every day, for several weeks, I would end up in front of the mirror with my hands on my growing ass, laughing or crying—usually both, asking myself, “Do you really want to do this?!”

The answer was always, “yes.”

Looking back, I think it was more the energy of my body that seemed hard and masculine. I now describe it as a type of “armor” I was wearing.

The Test

During that time, I was taking a women’s class on feminine manifestation. We met once a week for six weeks, and I have to say it was one of the more powerful things I have ever done for myself.

It was a sincere, sacred space every time we gathered. I looked forward to every class, and the women there were amazing.

I had made up my mind to give it my all, to show up ready to learn and grow. My plan was to remain as authentic and honest as possible even if it was painful, awkward and difficult—in fact, especially if those things happened.

At the beginning of each class, we always had check-in time, when we related how our last week had been, what changes we were noticing in our lives, what we were feeling.

Several of the women had, at some point in the progression of the classes, mentioned they wanted to lose weight. As the class advanced, I was getting rounder, softer.

I was doing the crazy mirror thing almost every day, noticing how my roundness seemed to be keeping pace with my new femininity.

It was a big part of my life, this new softness, this allowing that I was gifting to myself. It was something that I should have been sharing at check-in.

But I was afraid to share it, despite my beginning promise to myself to be all in.

I didn’t want to be the only one who was trying to gain weight. It felt wrong somehow, like I was betraying them, betraying women in general.

Because everyone knows that no woman in her right mind wants to gain weight, right?

And yet I really wanted to share what I was going through. I wanted to talk about that scared part of me—the part that was freaking out to allow myself this.

Finally one night I had to bring it up. It was just too prevalent in my life to ignore. I knew that in order to be true to myself, to honor my dear body, my DF journey and the major work I was doing on so many levels, I would have to speak of it.

I deliberately stayed in my heart as I spoke, treading slowly and gingerly. I told them what had been happening in my life with my body. I explained my mirrored confrontations.

The way I daily went to the full-length mirror and ended up exclaiming in some form thereof, “Oh my gawd, this ass is huge compared to how it was just a few weeks ago!” Sometimes I would laugh, sometimes I would cry. But it still always felt like the right thing to do.

I told them all of this. I opened my heart. At one point, I noticed one of the women smirking and looking around at the other women, as if she wanted to say something funny and was, with that smirk, asking the other women to join her.

To their dear, sweet credit, and my great relief, none of the other women reciprocated her smirk and no one accepted her tacit invitation.

She finally became serious when she noticed no one was joining her. I was grateful. I finished my check-in, feeling relieved that I had been able to share such a big happening in my life with them.

I wonder now if I should have gently confronted her. Maybe I could have just asked her what was happening in her own body and heart while I spoke.

Perhaps it would have lead to even greater depth—for her and for me. I still don’t know the answer to that one.

So now I like the roundness, the softness—sometimes. Some days I don’t. I have more fat on my belly, a bigger butt and thighs. When I sit, I have some fat rolls on my stomach. It feels more feminine.

I don’t feel like I am wearing some kind of hard armor to protect myself anymore. I feel open and soft and more relaxed.

I can’t yet draw any wise (or even any funny—which is my usual MO) conclusions from this, my newest journey. I don’t know where I’m going to end up. I don’t know what to expect. I continue to vacillate between humor and fear about it.

I only know two important things: My body seems to be getting happier, and I seem to be getting ever more comfortable with the idea of being rounder, softer and more feminine.


Also published at

We Shared Some Silence Once.


We shared some silence once
together but apart


Each to their own
but somehow as one

in mutual space and time
in separate minds

You reading
a turned page rustling at uncalculated intervals

Me writing
pencil scratching over paper unevenly without rhythm

Both stopping periodically
distracted by the call of the sun
by the need to doze
with upturned face

My head bobbing suddenly, erratically
in time to some mad
inner conductor of soft, beckoning dreams

I Tried Not to Love You—an Overdue Love Letter.

love warriorI really did try not to fall in love with you.

And at some point, when I realized I was already there, I stalwartly attempted to unlove you.

By that time, I had cycled through so many loops of attraction, attempted indifference, love, friendship, anger, acceptance, frustration, pretending indifference, attraction, etc. that it had begun to feel like my normal way of life.

