hi, I'm Salt.

Yes that is my real name, and yes I chose it.

hi, I'm Salt.

Yes that is my real name
... and yes I chose it. 

We all have
so much to say... 


This is not my whole story, but it is a part of what built me.

When you hear this part, I hope you see my humanity, my truth, my courage, my strength and my unconditional love for you.

I hope you see the beauty of my nonconformity, and my stand for you to find yours.

prefer a video instead? check videos tab...

" They tried to “fix me”
... but didn’t
see  me.

 

Since I can remember I’ve always felt alone in a room full of people, socializing felt awkward because belonging did.

The conversations of the world felt superfluous, the ideas stale, the ambitions lame.

I was great at pretending to fit in, but doing it always felt like soul death.

I pushed the boundaries, questioned everything, and fought for a world where there was room for everyone… because I didn’t see any room for me.

“You should be a lawyer.” they said, because I wanted to debate and challenge how it was.

"Why do you have to look so different? Can't you just blend in a little..." they said, feeling embarrassed by my style.

“Why do you have to make everything so hard…” they said, frustrated that I wouldn't do what they wanted.


My intentions were pure positivity, but they labeled me difficult, rebellious, angry, unruly; I was the black sheep.

I never felt gotten, which left me restless & on full-tilt to show them that someday, I’d be somebody.

They tried to
“fix me” but didn’t
see  me.

 
Since I can remember I’ve always felt alone in a room full of people, socializing felt awkward because belonging did. The conversations of the world felt superfluous, the ideas stale, the ambitions lame.

I was great at pretending to fit in, but doing it always felt like soul death.

I pushed the boundaries, questioned everything, and fought for a world where there was room for everyone… because I didn’t see any room for me.

“You should be a lawyer.” they said, because I wanted to debate and challenge how it was.

"Why do you have to look so different? Can't you just blend in a little..." they said, feeling embarrassed by my style.

“Why do you have to make everything so hard…” they said, when I wouldn't just do what they wanted.


My intentions were pure positivity, but they labeled me difficult, rebellious, angry, unruly; I was the black sheep.

I never felt gotten, which left me restless & on full-tilt to show them that someday, I’d be somebody.

" They labeled me the bad girl ... so I became one.

 

Then there was a boy, a friend, a kiss, a jealousy, an infidelity and before my 12 year old love-starved soul could calculate the cost, I became the outcast.

Not only was I “not cool” anymore, I was a danger, because speaking to me meant you’d be the next for social death.

Wanting to protect my fragile heart, and not knowing how to process my friendless existence, I resorted to creating a new narrative around being an outcast… I was no victim, I didn’t need them, I chose this.

I began to build my rebel rep with tweenage abandon; goth clothing, head shaving, cigarettes and curse words… I was in control now, or so I told myself.

I ran away from home and lived on the streets for a short while, ate from soup kitchens, hung with drug dealers, got drunk under overpasses, huffed model glue for a cheap high, played chicken with oncoming traffic, laid down in graveyards taunting demons, and stole Christmas money out of mailbox envelopes to live on.

I became the girl they had always mislabelled me as: trouble maker, screw up, pissed off, criminal, bad girl.

The cops caught me one night at a friend’s, and gave me the ultimatum. Group home or back home, I chose to go back home but the battles were far from over.

"They labeled me the bad girl,
so I became one.


Then there was a boy, a friend, a kiss, a jealousy, an infidelity and before my 12 year old love-starved soul could calculate the cost, I became the outcast.

Not only was I “not cool” anymore, I was a danger, because speaking to me meant you’d be the next for social death.

Wanting to protect my fragile heart, and not knowing how to process my friendless existence, I resorted to creating a new narrative around being an outcast… I was no victim, I didn’t need them, I chose this.

I began to build my rebel rep with tweenage abandon; goth clothing, head shaving, cigarettes and curse words… I was in control now, or so I told myself.

I ran away from home and lived on the streets for a short while, ate from soup kitchens, hung with drug dealers, got drunk under overpasses, huffed model glue for a cheap high, played chicken with oncoming traffic, laid down in graveyards taunting demons, and stole Christmas money out of mailbox envelopes to live on.

I became the girl they had always mislabelled me as: trouble maker, screw up, pissed off, criminal, bad girl.

The cops caught me one night at a friend’s, and gave me the ultimatum. Group home or back home, I chose to go back home but the battles were far from over.

