I created this blog about 4 years ago. It still amazes me that I’m here, albeit sporadically.


It started out as Anachel, then My Renaissance Life, before landing on A Renaissance Glow. But that’s not where this ends. In truth, this is just the beginning.


Recently, I purchased — watch out world, I’m coming attcha ;)


This blog is filled with details about me, yet still some things remain untapped.


But first: hello, my name is kristy.


I put butter in my vegan banana chocolate muffin recipes. Because, butter.


My nickname is bubbles. Because, champagne. Well, Princess bubbles to be exact, but damn that sounds high maintenance.


And I’m anything but.


I prefer a white tank and jeans, motorcycle boots and my unruly wavy mane — my lioness’ locks.


I prefer Tinder to Match or eHarmony because I don’t believe you set out to find love. Love finds you when you least expect it. That and…


Who doesn’t like to be pressed to a wall with the starry sky your only view, breathless as your bodies eclipse?


What? I’m a lady and shouldn’t talk of such things?


Grow up and get over it. I have.


The perks of this renaissance life of mine is that I know who I am and what I want. I may be a mother, pharmacist, writer, divorcee, spiritual soul etc., but I have a pulse and I know exactly what mine is telling me.


I’m a wild love with a curious mind and grace-filled soul.


I’m a hopeful romantic, a passionate poetess unafraid to reach and release my tunneled desires.


I have a Doctor of Pharmacy and am a Modern Mystic.


I believe in miracles and magic, in the power of love and belief, and that the most spiritual thing one can do is come home to one’s messy humanness and stare down anything but love that surfaces.


I believe LIFE is abundance in motion; that no matter how many times the Earth revolves around the sun, it’ll never compare the days I’ve dared to show up, vulnerable and believing that I am enough just as I am right now in this moment.


Not once I’m more eloquent and have published a book, or lost ten pounds or erased the crow’s feet that mark the years I’ve revolved around the sun.


I am beautiful, flaws and all. And my beauty has it has nothing to do with looks.


I believe sciences and spirituality are twins.


You may think those as two opposite, and often conflicting, realities, but they fit together by design. Much like our right and left brains, that when synched, unlock the multidimensional being we each are.


I’m tired of the “how to earn six figures” or the “manifest abundance in your life” posts and ads. I earn six figures and can tell you it means damn near nothing when you’re knee deep in the poverty of soul.


You already ARE living and breathing abundance. Until you know that, you’ll hustle to fill the hole of perceived lack.


Nothing external will fill that eternal ache.


I tried – with sex, shopping — the bags with tags, food and “spiritualty” or “personal development”.


Ten years ago I sat down at my dining room table and wrote the following: The wax and wane of this muddled existence has left me feeling next to zero. Move along zombie…


I was checked out and definitely not listening to my pulse let alone allowing my inner voice guide.


I silenced her for most of my life. Because it wasn’t safe. She gets hurt when I let my glow show.


I was bullied quite extensively during my childhood.


From the boys it was about my appearance. They would whisper and taunt me about my weight as if being bigger meant I was worth less (worthless). In elementary school a few would start shaking and falling over as I walked by because my size was seismic to them.


I remember being called a dog on the playground day-after-day, barked at and the butt of jokes.


The weight taunts continued into middle school.


While in band I was given the nickname BATS (busting at the seams) from a boy who played the trumpet near my saxophone section. Another called me Ursula while we were watching The Little Mermaid. A treat you know to get to watch a movie in class.


I’ve heard those whispers echoed in my mind for decades. Until they became the words I used with myself.


I experienced the freeze out from the girls too. I remember, like it was yesterday, the moment a spokesperson for my group of friends informed me that, “they don’t want to play with me anymore.”


I was crushed. I cried in the school bathroom letting the cold tiles soak up my tears.


Later in life I wrote a poem, Fuck Pink, as I ached from the betrayal of this supposed girl sisterhood.


I found a new friend but she was subsequently absorbed into that same group.


I was alone and unknowing of how to be found worthy of inclusion. Middle school was a myriad of lunch room tables and cliques for which I ping-ponged my way through, never landing with my tribe.


I smiled always, as everything was fine. I pushed down who I was and how I felt to survive.


I internalized that there was something wrong with me, that I was defective and untouchable.


I attracted a relationship where during the most intimate moment between a man and a women, he proceeded to indicate every fault with my body and how it was not desirable to him.


As if I needed to apologize for my presence and lack of perfection. I stayed with him for awhile as I felt that was what I deserved. You know, because I’m worth less and, as such, deserve less.


It’s taken a shit ton of work to flip the story, that I’m unlovable, unworthy and not enough, that I’ve carried most of my life.


They say to own your story. To own your shit. But DO NOT own your shame. And sure as hell DO NOT own another’s shit.


It’s not yours. Bring it to the light and let it go.


The zombie poem ended with: I’m stalled on the threshold of happily-ever-after, always on the outside looking in, unwilling and unsure of how to begin. 


I can tell you now, it begins with you.


It begins when you can sit and bear the pain of the stories you let define you, when you can allow the flames of truth engulf but not consume you, letting it burn all that is not you, until what remains is you: your light and your true self.


Then you can cross over the threshold and write your own happily-ever-after.