I Have Always Known
I Was Different.
I just had to live long enough, and burn enough times, to understand why.
Begin the Free Guide
I was the kid who got mysteriously sick every Sunday morning.
Turns out, my body knew long before my mind did.
I grew up in a Catholic household, and from a very young age I felt a deep spiritual hunger that the structure around me could not quite fill. It was not rebellion. It was longing. I needed to feel something sacred and alive, not just recite it. I was searching for a direct experience of the divine, in whatever form that took.
By high school I was reading the Bhagavad Gita — not because I had turned away from faith, but because I was chasing it with everything I had. Feeling things deeply — sometimes inconveniently, sometimes overwhelmingly — has always been the engine of my life.
From the time I was small, I spent every possible moment outside. There were creeks both up the hill and down the hill from my childhood home, and I was drawn to them the way some children are drawn to screens or noise. What I did not know then was that I was already practicing the most important thing I would ever learn — how to let nature hold what I could not yet carry alone.
I still live by a creek. I am there every single day. It is where I heal, where I hear clearly, where I come back to myself when the world gets loud. Some things are not coincidences. They are the soul leaving itself breadcrumbs.
I was sensitive in a world that called sensitivity a weakness.
I was searching in a world that called searching a problem.
I was different — and I spent decades not quite knowing what to do with that.
Pregnant at 20. A hesitant marriage that quickly became a lesson in what love was not. Single mother. College student. Waiting tables. Figuring it out alone — and doing it anyway.
I fell hard — body first, heart open — for a man with so many red flags I could have decorated a stadium. That relationship lasted 21 years. We raised children, bought houses, built a life. There were real good times. And cycles of pain I kept hoping would finally end.
Along the way I earned an art degree. Became a realtor. Kept waiting tables. Kept showing up. And through every hard season I came through stronger, brighter. There were many rebirths of Jodi. I just did not yet know that was what they were called.
During Covid I began meditating. One afternoon in my living room — quiet, still — I heard a clear voice in my mind: "It's time to level up." Books appeared. Podcasts. Energy healers. It was as if the Universe had been waiting for me to be ready, and the moment I was, everything came flooding in.
I stopped drinking alcohol. I was in the gym, getting into my body. I agreed to couples therapy and gave it two genuine years. I used every trigger my partner created as medicine — going into meditation, into nature, to transmute what surfaced. I was devoted. I was expanding. And the gap between who I was becoming and where I was living was widening every single day.
There was a final blow-up fight. And I watched the whole thing from somewhere calm and clear inside myself — as an observer, not a participant. And I felt it. An energetic cord, dislodging from between us. Something ancient releasing. I told him my exit plan. And I followed it to the letter.
I sold my house. I lost friends — but I knew, honestly, they were not real friends. I blew up my past life and walked out of the rubble more loved — by myself — than I had ever been. And I knew: I would not be this version of me without every single hard moment that came before.
Two years later. Solo travel to countries all over the world. Egypt — where I met soul family and people who are among the most important in my life today. Friends on every continent. A world that has become so much bigger and brighter than anything I could have dreamed from inside the life I used to live. And it just keeps getting better.
Some things about who I am were written before I arrived. The chart confirms what I always felt.
I go deep by nature. I see what is beneath the surface — in people, in situations, in myself. I cannot do shallow. I never could.
Born on a master number portal. Double 11 — the illuminator, the intuitive, the bridge. I felt this long before I knew numerology existed.
The old soul. The humanitarian. Here to transform personal experience into collective healing — and to light the path for others.
I have burned and been reborn more times than I can count. Every single time, I rose more myself. The fire was never punishment. It was initiation.
I did not create The Path of the Sovereign Woman from a textbook or a certification. I built it from the actual terrain of my life — every messy, sacred, painful, luminous mile of it.
I know what it feels like to be the most sensitive person in the room and have no idea what to do with that. To be young and hopeful and ignore what you know in your gut. To give decades of yourself to something — and someone — while the truest version of you waits quietly, patiently, for you to be ready.
I know what it feels like when a voice speaks clearly in your living room and your whole life shifts on its axis. I know the disorientation of expanding faster than your environment can hold. I know the grief of leaving. The guilt of choosing yourself. The shocking, unexpected lightness of what comes after.
"I am not the most beautiful version of me yet.
I am still embodying her — in every moment, every day.
That is the work. And it is the greatest gift I have ever given myself."
I am also genuinely proud of every version of Jodi who came before this one. The single mother waiting tables. The art student. The realtor. The woman who sat in a therapist's office trying with everything she had. The woman who felt that cord release and knew — finally, completely — that it was time.
None of it was wasted. All of it was the path.
The women I walk with feel different too. Always have. Too sensitive, too searching, too aware that something is off — even when they cannot yet name what. They are not broken. They are not too late. They are not too much.
They are waking up. And I know exactly where that road goes.