" Never let the bullies
see you cry
.

 

My new bad girl rep got me lots of attention that I believed I wanted, or at least thought I could handle.

Having people scared of me worked for a while, allowing me to stop the soul death of feeling invisible, while still keeping everyone far enough away so they couldn’t hurt me anymore.

But then came highschool where the older and popular girls waged psychological warfare the minute I arrived – public shaming nicknames, locker note threats and sheer age-gap intimidation worked on my loved starved insecurities like a charm. 

I was the strong stoic one, convincing myself that they were beneath me so I refused to dignify their bullying with a response, which made me an even easier target.

To survive I hardened my spirit, built my heart wall higher, and never gave them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I did that in private.

That year I learned that “taking the high road” is not the same thing as being a human punching bag.  Some lessons are painful.

A new core belief was formed that year, “Keep your guard up because the world is out to get you, you don’t belong anywhere.”

"Never let the bullies see you cry.


My new bad girl rep got me lots of attention that I believed I wanted, or at least thought I could handle.

Having people scared of me worked for a while, allowing me to stop the soul death of feeling invisible, while still keeping everyone far enough away so they couldn’t hurt me anymore.

But then came highschool where the older and popular girls waged psychological warfare the minute I arrived – public shaming nicknames, locker note threats and sheer age-gap intimidation worked on my loved starved insecurities like a charm. 

I was the strong stoic one, convincing myself that they were beneath me so I refused to dignify their bullying with a response, which made me an even easier target.

To survive I hardened my spirit, built my heart wall higher, and never gave them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I did that in private.

That year I learned that “taking the high road” is not the same thing as being a human punching bag.  Some lessons are painful.

A new core belief was formed that year, “Keep your guard up because the world is out to get you, you don’t belong anywhere.”

"Bad boys" can smell love starved  from miles away.

 

Feeling invalidated, rejected & unloved I fell into the arms of every bad boy interested. 

The emotional high of danger, the rebellious criminality, the status of “rebel girl arm candy” – it was intoxicating… just like the vodka coolers I downed like water to get soul peace in the midst of chaos.

I became a bodybuilder to create even more soul armour, managed my stress with binge eating, and my sex appeal with purging, so I could keep up my status with the bad boys.

Being lusted after, felt validating. Being protected by the outsiders, made me finally feel like an insider. I needed it, I sold everything for it, my school, my sports, my soul, my body and my virginity.

I was now a high school drop out, a functional alcoholic and a bad boy play thing. And I had no idea how much worse it was about to get.

"Bad boys" can smell love starved
from a mile away.


Feeling invalidated, rejected & unloved I fell into the arms of every bad boy interested. 

The emotional high of danger, the rebellious criminality, the status of “rebel girl arm candy” – it was intoxicating… just like the vodka coolers I downed like water to get soul peace in the midst of chaos.

I became a bodybuilder to create even more soul armour, managed my stress with binge eating, and my sex appeal with purging, so I could keep up my status with the bad boys.

Being lusted after, felt validating. Being protected by the outsiders, made me finally feel like an insider. I needed it, I sold everything for it, my school, my sports, my soul, my body and my virginity.

I was now a high school drop out, a functional alcoholic and a bad boy play thing. And I had no idea how much worse it was about to get.

" The day I never met Skyler.

 

The day I got pregnant at 14 years old, I didn’t even fully comprehend the biology of it all.

I knew I let him do it, I knew he was done, and I didn’t know much else… until my period was late. Then I knew. I just knew.

I told my Dad, the peacemaker, that I thought I was pregnant. We were on a family vacation so he kept it to himself until we returned home.

After school that first day back, I came home to an eerie quiet: a pregnancy test on the counter, my father waiting in the kitchen, my mother silently enraged and leaning over the toaster to light a menthol cigarette, I guess this moment, she quit quitting. 

Test done. 2 minute wait. Pregnant. I sat on the floor, hugging a pillow like a little girl, crying uncontrollable. Nobody spoke.

The next few days, and without any conversations about it, arrangements were being made behind the scenes. 

I was to have an abortion. 

We would need to drive across the border where they were legal, where nobody would know us, and where we could put this all behind us, quietly.

