I had prepared for months, getting my lyrics and chords into my body. I rehearsed weekly with my guitarist and took voice lessons to build stamina. Then, two days before my house concert—with 50 people RSVPed—I got the flu and had to cancel. It took me three weeks for my lungs to clear. This wasn’t the last time my body would try to stop me from sharing my heart and soul.

When I was a young mother, I had a recurring nightmare where I struggled to reach my attic through a cramped, winding tunnel with dark wooden stairs. Once I crawled through the claustrophobic opening, I’d enter a giant attic space.

Have you ever been somewhere so magnificent that you wanted to bottle it? A few summers ago, my family backpacked to Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness of the Sierras--a place that filled us with swells of awe as we hiked the lush 10 miles to the lake.

We were a small group of mothers on a getaway to a remote Maui house perched on a lava cliffside. On our first morning, we climbed 20 feet down the cliff, stepping carefully over knife sharp edges and slippery wet zones.  Waves rushed back and forth against the rock making it hard to keep our footing and enter the deep Pacific. With no sandy beaches for miles, we were feeling wild, witchy and free.