On Missing the Signals You Thought You Were Catching

My body melts down when it doesn’t get what it needs.

Not like the Wicked Witch of the West in the rain or anything, but my nervous system crashes. I get shaky. I can’t form words properly. Doctors who are supposed to be doing surgery on other people have to lead me to a quiet room with blankets and pillows stolen off a stretcher. (Shout out to Exeter Hospital for giving people warm blankets, even if those people aren’t technically being treated.)

I just got home from two weeks in New Hampshire where I was helping my aunt after surgery. While she’s a healthy, world-traveling, hash tag goals 85-year-old who can outpace me on walks, help move furniture, and recovered from the surgery very well, it still felt like a lot. I feel tired and discombobulated, especially after sitting in a highly unexpected half hour in traffic, when the trip should have taken eight minutes.

I really wanted to write today, because I’ve been so focused on other things for the last three weeks. Because today is my best day of the week to get things done - at least on paper. Because this week is filled with day-long void moons and, after losing an essay I loved to the internet black hole when I ignored my “don’t do anything you want to last during a void moon” rule, I am afraid that if it doesn’t happen right the F now, it won’t happen at all.

Which is my first cue to put my hands up and back slowly away. Whenever my brain says NOW IS THE ONLY TIME YOUR ONLY CHANCE IF YOU DON’T DO IT NOW YOU FAAAAAAIIIIIILLLLLLLL… I know that’s my cue to do something else, anything else.

Brain says yes. Body gives a hard no. Especially since I just realized I haven’t eaten any protein today. Or at least not enough. A sprinkle of chia seeds is apparently not enough.

The body is a messenger. When my head aches, I know that it’s time to drink more water and rest. When I start to feel shaky and nervous, I know it’s time to eat some protein and be alone for a while so I don’t 1) lose my ability to speak entirely or 2) verbally carve out someone’s spleen with my unadulterated frustration.

My body tells me very clearly when it’s done.

Sounds great, right? Like maybe something we should all have intrinsically. (And I guess we do? At least until every adult in our young lives tells us to stop.) But it took my five years of genuinely doing not much aside from listening to my body to get here. And still, I find myself missing cues. Big ones.

And this, my friends, is how we get taken out.

A few months ago, my back spasmed so badly that I ended up on the bathroom floor for three hours. Because I couldn’t move without pain so severe I scared the cats into another dimension with my screams. This is not an exaggeration. Except maybe for the alternate dimension part. I don’t know where those cats go. That’s none of my business. And what did I do to deserve such a terrible back spasm, you ask? Why, I was getting out of the shower. Nothing fancy. No high kicks. Just climbing out of the shower to dry myself off. And my back exploded.

That’s a humbling moment. After five years of listening to my body, I get laid out for a week for the grand crime of getting out of the shower.

Maybe there are some deeper changes that were being asked for, and those are still unfolding, but after a week of recovering from that back spasm and then a similar (if slightly less dramatic) back spasm three weeks later, I realized that my body was asking to get stronger.

Something that, to be fair, it’s been asking for for a very long time. I listened for a while, I worked with a trainer at a really cool gym in Santa Rosa. (Movement by Design is great if you live in the Bay Area and are also a middle aged lady recovering from adrenal burnout so extreme that you aren’t allowed to do anything more strenuous than walk slowly for two years.) My body started to shift, get stronger. And then I ran out of money for personal weekly sessions. Which is usually my cue to pick up the slack and continue on my own. Which I did. Sorta. But then it kind of faded because I am a framework person. An “I have already paid for this and so I am going to go no matter how hard my brain tries to wiggle me out of my commitment” person. Some call it lazy. I call it A Burning Need for Structure.

So I guess my back was telling me to get back to work. Because there are the obvious signals - I need a bathroom, I need protein, I need a nap. I’ve gotten much better about listening to those. At least when I’m not stuck in out-of-nowhere gridlocked traffic with no exit in sight. But there are also longer term signals, those drifting, repetitive thoughts asking you do something healthy. I guess those are easy to ignore. Until your back decides it’s had enough of your slouching, banana slug-like core, and tells you to get it together already.

