I moved to Seattle in 1997 and when I arrived, I had exactly zero friends. I’d just graduated college, I went to Cal Poly San Luis Obispo and I had an absolutely beautiful life there. Anyone who’s ever been to “SLO” town knows it’s a magical little hub of activity, art, charm, great food, great scenery and soul. I felt like a fool for leaving, but there was something about Seattle and Me—and I’d known this since I was a kid. The best way I can describe it is, Seattle just has “the feel.” It smells right, the pace is right, the people have their odd idiosyncrasies for sure, but they feel right too. One might say, “Seattle feels right as rain.”

It just feels like me, it’s where I belong.

When I moved back, I didn’t know what to do. “Okay, I’m here! Now what!” I had a cat, Harley, back in those days and we spent a lot of time staring at each other. I swear she’d peer at me with this, “Get a life already…” look in her eyes.

So, one day I started walking. A lot. I lived in the Capitol Hill neighborhood and man, is it ever picture book charming. I couldn’t get enough of it, I was like the “Forrest Gump” of the Hill. I walked every chance I got.

On one of my walks, it was nearing dusk when the light became that pure bluish sensation and…something weird happened; a large pretty yellow house caught my eye. In fact, it was stronger than “catching my eye,” it felt like it outright grabbed my attention. I stopped for a moment and I sa-wear…the house started talking to me. Not in the way the trees talked to the elves and dwarves in The Lord of the Rings. It was more like I was being given imagery, impressions and a lot of feelings and emotional data.

“Ohhhhhh!” I softly cried out as I listened to the yellow house. It was so chipper and friendly looking but that’s not how it felt. It felt sad and lonely and confused. It felt full of sorrow and longing. If the house could hug itself, it would have. If I could’ve walked right up to the front door and hugged the house, I would have!

A few years later, I started learning energy work, not because of the houses, but because I was super-awful-no bueno-very-bad-terribly sick and wasn’t getting well. I needed answers and was tired of blank stares from doctors. At Energy Work School, I did get well and I also learned how to work with the “stuff we can’t see.” I parlayed that to specifically working with homes.

I had long forgotten about the yellow house and the significance of those earlier days of walking and talking to houses. Then, one day I was driving through Capitol Hill and I audibly inhaled as I came across…that same yellow house! I wouldn’t have remembered the home even though I’d walked by it countless times. What I did remember though was how the house felt.

This is all pretty weird right?

But what if it’s not? I mean, we’ve all heard the phrase, “Woewee, if these walls could talk” (ha-ha-ha) “I wonder what THEY’D say!” (wink wink, nudge nudge.)

So then, what if our homes do have something they desperately want to share? Something that’s making it feel heavy and burdened? What if we slowed ourselves way down, paused at our thresholds and tuned in—what do you imagine your home would tell you?

I often work with clients that are stepping into this kind of conversation, but mostly out of need or the feeling of “having to” because there is so much distress going on. It doesn’t have to get that out of sorts though! We can start tuning into and listening into our homes right now.

Wondering how to do this? Start with some easy questions, like:

-Does your home feel more feminine or more masculine?
-Are there certain rooms that you absolutely love to be in?
-Are there areas that you don’t like to hang out in, perhaps a room that even creeps you out?
-What’s the history of your home? Have you ever explored that?
-Who lived there before you? What was on the property before it was a home?

You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by getting to know the space you live in. Not YOU in the space, but the space, independent of you. When we do this (and I’ve seen this happen a gazillion times) your home starts to feel calmer, livelier, and like a friendly space—and also, it’s fun!

Get to know your space, my friends, and if you want some help—I’m here to help listen in.

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