At some level, I was growing numb to it in my attempts to adapt and save my heart.

Through all of those loops, those months, the cycles, I tried to trust my instincts about your feelings for me, tried to intuit through or behind those barriers you were so good at building, but I was never sure where you stood.

It seemed to bounce around too much to pin down. I always knew the barriers you created were necessary for you.

I never took them personally.

But after that incident of which we have spoken and for which I apologized, I took myself out of your circle. I didn’t want to see you, didn’t want to be around you. It was, finally, too painful. I felt stupid that after all my struggles to do so, I couldn’t seem to control my own heart.

I wanted to stay as respectful and distant as I could. I was trying to do the right thing—mostly for me, but also for you. I wanted to prove to the Universe and to myself that I was walking my talk. I wanted to take care of myself.

So I retreated into myself, into my own small, compact and safe world. I stopped going to church; I stopped dancing; I stopped going out with friends, stopped meeting girlfriends for tea.

I spent those months meditating, praying, inspecting myself for fissures—repairing what presented itself. Trying to be kind to myself, I attempted to not admonish myself for sadness and thinking “what if…” thoughts.

I was only partially successful on that count.

Mostly, I let myself feel the pain head-on without trying to hide it any longer. The pain itself was not fun, but it felt good to finally allow it, to sit shiva for my own heart, to honor its journey and the sadness—to cry into the cracks and to hopefully discover something like courage underneath—or maybe just endurance.

I also attempted to distract myself at times during those months and attracting an online dating scammer during that time certainly did the distraction trick. It turned out I learned so much about myself during and after that wild crazy ride, that I couldn’t feel bad about it.

It was a gift.

So I gradually began to see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. My ferocious optimism gradually reasserted itself and life was looking better and better all the time. I began to feel strong and happy again.

Then came the day when I felt so done and over you that I didn’t care if I saw you again or not. I felt indifference settle comfortably in and grow roots.

I liked the familiarity of that indifference, because I had successfully navigated that feeling right into a safe, I’m-over-him, harbor more than once before in my lifetime.

Life was good again—and back to normal—only better.

I ventured out into some of my bigger circles, coming out of my compact world and back into a larger version that contained more people, sometimes even including you.

The first time I saw you I was strong and detached and ready. It was easy to remain detached. I felt the attraction still there and registered some disappointment that it had showed its old, worn face again.

But it seemed easy to talk around and over. It was simple to ignore that big white elephant in my heart’s small, tidy living room.

I felt triumphant at my own self-safekeeping victory.

But after the second encounter I knew I wasn’t faring so well. I knew I was in trouble. I felt a mad mayday alarm start in my head and spread out in all directions, racing to get to, and save, the heart as quickly as possible.

I could feel myself emotionally withdrawing to save myself, scrambling to recover lost ground, but at the same time, and with much self-disappointment at my “failure,” I noticed I was counting the days until the next time I could see you.

But something felt different this time—something that kept wiggling out from under my mind’s thumb; it wouldn’t hold still long enough for complete definition.

Then finally it seeped in. I didn’t feel those high, thick walls in you.

How was I supposed to know that you would somehow be waiting for me? That when I emerged from my retreat and from my healing that you would be standing right in front of me, shading my eyes from the sudden bright glare, there to meet me?

I didn’t expect that.

I was prepared for more distance from you—even avoidance. I was counting on you to emotionally withdraw from me, the way you had always done before. I was always able to feel those walls you built. I was counting on you to help me out by building them again.

You didn’t. You haven’t. heart rock zipper

It felt exactly like it did in Berlin when the wall came down. After only the first few days it was still obvious where the wall had once stood, dissecting.

But not long after that—after some cleanup—it was easy to start in West Berlin where I lived, be walking through where once the wall had dead-ended a street, to suddenly realize I was standing in East Berlin, without ever having noticed the transition. It just felt the way it was supposed to, streets flowing to their next, natural destination as originally planned, without obstruction.

So now I’m in a much-anticipated, foreign and yet achingly familiar land with my officially and freshly stamped passport clutched a bit nervously to my heart, standing looking at your welcoming “YOU ARE HERE” map, which fortunately and thankfully—and much to my relief—seems to be in the rough outline of your heart.