I didn’t want to kill my baby, I wanted to keep my baby, I wanted to give love to my baby, in a way I had never felt loved myself. Was that wrong? Was I doomed to pass down all my flaws to her? Or was this my chance to turn my life around?

I wish I could say I was strong enough. I wish I could say I was brave enough. I wish I could say that today my child is a beautiful, healthy, loved human with a Mom who fought for her. I wish that was true, but it isn’t, because I didn’t. I told myself I was in-over-my-head, that I needed to start over, to get my life right, and that this was just the way it had to be. 

So the next week we drove across the border, ominous and anonymous. I cried in the waiting room, I cried putting on my hospital gown, I cried lying down on the table with my feet in the cold metal stirrups, I cried while the nurses consoled me. 

“Don’t worry honey…” they said. “This won’t take long at all, here breathe into this mask.”

Intoxicated with laughing gas I was the embodiment of chaos. Uncontrollably laughing out loud with tears trapped deep below them, as I felt them painfully scraping the baby out of my womb, wishing my heart would stop too.

Once the laughing gas stopped streaming and it was over, again the nurses consoled me:

“Don’t worry honey, it wasn’t a baby, this is all it was.”  The show and tell of “just cells”; pieces scattered about in a cold steel bowl, is forever photographically etched into my mind.

She was a girl, my heart knows it. I named her Skyler. This year Skyler would have been 29, but she didn’t get the chance to be anything. I failed her.

That day, I knew that being a good girl was the worst choice I had ever made.

I should never have done what they wanted, I should never have given into this.  I will regret this decision forever, and I will never let anyone control me ever again. Being a bad girl – was safer.

"The day I never met Skyler.

 

The day I got pregnant at 14 years old, I didn’t even fully comprehend the biology of it all.

I knew I let him do it, I knew he was done, and I didn’t know much else… until my period was late. Then I knew. I just knew.

I told my Dad, the peacemaker, that I thought I was pregnant. We were on a family vacation so he kept it to himself until we returned home.

After school that first day back, I came home to an eerie quiet: a pregnancy test on the counter, my father waiting in the kitchen, my mother silently enraged and leaning over the toaster to light a menthol cigarette, I guess this moment, she quit quitting. 

Test done. 2 minute wait. Pregnant. I sat on the floor, hugging a pillow like a little girl, crying uncontrollable. Nobody spoke.

The next few days, and without any conversations about it, arrangements were being made behind the scenes. 

I was to have an abortion. 

We would need to drive across the border where they were legal, where nobody would know us, and where we could put this all behind us, quietly.

I didn’t want to kill my baby, I wanted to keep my baby, I wanted to give love to my baby, in a way I had never felt loved myself. Was that wrong? Was I doomed to pass down all my flaws to her? Or was this my chance to turn my life around?

I wish I could say I was strong enough. I wish I could say I was brave enough. I wish I could say that today my child is a beautiful, healthy, loved human with a Mom who fought for her. I wish that was true, but it isn’t, because I didn’t. I told myself I was in-over-my-head, that I needed to start over, to get my life right, and that this was just the way it had to be. 

So the next week we drove across the border, ominous and anonymous. I cried in the waiting room, I cried putting on my hospital gown, I cried lying down on the table with my feet in the cold metal stirrups, I cried while the nurses consoled me.  

“Don’t worry honey…” they said. “This won’t take long at all, here breathe into this mask.” 

Intoxicated with laughing gas I was the embodiment of chaos. Uncontrollably laughing out loud with tears trapped deep below them, as I felt them painfully scraping the baby out of my womb, wishing my heart would stop too.

Once the laughing gas stopped streaming and it was over, again the nurses consoled me:

“Don’t worry honey, it wasn’t a baby, this is all it was.”  The show and tell of “just cells”; pieces scattered about in a cold steel bowl, is forever photographically etched into my mind.

She was a girl, my heart knows it. I named her Skyler. This year Skyler would have been 29, but she didn’t get the chance to be anything. I failed her.

That day, I knew that being a good girl was the worst choice I had ever made.

I should never have done what they wanted, I should never have given into this.  I will regret this decision forever, and I will never let anyone control me ever again.

Being a bad girl – was safer.

" Bulimia, drugs & identity crisis.

 

I went all in on modern day demons, masquerading as freedoms.

Raging against God, the world, my parents, my past, and my own toxic self image, I spent the rest of my teens and twenties chasing everything that offered danger, risk, adrenaline, intoxication, and the substitute for what I really needed but didn’t know how to receive: love.

