Do we ever talk about just what it takes to make a huge transition?

I wonder what leaps must look like from the outside:

effortless? Aglow? Filled with some preordained destiny? Or at the very least, softened by some kind of understanding of: well that’s just what it takes.

And yet to take the leap, a great cataclysm takes place.


Inside the leap, it is hard and it is huge.

I don’t know what it is that called me, pushed me, pulled me into this leap I am making.

The leap in my personal life, old family patterns, where I live, how I live, how I see the world, and where my business is moving into.

And yet here it is, the leap.



In front of our new home, a treehouse surrounded by rainforest, there is a mountain. Behind us, there is a mountain too. We are cosied into the side of it, into the vines and the trees and the soft rain. But from our living room, through the side of the house that is mostly glass, across the wide wooden verandah, all we see is: rainforest. The tiny tips of other homes nestled in the greenery. And then The Mountain.

It looms up before us, a wide white rock face.

And there it is. The leap.

I try to see what statues could be carved out of the rocks. If it could become some kind of Mt Rushmore with angels’ faces.

It is indescribably beautiful – the mountain, the rainforest, the house.

So stunning that I am often stunned.


It is divine, and of course it is also very human too.

My legs and back ache from carrying boxes up steep flights of stairs into the treehouse.

My daughter is navigating through a new home and one of those 2 year old “developmental phases” of restlessness, broken sleep + wild leaps in brain development. My husband and I are scrambling for grace, sleep and sanity to keep the boat afloat.

And all of us: my love, daughter, doggies and I are all having transition pains. Growing shifts. When the earth beneath us is unstable.

Not to mention: we are all a bit worn from the struggles of the last couple of years.

I need to tell you this so you know too:

My life is blessed and is very, very human too.


Despite it all, I am deeply grateful.

I am so blessed I live here.

I am so blessed by the medicine that has occurred for each of us.

In the first couple of days when we arrived, I was struck with wonder.

Out every window, there is rainforest.

All we see from every vantage point is great long limbers of trees, lichen, moss, vines, leaves. So far we have spotted Ulysses butterflies (the huge turquoise ones), scrub turkeys and many birds. I know there must be more in there that we have yet to see!

The rainforest towers above even our treehouse, so all our light is filtered with the softest green glow.

I’m a deep lover of Australian Bush Flower Essences (the Aussie version of Bach Flower Remedies). And it struck me:

I wonder what it means?

We are literally immersed here in rainforest essence. In the medicine and healing of all the animals and trees around us.

It feels like we have been sent here to heal. To surrender into the softness. To receive kindness. To be given the kind of solace that this kind of nature can bear.

And that brings tears to my eyes.

It is so, so, so deeply needed. For me, for my love, for us as a family.

As much as I know Proserpine was the right place for us to move at the time for many reasons, it wasn’t an easy station by any means. We felt stuck deep in the middle of family problems, with little privacy or space of our own. And on top of it all: it just wasn’t the right place for my family to grow in all of our destinies. Not a school for Ostara that I believed in, no university for Chris to finish his Psychology degree and not the kind of lifestyle we were being called towards. And again: depthloads of family shiz that we couldn’t seem to get any space from.

I’m an optimist, through and through. I’m pretty sure Pollyanna could study beneath me (bwahaha!)

And I tried to make it all fit. I tried to look on the bright side. I tried to create the things I wanted. I tried to push it into being right.

Until I just had to say:

Enough. This isn’t supporting me. This isn’t supporting us. We need to make a change.


It happened pretty quickly. In less than two months since making that decision, we made the change.

And now here I am.


It feels like a momentous change.

I can’t quite believe how much my life has changed in just a few days.

Where before we were woefully unsupported and unnourished, we’ve arrived in the middle.of.a.flipping.RAINFOREST!

In a dream house. With a spa. And amazing cathedral ceilings with floor-to-ceiling windows. And turquoise walls. And only the sounds and sights of rainforest permeating our abode.

And my own office. That’s sequestered away at the bottom of the house, that is big enough for my desks and zebra print rug and bookshelves and books and everything I need to dream bigger.

And a dreaming chair and ottoman that is so soft and ripe and buttery and fluffy it makes clouds jealous.

Intense, immense support and nutrients.

Can you believe it?

I feel like I’ve been “making do” for so long.

Since I became a mama, I made do with not having a space of my own.

And then when I couldn’t bear not having a space of my own at all, I would make do with hanging out at a cafe.

And then at the library. And then up a tree, which was really fun for short stints apart from that whole snake thang.

And then I got the Creative Caravan because I was in tears about not having my own space, which turned out to be a sweat lodge in summer and a soakfest when it rained.

And I remember one of my coaches calling me on it:

“Leonie, you own a six figure business. What the HECK are you doing with no suitable office?”

And I laughed. And stopped laughing.

“I’m just making do with what I have.”


I guess that was the issue.

I wasn’t really being honest about my needs for support and nutrience, much less tending to those needs. I put myself far down the list.

I see how this has been a habit for me in many ways.

How I’ve denied myself what I truly wanted.

How I haven’t given myself what I needed.


And now I am.

I am investing in myself.

I really am worth it.

I can do this.

I will do this.



I sit here at my dream office now. It’s the afternoon.