Once again, I am getting it together. This time via regular barre classes. I’ve known for years that I need to get stronger again. I’m actually a very athletic person and I’m happier when I’m challenging my body daily. But when you’re told by a health professional that you can’t exercise until your tapped adrenals have restored themselves to their factory settings, you can forget that fact. The couch and your latest novel and snack can encourage you to stay in stasis. The call of broccoli can in no way compete with potato chips. Weights who want to be lifted can’t hold a candle to whatever new thing is streaming.

For me, it took years to learn how to listen to my body. And I’m still learning. Given that I’m 48, I’m going to master this level…and then get hit with menopause as soon as I relax.

This was my second essay for Substack. If you would like to receive my writing in your inbox, you can subscribe here.

Six Years of Nothing, And What Came After

Healing is so boring.

When a latte or a chocolate bar sends your cortisol blooming into an event that prevents you from sleeping more than two hours at a stretch, you have to be absurdly careful about what you eat.

When your energy is so low that doing the dishes feels like one of the twelve labors of Hercules, you end up watching a lot of TV.

When one conversation with one person requires three days of recovery time, you stop having friends.

Sure, we’re in the golden age of television and it can keep you pleasantly entertained for months, but at some point you start to want to have your own fun instead of watching fictional people have theirs.

But there’s often an interlude between “Maybe having some fun again sounds fun” and being able to actually marshal the resources to go out and have fun. Sometimes that interlude lasts a year or two. That’s when things get really boring.

Honestly, it’s still a little unclear what exactly I was healing from.

Neurodivergent burnout?

Probably. But the executive function required to get a diagnosis eluded me for years. By the time I was finally ready, the one person at Kaiser who assesses neurodivergence had just quit. No diagnosis for me.

Perimenopause?

Definitely. I started really struggling physically around 42. I’m 48 now. There’s a lot of correlation between undiagnosed neurodivergence and extreme perimenopause issues, and that would explain so much. But the majority of my experience in trying to find a diagnosis, a reason, was mostly just handing over a lot of blood in return for a perplexed shrug.

I do believe that mental, emotional, and physical health are intrinsically linked. We’re holistic beings, and separating everything out into symptoms isn’t doing anyone any good. That said, when the doctor I went to see about vulvodynia in my twenties suggested that I see a psychologist as the only form of treatment, as in, “It’s all in your head” - that was my true villain origin story. Especially after I found a specialist - luckily, one of the top specialists in the field was in San Francisco - and told him what my primary care doctor said. And then I watched as a 73-year-old man gently banged his head against the desk.

Which is to say, there are nuances.

The challenge of healing is that it, for the most part, isn’t a lot of fun. There are fun moments. You’ve got to find them, whatever rocks they’re hiding under, in any season of your life regardless of what’s happening. When you’re exhausted, watching Shrinking for the fourth time can be genuinely fun. When you’re exhausted, putting the release date of your favorite novelist’s new book in your calendar - and then reading the whole thing in a day - is genuinely fun. When someone else does the dishes for you because you can’t get off the couch, it’s maybe not fun, but that heaving sigh of relief is its own brand of joy.

Healing seasons can be long. You can go for ages without answers. You can go for ages where living out those answers - eating an anti-inflammatory diet, being ruthless about your sleep hygiene, saying no to so many things that everyone thinks you’re a jerk - are the only things you’re doing with your time.

I’m not sure where my tipping point was. For me, it was more mental than physical. I spent years doing the physical things. Though it’s hard to stay on an anti-inflammatory diet and, I regret to inform you, croissants and lattes and chocolate have slipped back in. (I don’t regret it at all. Unless the airline won’t let me board on Sunday because the weight listed on my driver’s license is so obviously wrong at this point.)

Once I had done enough of the physical things and was sleeping at least enough that my brain began functioning again, I was able to see where the internal patterns of my brain were perpetuating my symptoms.

Yes, you need some measure of financial stability so you don’t jerk awake at 3 a.m. over credit card debt anxiety. Yes, you need to make sure your cortisol is supported and your hormones aren’t taking you on an ancient wooden rollercoaster ride that leaves you jumpy and psychically bruised. But eventually you’ve got to address the places where your own habits of thought are swinging a baseball bat in a back alley.

