I Stopped Translating Myself (and the Dream That Made Me Do It)
If you're in the season where every word feels too heavy, where you sit across from someone and already know they'll never get it, where you feel like an impostor the second you open your mouth—this is for you.
That ache is proof you finally touched something that can't be copied.
Everyone is busy being relatable. Same stories, same jargon, same pretty noise.
Relatability is the fastest way to disappear. I tried it. I softened, I explained, I performed and still felt dead.
Then I stopped translating. I wrote in the language I will never soften again.
I posted the work raw, behind a paywall, with no apology.
And something shifted.
The women who are meant for my work didn't need me to be relatable.
They needed me to be untranslatable.
They needed someone who stopped cutting the edge off her sentences.
They needed the dreams I had that no one else is teaching.
If you're reading this and your chest is tight.
If you've ever been told you're "too much."
If you're tired of sanding down your edges so people feel comfortable.
You don't belong out here with the noise.
Which dream are you living?
I work with 10 dreams that diagnose how you betray yourself.
One of them is Green Dress Oracle — the woman who is the well everyone drinks from but no one refills.
Another is Bloodline Name — the woman who cut her tongue to be palatable.
Another is Afuki 450 — the woman whose performed self and buried self are about to collide.
Take the quiz to find out which dream you're living.
30 questions. 10 dreams. Brutal honesty required.
The full dream transmissions — the exact place each dream lives in your body, the rites to exit them, the laws that govern a woman who stops translating herself — wait inside Temple of Her.
$40/month. One click.
But start with the quiz. Find out which dream you're living first.
Then you'll know if Temple is yours.