This morning, we went and had a family adventure.

Now my husband and daughter are upstairs. They had a nap together, and are now pottering around, having their Daddy-Daughter time as they do each day.

I am so very grateful for the amount of family time and balance we have woven into our lives.

And I’m sitting here, looking over the rainforest, and I’m thinking:

This is the view I’ve always meant to have.

It’s like I have imagined this view for the last 30 years, and now it has appeared.

I’ve had studio windows that looked over brick walls and streets and fluroscent-lit arcades.

And I’d think to myself:

No matter, the magic is in here anyway.

And I’d go about creating my artwork, and arranging my words, and making my own kind of beauty.


And now it is different.

The beauty is all around me now. An endless swill and swirl of energy, flooding me, going out from me. The abundance is everywhere. I am a bee harvesting the nectar, parched.


Soon, I will not be quite so shell shocked by this move, this transition.

I will not be quite as unnourished as I have been.

Soon, this place will work its magic and nourishment on my soul.

It will fill me day by day, restoring me, patching together the parts that were worn with silken thread and butterfly wings.

Soon, my family will find its new kind of rhythm, its new routine, the daily cadence that fills us each up.

We will find the tribe that sings to us, the children for Ostara to be with, the places we must visit.

We’ll each be nurtured and nourished. We’ll each be living our dreams.

And we’ll look back at that time before this, and say:

Remember when things weren’t so good as this? How we had to have that blip to make that leap and be HERE?


This is what it took to make the leap.

This is what the leap looks like.


The leap hasn’t been easy.

It’s meant sleepless nights, hard awakenings, arguments.

It’s meant losing faith only to find it again.

It’s meant that sometimes I am shell shocked in the corner, surprised at the velocity of life and where it has taken us.

It’s meant me worrying about whether I’ll be able to make it all happen that I need to happen with this beautiful business, worrying about whether I’ll suddenly eff it all up (despite all signs to the contrary.)

Taking the leap means facing every single part of yourself. Standing on the tip of a mountain and calling all your fears to you so you may look them in the eye.

“Ahai there, ye olde I’m-Not-Good-Enough-To-Make-This-Happen. I see you, and I call bullshit.”

“Why hello there, Let’s-Compare-Myself-To-Everyone-Else-And-How-Much-Better-They-Are-Doing-Than-Me. You’ve been around for a long time. It’s time I lovingly kick you in the nuts.”


Taking the leap doesn’t mean you have blind faith.

It means you have wide-eyed faith.

You know that shiz could happen, but by gosh you are going to do it anyway.

And sometimes your faith fails you, but you fumble and stumble along anyway, knowing the only way out is through, and that you must keep pointing your nose in the direction of where you want to go.

The kangaroo can only move forwards, never back.


So we leap.

And we land.

And here it is:

All we have ever dreamed of.

I know big things will come of this.


I am so grateful that our life could take us here. This business of mine. It’s been the purveyor of possibility, the bringer of providence, the gift of joy and wild abundance.

I remember what it was like trying to make a move before B.B. (Before Business)

How hard we’d have to hunt for jobs, how we’d struggle with timing, how we were always at the mercy of the E.G. (Employment Gods).

And now… now we are just free. Free to live where we like. Free to have enough abundance to live in a dream home. Free to live our lives in the gentle, balanced, family-and-heart-centered way that we do.

I am grateful.


Everything is changing inside me, the inner furniture being moved around.

I had no idea that I had such shitty ideas before about money, abundance and “being rich.”

Then another one of my coaches called me out on it. (Coaches are the best!)

“Leonie, you do realise that the way you think about money being icky means you aren’t sharing your message as big as you should be. It’s holding you back from helping more people. You’re limiting yourself.”


I had NO idea.


So I’ve been undertaking personal study around abundance and prosperity. Unweaving my shitty beliefs about money, untangling them and teasing them into a new truth that feels very right:

Money is a form of powerful energy. It can do incredibly good things. I am a wonderful custodian of money.


Everyday, I feel myself growing bigger and bigger.

Taking a leap each day into this new energy, this new shape of my soul.

I can see where I am headed:

I am the CEO of a large international company that helps women live their incredible lives and have incredibly prosperous businesses that nurture them, their families and communities.

I share the messages and wisdom and guidance that comes from me, and I do it in a powerful way that goes on to help millions of people.

I help a large number of charities that I assist in making massive, uplifting change to the world.

Every press of the button is powerful and intentional. I know I can do anything I set my mind to.

This August, it will be eight years since I pressed Publish for the very first time, and began sharing what was inside of me with the world. I know there are many of you out there who’ve been with me since the very tender beginning. Thank you, I am grateful. And many of you who have found me along the way. Thank you, I am grateful. And to you who has just found me, and are still working out what this turquoise-hippy-entrepreneur-cursing-gigglesnorting-mama is all about: Welcome. Thank you, I am grateful.

This is how leaps are made.

Let’s do it together.


Being a caterpillar in a cocoon must not be comfortable.

It must be at times excruciating, too tight, too dark.

The caterpillar must wonder WTH is happening about every 3.2 seconds.

And yet, and yet. It grows.

Because that is how it is called forth.

Inside it is a butterfly dreaming.

This is what it takes to Leap:

Everything inside you.

always love,