Savage & Sacred

✦ Pro Tip I chose to stop being the one who gets left with nothing, and this journal was my blueprint to get out. If you're ready to reclaim your independence, click here to start your own Boujee Hustle . What happens when you stop numbing, stop running, and actually pay attention. Most people want the majick without acknowledging the mess. They want the glow‑up, the clarity, the peace — but not the chaos that comes first. I’ve learned the hard way that it doesn’t work like that. Majick isn’t mystical.  It’s intentional Majick didn’t start when things got good. It started when I stopped running. I realized something recently that changed everything. The version of me that drank, used, chased chaos, and burned things down — that wasn’t me.  That was a survival identity. A version I built to get through what I didn’t know how to face yet. And here’s the hard part: if I want to move forward, I can’t bring that version of myself with me. Not because she’...

  Everyone loves a girl boss who grinds 24/7. Wake up at 5am. Meditate. Journal. Workout. Build your empire before breakfast. Then do it all again tomorrow. Fuck that. I have ADHD. My brain doesn't do "structured morning routines." My brain does "hyperfocus on one thing for 17 hours straight then burn out and sleep for two days." And for a long time, I thought that was my superpower. Meth made it even better — or so I thought. Suddenly I could DO everything. Start a project, finish it, start another one. I was productive as fuck. I was FINALLY the girl boss everyone talks about. Except I wasn't building anything real. I was just spinning. Fast. In circles. Thinking I was going somewhere. Hustle culture tells you that rest is lazy. That sleep is for people who don't want it bad enough. That if you're not grinding, you're falling behind. You know what that mentality gave me? Burnout Addiction A body that forgot how to function without chemicals A b...

Look. I'm just gonna be honest with you because we're all friends here and I respect you too much to pretend I have my life together. I am poor. Not like "oh no, I can only afford the regular oat milk" poor. I mean "I just did math to figure out if sleep counts as a meal" poor. So I'm putting it out into the universe: I am manifesting a sugar daddy. Not in a weird way. Okay, maybe in a little weird way. But like, a charming weird. An endearing weird. A "wow, she's really out here trying" weird. What I Bring to the Table: Chaotic but supportive energy I will hype you up in any group chat Memes sent directly to your phone at 2am The audacity of a woman who genuinely posted this Prayers? I guess? This blog IS called Savage and Sacred What I Need: Money That's it That's the list Qualifications for the Position: Must have: money Nice to have: a sense of humor about giving it to me [Donate Here and Become My Personal Hero] Thank you for ...

  I'm living in a fifth wheel with a 90-pound brindle chaos demon named Glizzy, building a whole brand from my phone and laptop, sober (again), while my partner's locked up. That's the short version. The long version has a lot more mess in it — but you don't need all that. What you need to know is this: I've burned my life down before. Sometimes on purpose. Sometimes by accident. Sometimes because I handed the matches to someone else like a dumbass. And every single time, I've rebuilt. This time is different though. Not because I've "finally learned my lesson" — I hate that phrase. But because this time, I'm building something that's OURS. Not just mine. Something real that'll still be standing when he comes home. He's working on himself in there. That's his story to tell, not mine. Out here, I'm working on ME. Staying sober when my ADHD brain is screaming for something to make it shut up. Figuring out how to make money from...

This works because your brain can’t spiral and concentrate on complex language at the same time Whenever I feel anxiety creeping in — that restless “what the fuck do I do with myself” feeling — I always remember a really good friend who taught me this verse.. saying.. whatever the fuck it's called, I will legit say this muthafucker out loud because it forces my brain to focus — and it works. One red hen A couple of ducks Three brown bears Four fast hares Five simple simon's sitting on a fence tryna make a dollar out of fifteen cents Six soliciting solicitor's solicited down sixth-street Seven slimy sailor's sailed the seven seas Eight elegant alligators elevated up eight elevators Nine nibbling nibloids nibbled on nine noodles Ten - One fig plucker said to the other fig plucker, I'm not a fig plucker I'm a fig plucker's son and I'll pluck figs until the fig pluckers come then you repeat only backwards emoc srekculp ha jk Ten - One fig plucker said to th...

  Here's something nobody talks about when you "turn your life around": You go broke. Like, BROKE broke. When I was using and selling, I had cash. Not "retirement fund" money. Not "savings account" money. But "I can buy what I want today" money. A bottle of hard liquor? Sure. Two cases of teas? Make it four. New clothes? Why not. Shit for my man? Done. I wasn't worried about it. The money came in and the money went out and there was always more coming. Now? I'm sober. I'm not selling. I'm trying to build something legit from a fifth wheel with a laptop and a prayer. And I'm broker than I've ever been in my life. Nobody warns you about this part. The part where doing the right thing feels like a punishment. The part where you watch people still in the life flexing while you're over here counting pennies. The part where your brain goes, "Remember when we had money? We could just... go back to that." That vo...

People think addiction is about chasing a high. Like we're out here fiending for euphoria, scratching at the walls for one more hit of that good feeling. Nah. For me, it was never about the high. It was about the quiet. I have ADHD. My brain is a goddamn tornado on a normal day — 47 tabs open, nothing loading, everything urgent, nothing getting done. There's no volume knob. No off switch. Just noise, noise, noise, all the time. Meth made it stop. Not in a "zoned out" way. In a "holy shit I can finally THINK" way. Suddenly I could focus. I could start a task and actually finish it. I could exist without feeling like my skull was full of screaming bees. Booze did something similar — not the focus, but the calm. The "I don't give a fuck" that felt like peace. So no, I don't really crave it. Not the way people think. I'm just... bored. Under-stimulated. My brain is back to full volume and I forgot how fucking loud it is in here. Sobriety is...