I was hell bent, I was judging the judgers, and I was killing us all with my own wrecking ball.

Drug use, alcohol abuse, stripping, sexual crisis, satanic bibles, binge & purge rituals, narcissists and gaslighters, and making sure to ruin anything that felt pure – because love felt uncomfortable.

Even though there were many beautiful messengers and divine interventions to speak into my life during that time, my self loathing would sabotage any happiness in favour of my comfort zone – chaos. 

Any short bouts of joy that I did let in, seemed to bring with them a peace, stability, gentleness and respect, that felt boringly average – and I couldn’t stand the thought of letting myself become anything resembling average.

" Bulimia, drugs & identity crisis.

 

I went all in on modern day demons, masquerading as freedoms.

Raging against God, the world, my parents, my past, and my own toxic self image, I spent the rest of my teens and twenties chasing everything that offered danger, risk, adrenaline, intoxication, and the substitute for what I really needed but didn’t know how to receive: love.

I was hell bent, I was judging the judgers, and I was killing us all with my own wrecking ball.

Drug use, alcohol abuse, stripping, sexual crisis, satanic bibles, binge & purge rituals, narcissists and gaslighters, and making sure to ruin anything that felt pure – because love felt uncomfortable.

Even though there were many beautiful messengers and divine interventions to speak into my life during that time, my self loathing would sabotage any happiness in favour of my comfort zone – chaos. 

Any short bouts of joy that I did let in, seemed to bring with them a peace, stability, gentleness and respect, that felt boringly average – and I couldn’t stand the thought of letting myself become anything resembling average.

" Suicide pills & rusty Jesus.

 

On a particular day my demons caught up to me.  Worldly freedoms felt empty, the rebel life had promised so much more high than it delivered, and my soul felt broken.

I grabbed a bottle of prescription meds, walked to a hill behind my house and decided that killing myself would be the best way to make my life matter. 

If they could see how much they hurt me, shamed me, scarred me, blamed me, and left me for dead… then the world would finally see that I mattered. I would be the martyr; the altar upon which other women would be saved from the world, the demons and themselves. 

I sat on the hill, holding the pills in my hand, envisioning my die for the change plan, and somehow time just stopped. My fireworks brain flashed in a million directions in space and time. I saw things I hadn’t yet seen, and felt things I hadn’t yet felt. I don’t know how long I was there, but when the sun was setting I found myself walking…

I was feeling drunk on inner peace, floating home on autopilot, when it happened. A glimmer in the grass, something silver and shiny reflecting off of the orange sun in a massive field in the middle of nowhere, and as I leaned over to investigate, I found a broken chain, through a rusty cross, with Jesus on it.

I found Jesus in the grass.

" Suicide pills & rusty Jesus.

 

On a particular day my demons caught up to me.  Worldly freedoms felt empty, the rebel life had promised so much more high than it delivered, and my soul felt broken.

I grabbed a bottle of prescription meds, walked to a hill behind my house and decided that killing myself would be the best way to make my life matter. 

If they could see how much they hurt me, shamed me, scarred me, blamed me, and left me for dead… then the world would finally see that I mattered. I would be the martyr; the altar upon which other women would be saved from the world, the demons and themselves. 

I sat on the hill, holding the pills in my hand, envisioning my die for the change plan, and somehow time just stopped. My fireworks brain flashed in a million directions in space and time. I saw things I hadn’t yet seen, and felt things I hadn’t yet felt. I don’t know how long I was there, but when the sun was setting I found myself walking…

I was feeling drunk on inner peace, floating home on autopilot, when it happened. A glimmer in the grass, something silver and shiny reflecting off of the orange sun in a massive field in the middle of nowhere, and as I leaned over to investigate, I found a broken chain, through a rusty cross, with Jesus on it.

I found Jesus in the grass.

" I became a demon slayer, starting with my own.

 

Over the last decade-ish I’ve systematically battled, unplugged, dismantled, disproven, blessed and released the traumas of a lifetime.

Letting go of broken identities, broken ideologies, and broken records that magnetized toxic traumas on repeat. 

A journey of adopting new beliefs, thinking new ideas, experiencing new emotions, speaking new words, braving new actions, setting new boundaries, installing new habits, holding new expectations, inviting new reputations, and allowing my identity to be aligned with my true spirit – untethered from the world.