For me, I would just be so mean to myself. Like, if you don’t have the money you need, it’s your fault. Never the fault of a failing system, never a consequence of health issues or long-unknown things catching up with me. But my fault and my fault alone. 100% responsibility for your life is a beautiful thing - unless you’re really mean to yourself about it. Self-flagellation does nobody any good.

So I learned, again, how to quiet my brain.

My favorite way, the way that worked beautifully even in the midst of the worst of the physical and financial stuff, was to imagine myself as a little ball of light that rose up to join all the other little balls of light until we were just one great sea of golden light where I could rest. Where I could allow my brain to quiet for awhile. Just a little break in the pattern. I don’t know what neurolinguistic programming has to say about pretending to be a little golden ball of light, but it sure worked for me.

I had to stop writing. For a writer, that’s rough. I had to let the meltdowns be okay, which was harder than it sounds when they happen around other people. I had to tell myself things were getting better even when the evidence was thin. And eventually, I had to lean into joy when it showed up.

Like when my cat would meow at me to give her preferred brand of pets in her preferred location. She likes hard pets from head to tail tip with a little bit of a tail yank at the end and she likes it on one specific window sill and under one specific plant. Occasionally I would try to pet other cats the same way and they would stare at me over their shoulder as if I had just violated them.

Joy could also look like writing a newsletter I was proud of, or lying in the grass and staring up into the branches of the pepper tree framed against the sky, or reading in the hammock. Joy could look like having the energy to build one friendship again. Joy was in getting the house decorated for Christmas and basking in the goddamn holiday cheer. Joy could look like going for a drive through the redwoods or a walk on the beach on a sunny Tuesday.

For awhile, it was simple, easy joy.

And after I had filled myself up with enough nature and enough quiet and enough distance from the things that endangered that quiet…I started wanting to actually have fun again.

Years. It took years. Roughly from the pandemic to now, 2026. Six years. Over half a decade.

And that’s okay. It was a season. And it will continue to be a season.

Just because I can make plans again without doing the energetic math a la “If I leave the house and talk to people today, I’ll need at least two days to recover” doesn’t mean I won’t ever need recovery time again.

Just because I can go to the city to meet a friend today and go to a movie screening tomorrow and go dancing the next day and get on a plane a few days after that doesn’t mean I’m not going to need to take a few naps and turn in early and avoid talking to people for awhile.

Did you know that on Sunday, I had three long conversations with people? Three! I was exhausted, I had to go to bed early, but I didn’t collapse under the weight of all that interaction. This is progress.

I will need to find some balance. I might crash in the middle of all these things. It might be inconvenient. But it’s such an enormous joy to say, You know what? I will go to that movie screening even though I had plans the day before. I will give myself permission to go dancing the next night if I have the energy even though I also need to be getting ready for a two-week trip.

I probably won’t collapse into a pile of goo.

I’m done being done with life.

Love, Amber

This was my first essay for Substack. If you would like to receive my writing in your inbox, you can subscribe here.

What I Learned About Winning From a Cutthroat Game of Sorry

I’m not much of a winner. At least when it comes to things like card games, contests, or croquet. 

My competitive spirit doesn’t get riled up by something that comes in a box, is meant to be entertaining, and has no significant impact on my life.

But there is one exception. 

Have you ever played Sorry? I’m obsessed. The version that lives at my mom’s house looks like it was printed in the late 1970s and the box is about two insincere sorrys away from disintegrating into a cloud of dust. It started coming out at family holidays a few years ago, and it’s become one of my favorite things about Christmas.

Sorry is fun because there are strategies to employ, but it’s mostly luck. You can be three moves away from winning and get sent right back to the beginning. You can be top dog and land abruptly back to the bottom. It’s exhilarating. 

This Christmas, we played three games of Sorry. I lost the first game and got mad. Since games don’t tend to register very high on my “This Matters”-o-meter, this was a weird moment for me.

As we set up for the second game, I decided to win.

