Cheryl & Zoe
We are the reckless, the wild, the seekers of spirit.
We stand where the earth hums a sacred song,
Where roots whisper your name,
And the wind knows your wounds.
You are not alone in the dark—
We see your trauma’s quiet ache,
We feel your anxiety’s restless tide,
We hold your stress’s hidden weight.
The wild is our temple, our healer, our light.
We breathe with the divine in the soil,
We dance with the unseen in the storm,
We rise with the spirit that calls you home.
We walk with you—scarred, seeking, whole beneath it all—
Through the dirt that cradles,
Through the fire that frees,
To a peace that’s yours, always waiting.
Reckless Healers
You feel it, don’t you?
That quiet pull toward something more.
Not because you’re broken.
But because you’re ready to expand.
You’ve always known there’s a deeper truth inside you—
a power that doesn’t need permission,
a knowing that doesn’t ask for proof.
We’re Cheryl and Zoe, the Reckless Healers.
We’ve followed that same pull—
out of expectations, out of survival mode,
and into a life that feels wildly, unapologetically ours, spiritual healer .
We’re not here to fix you.
You were never broken.
It's anxiety's trick.
We’re here to help you remember.
To rise.
To lead yourself home.
You don’t need saving.
You just need space to roar.
And we’ve built that space for you.
You’re torn, aren’t you? Lost in a fog, alone with your echoes, feeling unseen, unloved—like you’re fading into nothing. Trauma’s ripped you open, anxiety’s drowned your voice, stress has you doubting you’re worth finding. But listen, sister—you’re not invisible. Not to us. We’ve been there, felt that ache, and we’re here now, reaching for you. The earth knows your name, its breath cradles your hurt, its pulse begs you to rise. You’re enough—right here. Step in. We won’t let you go.
I’m a wreck tonight, scribbling this in the dark in anxiety's grip . Pain’s a knife twisting in my gut, sharp and relentless, a ghost I can’t bury.
Misery clings like damp rot—every move sluggish, every thought a weight pulling me under.
I’m so alone it hurts—nobody hears the screams I choke down, nobody sees the pieces I’ve shattered into.
Trauma’s hollowed me out, left me a shell; anxiety’s a buzzsaw in my skull, shredding my quiet; stress is a noose tightening slow.
I’m unseen, unloved, a shadow fading into nothing. I’ve been clawing for air, for something—anything—to prove I’m still here.
But something’s shifting.
I stepped outside today, barefoot on cold earth, and it hit me—a pulse, steady, alive, like the ground was breathing with me.
I let the wind rip through my hair, felt it carry the noise away, piece by piece. I knelt by a stream, watched the water flow, and something in me loosened—grief spilling out, lighter with every ripple.
The fire I lit later crackled, eating up the dark I’d carried too long, and for once, I didn’t feel empty. I stood there, trembling, but not broken—seen by the trees, held by the dirt, loved by something bigger than me.
I’m not just surviving now; I’m waking up, fearless, unshackled. You’re not alone in this either—I feel you rising too.
The messages are always right on time.
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