My mom died in September 2021. Six weeks later, in the floor of her three bedroom, two bath barely-more-than-a-condo house, I also died. The difference being, she died on the microfiber loveseat and decomposed there for a few weeks before the neighbor realized he hadn’t seen her dogs in a while and subsequently discovered her half-eaten corpse, and I just died metaphorically in the remnants of her congealed body,
I know that’s graphic, but once you learn about human design you’ll learn that I have the gate 51, and the gate 51 is the gate of weird shit happens to me.
On that Western-Texas fall day, I went to her house to clean up and salvage what I could of our family heirlooms. I went prepared for the pungent smell of death, the potential filth in the house. What I didn’t prepare for was the wide opening of the floodgates of trauma, the strangled sounds of agony coming from deep inside of me, the collapse.
I scraped her up with a stainless steel spatula and breathed her in and for a moment, I wondered if she hadn’t been mixed with 409, if I’d have eaten her, or at the very least put her on the tip of my tongue — tried to pull in whatever small part of her I could, take her on, understand her pain, make her love me.
I laid on her laminate artificial-wood flooring, in a puddle of her, for 5 minutes, or an hour, or for forever; I’m not sure, I lost track. I laid down, on what was left of my mother, the broken, hopeless child of an addict, wearing the pain of abuse and neglect like a varsity letterman’s jacket. I stood up a woman for whom the past no longer held power.
She died, and with her died the potential of reconcile.
I died, and with me, the expectation.
Human Design came into my life 3 or 4 years ago. At the time, I was studying the Tarot and leaning into light-work, embarrassed to tell people that I felt like a faerie or a green witch or some kind of Dr. Dolittle animal whisperer. I was running an online feminist magazine, managing a staff of 15-60, depending on the month. I was moving away from my hometown, starting to homeschool, trying to learn to share constant space with my (typically-telecommuting) partner who, outside of the paternity leave he took after our kids were born, I hadn’t ever spent more than a week with a time, and our two young children (one of whom is neurodiverse).
I turned away from Human Design then (now I know that I was listening to my gut) because I had an innate feeling that I’d become obsessed with it and I was, at the time, already obsessed with at least three things.
Over the last 6 or 8 months I’ve leaned into experiences that I wouldn’t have normally even considered. Those experiences led me to another and another to finally, to this place. The place where my life experience and my story merge to become the path I am meant to be on. The time in my life where the past no longer held me captive. The moment that I was ready to hear, and open, to it all.
Had Human Design entered my life fully 3 or 4 years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to see it for what it was — many of the answers I’d been looking for, in one place.
As it is now, on the heels of my mother’s death, on the doorstep of my turning 50, Human Design has been the most beautiful system I’ve ever studied.
I can’t explain it to you because I barely understand how it works. But what I know is that, not everything is meant to be explained immediately — if at all. The truth of this system for me has been an ability to see, not just myself, but also everyone I love most dearly, and even everyone beyond those that I love most dearly.
What I thought would happen, did.
Human Design came into my path and infiltrated every cell in my body. It enveloped me. I breathed it in like oxygen. I drank it like water.
I saw in it the truth of my path and purpose in a way I had never imagined. I saw almost immediately the power that Human Design offers to those who are willing to look at themselves through the lens of their energetic body.
Ultimately, I saw the possibility for widespread human healing. What would the world look like it it were relieved of its stories of suffering? How could we change everything around us simply by seeing the vitally important piece we are in this universal puzzle.
This study has released me from the need for perfection, it has showed me that much of what I have seen as painful is either is part of a larger picture my of life purpose or isn’t even mine to bear.
It has reframed the way I inhabit my earthly body, from powerless victim to purposeful survivor.
It has explained my pain.
It has clarified for me my role here.
It has shown me my potential.
It has opened me to the possibility of sharing this system with those who have felt the pain I’ve felt and who have looked, without finding, for something tangible to help them understand who they are and why they ended up here.
I am a Quantum Human Design Specialist, a mentor and guide, a fellow human in a state of constant growth and expansion, here to fulfill my purpose — which is to help you fulfill yours.