Suddenly, winning was my destiny. I was calm, focused, and ready to dominate.

When my brother sent me back to the beginning, even though it would have been better for him to kick off someone else’s piece, I didn’t get mad again. I just calmly thought, “That’s okay, I’m going to win.” 

When I went from almost winning to behind every other player, I thought, “That’s okay, I’m going to win.” 

“That’s okay, I’m going to win” was my only strategy.

Guess what? I won. And then I won again. 

It was deeply life affirming.

Here’s what I didn’t do: 

I didn’t give up or change my end goal, even when it looked like I had no chance of triumph. 

My mom decide she couldn’t win when the board got stacked against her. So she changed her aim from winning to getting two pieces to the end. She got those two pieces home, but didn’t win. By adjusting her end game, she got what she said she wanted but didn’t win.

My brother got annoyed when his strategies didn’t work, and gave up. I get it, I tend to do that a lot in life, but it’s definitely not going to get you very far.

I also didn’t try to micromanage the game. I didn’t think things like, “I’m going to roll a ten to get ahead.” Or “I’m going to take my brother down, because his strategy bit me in the butt.” I just repeated my internal mantra of - you guessed it - “That’s okay, I’m going to win.” 

By remaining calm and focused, I had fun and I won. Twice.

Afterward, when I shared my strategy, Brandon said, “Now you just need to do that in life.” 

Haha sigh.

It’s definitely easier to stay focused during a 45-minute board game than it is for the seasons, years, decades it takes to bring big dreams to fruition.

It’s easier to float in zen-like detachment when it comes to a board game with nothing at stake than it is when it come to money or relationships or other things it feels like your happiness and security rely on.

But ultimately, our emotions aren’t the determining factor of what we receive or accomplish. It’s our focus.

So how do I take my Christmas board game wins and apply this lesson to the other things in my life?

How do we stay focused yet unattached to the outcome when it comes to things we really want?

My suspicion is that the secret is to have fun in the process. If I had won the game but had a lousy time it wouldn’t have been worth it. The only way to accomplish big things is to sustain focus - and, for me, the best way to do that is make sure I’m having plenty of fun while doing what it takes to get where I want to go.

One of my big goals in 2026 is making sure I’m having fun doing the things that are important to me. Creating ways to have fun while writing my books and running my intuitive business. Carving out time during the week to do things like roller-skate and go to the movie theater and see friends.

Because struggling through and giving up when it gets hard is no fun at all.

With love,

Amber

How To Determine If You’re a Specific or a Nonspecific Manifester

For a long time, I thought manifestation was bullshit.

It felt like the harder I tried, the less it worked.

Here’s what I was missing: an accurate understanding of how manifestation works for me.

We each have our own unique manifestation style, guided in large part by whether we’re a Specific or Nonspecific Manifester.

I was trying to manifest specific goals. But when I started getting obsessed with Human Design and learned that I’m a Nonspecific Manifester, my creation process began to make more sense.

If manifestation never seems to work for you, this may be why:

You’re a nonspecific manifester in a world built for specific manifesters. 

You thrive on vibes not logic.

You’re meant to zigzag toward joy instead of chaining yourself to your to-do list.

The more you focus on the outcome, the more frustrated you become.

The more you lean into how you want to feel, moment by moment, day by day, the more the universe rearranges reality in your favor.

Most of the manifestation information out there is geared toward specific manifesters. So if it feels like it never works, it’s not your fault. You’re just built differently.

Here’s How to Find out if You’re a specific or Nonspecific Manifester:

According to Human Design, we all have our own unique manifestation style. Knowing if you’re a Specific or a Nonspecific Manifester shows you how to best set goals and use your unique energy in manifestation. Your designation is based on your manifestation arrow, the bottom right arrow on your Human Design chart.

Step 1: Get Your Human Design Chart

You’ll need your exact birth date, time, and place.

You can generate a free chart here.

Step 2: Find the Bottom Right Arrow

Look for the four arrows around your head in the chart. They correspond to different aspects of awareness and manifestation. The bottom right arrow indicates your manifestation style.