I've been on this journey because you can't "think your way free" ... freedom lives in the truth of who you are and how you dare to live that out on-the-daily.

Without bold action, freedom is just a cliché saying on a t-shirt.

Aligned action builds self- trust no matter the outcome, because it's not win or lose, it's win or learn.

And as a nonconformist, who is constantly stepping out of line, out of boxes and out of social control mechanisms – you need to be able to trust yourself... otherwise you don't dare step out, you step back.

Integrity, which is what you do when nobody sees or knows about it, drives your identity, which powers your freedom.

There are no shortcuts.

It's not "just" the truth or "just" the dare... it's the union of truth and dare that sets you free to be.

I am free to be me... and I know exactly who that is.

" I became a demon slayer, starting with
my own.

 

Over the last decade-ish I’ve systematically battled, unplugged, dismantled, disproven, blessed and released the traumas of a lifetime.

Letting go of broken identities, broken ideologies, and broken records that magnetized toxic traumas on repeat. 

A journey of adopting new beliefs, thinking new ideas, experiencing new emotions, speaking new words, braving new actions, setting new boundaries, installing new habits, holding new expectations, inviting new reputations, and allowing my identity to be aligned with my true spirit – untethered from the world.

I've been on this journey because you can't "think your way free" ... freedom lives in the truth of who you are and how you dare to live that out on-the-daily.

Without bold action, freedom is just a cliché saying on a t-shirt.

Aligned action builds self- trust no matter the outcome, because it's not win or lose, it's win or learn.

And as a nonconformist, who is constantly stepping out of line, out of boxes and out of social control mechanisms – you need to be able to trust yourself... otherwise you don't dare step out, you step back.

Integrity, which is what you do when nobody sees or knows about it, drives your identity, which powers your freedom.

There are no shortcuts.

It's not "just" the truth or "just" the dare... it's the union of truth and dare that sets you free to be.

I am free to be me... and I know exactly who that is.

" A love note for
other rebel souls..
.

 

Nobody is coming to save you from the life you built – which is the best news ever... because #1 you refuse to be anybody's victim and #2 you'll never agree to become like the rest of them, which is rad IMO.

Plus, getting "fixed" is just another form of sickness – you were never created to conform like that.

Beneath all the layers of soul armour you built to survive in a world that is trying to fix you, lives the soul you were created to be – and she is wired with the beauty of nonconformity.

So no more self-sabotaging, defending, self-medicating, and pretending that you can survive stuck inside those boxes one. more. day.

It's time for you to figure yourself out.

To find out who you really are and what you really want, so you can be who you were really created to be, and not who the world told you that you "should" be.

You get to slay your demons, heal your traumas, and live free.

And you already know... that every day you agree to stay stuck where you're at, makes more of a mess to clean up in the end...

But I get it… I’ve been there too.

Sometimes, it's hard to know where to draw the line, until you've already stepped wayyyyyyyy over it.

And that's ok, because you can draw a new line any time you choose.

And from my own trenches of slaying demons and finding freedom, I discovered the best salty truth...

"You are not the problem, you are the solution."

 

Love, Salt xox

" A love note for other rebel souls...

 

Nobody is coming to save you from the life you built – which is the best news ever... because #1 you refuse to be anybody's victim and #2 you'll never agree to become like the rest of them, which is rad IMO.

Plus, getting "fixed" is just another form of sickness – you were never created to conform like that.

Beneath all the layers of soul armour you built to survive in a world that is trying to fix you, lives the soul you were created to be – and she is wired with the beauty of nonconformity.

So no more self-sabotaging, defending, self-medicating, and pretending that you can survive stuck inside those boxes one. more. day.

It's time for you to figure yourself out.

To find out who you really are and what you really want, so you can be who you were really created to be, and not who the world told you that you "should" be.

You get to slay your demons, heal your traumas, and live free.

And you already know... that every day you agree to stay stuck where you're at, makes more of a mess to clean up in the end...

But I get it… I’ve been there too.

Sometimes, it's hard to know where to draw the line, until you've already stepped wayyyyyyyy over it.

And that's ok, because you can draw a new line any time you choose.

And from my own trenches of slaying demons and finding freedom, I discovered the best salty truth...

"You are not the problem, you are the solution."

 

Love, Salt xox