Step 3: Check the Direction of the Bottom Right Arrow

If it points left, you’re a Specific Manifester.

Meaning, you manifest best when you’re clear and detailed about what you want. Focusing on details will help you receive and create what you want.

If it points right, you’re a Nonspecific Manifester.

Meaning, you manifest best when you focus on the feeling, essence, or vibe of what you want. Stay open to how it comes - and the universe fills in the details.

an easy way to remember the manifestation types:

Specific manifestation is a golden retriever.

You can train it to obey you. You still want to provide a healthy environment, but in general, the golden retriever will go where you tell it to go. 

Nonspecific manifestation is a slightly feral cat.

If you’ve ever met a cat, you know you can’t force it to do anything. All you can do is provide a safe environment and let the cat go where it wants, when it wants. The more you try to herd the cat, the more frustrated you’ll become. 

Most of the manifestation advice floating around on social media and bookshelves is designed for Specific Manifesters, the people who can slam their wizard staff to the ground and proclaim “I will create $10,000 this week.” And then they do it and get to feel smug. 

But for Nonspecific Manifesters, the more we aim for outcome, the more we cling to the end goal, the more aggressively we fail. As a Nonspecific Manifester, you’re meant to focus on how you want to feel. 

If you’ve ever tried to follow someone else’s plan to get something, and it feels like that never works…you’re probably a Nonspecific Manifester. You’re meant to skip steps. Where a Specific Manifester can follow a designated path from point A to Z, you probably need to zig zag. Veer off course because it feels fun. Go rollerskating instead of sticking to your to-do list for the day, because that’s how you stay in the frequency of the result you’re calling in. 

Specific manifesters get to feel super smug when they set and strategically reach that one million dollar goal. 

Nonspecific manifesters also get to feel smug, but they can’t cling to the end result. They have to bask in the vibes of how they want to feel and trust the universe to rearrange things in their favor, and not get discouraged when it comes in a different way before it shows up in the way they hoped for. 

Nonspecific bonus: roller skating instead of to do lists. Zigzagging toward joy instead of sticking to a plan. 

Love, Amber

P.S. If you want to go even deeper and learn about how you can apply these principles more powerfully in your own life, we talk about Specific and Nonspecific Manifestation in more depth in Magic Money Potion, so if you’re interested in more, join Cash Activator to get access. For more support, come to one of the group coaching sessions and I’d be happy to help you out with applying this in your own life.

Why You're So Tired Right Now

Today the answer is actually not because the world is a trash fire of existential despair.

Today’s answer is: Blame the moon.

That’s right, it’s the balsamic moon again!

I shout about the balsamic moon from the rooftops because if you’ve been pushing too hard or overdoing it in any way, the balsamic moon is when you’ll feel it.

You’ll be exhausted and have no idea why. The siren call of the nap will become impossible to ignore. You’ll trigger more easily. You will want to do zero things. You will politely request the entire world to come to a halt so you can climb into bed for three days.

If you haven’t been overdoing it over the past month, you might not feel it. Or just decide your bedtime is half an hour earlier than usual and call it a moon cycle.

But for those of us recovering perfectionists who are healing the hustle mentality and trying to exorcise the demon capitalism from our bodies?

We gonna wanna nap.

For years, I would crash face first into my couch for about three days every month and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with what was happening in my life or my own cycle. But when I started paying attention to the moon, I received my witch bonus: Getting to schedule the balsamic moon into my calendar so I wouldn’t accidentally plan anything that requires leaving the house.

So if you’ve been pushing yourself over the last month, you’re burning out (or already on fire), or have extra stresses in your life right now, this might be the moment when you crash. So give yourself the space and grace to take the rest as it comes.

If you’re doing fine, thanks, just take this as a moment to bank a bit of extra sleep.

Are you feeling it this month? Or are you good?

Tell me!

💛 Amber

P.S. I’m okay so far. I took a brief lunchtime nap and felt like the grocery store might do me in, but I’m not catatonic. 👍🏻

P.P.S. The balsamic moon is the three to four days before the new moon. It’s a time to rest, release, and open up to new visions. But mostly rest.