The full moon passed just a few nights ago, and with it came the pull, one I’ve learned not to ignore.
It wasn’t the kind of tug that urges a simple tidy-up or a load of laundry.
No, this was deeper.
An ancestral whisper, a cellular nudge.
The kind of call that says: It’s time to clear the house.
Not just the floors and the closets, but the frequencies. The energetic cobwebs. The stuck stories hiding in corners. The guilt and shame tucked in junk drawers. The heaviness hiding behind the baseboards. The voices that no longer belong here.
I’ve done enough healing to know that our homes are not separate from us. They’re extensions — mirrors — of the internal terrain. Our spaces speak for the parts of us we’ve forgotten, ignored, or tried to outgrow.
They also hold trauma.
Not just our own, but the echoes of our ancestors. That may sound woo to some, but it’s real. Anyone who has ever walked into a room and felt a heaviness, or stepped into a house that felt like “bad vibes” without any clear reason, knows what I mean.
This clearing is a process I’m committing to slowly, intentionally. It’ll take me a few weeks, and I’m okay with that. In fact, I welcome it. Because rushing through something sacred misses the point.
This isn’t just spring cleaning. This is frequency cleaning. It’s about getting honest with what is sitting stale in my environment and why it’s still there. Every object we keep holds energy. Every pile of clutter is a delayed decision. And every item we’ve kept out of guilt, fear, shame, or obligation… that’s an energetic cord still holding us hostage.
So, we’re getting honest.
One drawer, one surface, one breath at a time.
We’re releasing clothes we’ve outgrown, physically and spiritually. We’re letting go of linens that hold the scent of old seasons and trauma. Buying fresh towels and sheets that speak of new beginnings, clean slates, literally.
New plants, both indoors and out. Because nothing moves stagnant energy like something alive and rooted in soil. Plants are natural transmuters.
They breathe with us.
They teach us how to release and receive.
They clean our air, our frequency, our sense of connection.
And while I’m scrubbing windows and wiping down baseboards, I’m also clearing imprints. I’m praying over thresholds. Anointing doorways. Declaring that no energy which does not serve my family’s peace and purpose can remain here.
Most people don’t realize that rooms are energetic. Just like our body has chakras, our home has frequency centers. Each space serves a function, but also holds a field. Some areas get heavy faster.
Some are tied to memory.
Some are portals.
Some are hiding places.
Here’s what I’ve found to be true in my years of doing this kind of work: low frequencies linger in places we neglect. Energy, like dust, gathers where we don’t look.
Your home isn’t just a physical place.
It’s a storage unit for emotion, memory, pain, and potential.
It’s where you process grief and laughter. It’s where your children play, where you cry after hard news, where you dream at night, where you love and argue and grow. That makes it sacred. That means it requires maintenance, not just of its structure, but its spirit.
And let’s not forget this, homes can hold onto trauma. They can absorb the energy of arguments, heartbreak, betrayal, fear.
If your walls could speak, what would they say?
But here’s the other side: our homes also have the capacity to be consecrated.
To be holy.
To hold light.
To become spaces of deep peace, clarity, and manifestation.
They can become altars for a new way of living.
This is why I started with the entryway.
Your entryway is your portal. It’s where people, energy, intentions, and emotions walk in. It sets the tone for everything.
If your front door is cluttered, sticky, chaotic, or neglected, you’re likely welcoming in confusion. You may be unconsciously allowing access to things that don’t belong in your field.
That’s why I cleared the entry and then moved right into my office, which is just off the front. My office is where I write, coach, think, cry, pray. It’s a nerve center. A command station. A space of creation. If the energy in there is off, it’s holding onto past disappointments, anxiety, imposter syndrome or pressure, it’s going to contaminate everything I try to build from that space.
I spent time there not just cleaning the desk or sweeping the floor, but saging, praying, listening.
What does this room need from me?
What am I trying to accomplish here? What has been left unsaid?
When I sit down to write or work or guide others, I want to do so from a place that’s clear, not entangled with yesterday’s burdens.
There’s a reason I clean high-traffic areas every single day.
Those are the zones where energy moves most rapidly and unpredictably.
Hallways.
Kitchens.
Bathrooms.
Living rooms.
They absorb whatever is happening in real-time. They become cluttered with shoes, backpacks, energy, moods.
Just like our bodies need daily hydration, these spaces need daily attention. It doesn’t have to be perfect or sterile. It just has to be intentional.
Every sweep of the broom is a prayer. Every wiped counter is a releasing. Every candle lit is a declaration: “This space is safe. This home is sacred. Only love dwells here.”
The kitchen is a literal hearth. In many traditions, it is the heart of the home. It feeds, nourishes, alchemizes. But it also collects.
Old food in the fridge? Moldy energetic ties.
Cluttered cabinets? Decision fatigue in disguise.
A neglected pantry? Lack mindset sitting in shadow.
Cleaning the kitchen means more than organizing spice jars. It means facing how you feed yourself and your family. It means asking: Am I nourishing or numbing? Am I cooking with love or rushing in resentment?
Our relationship to food, nourishment, and provision is deeply ancestral. Many of us come from lines where food was either scarce or overindulged in response to trauma. The kitchen becomes the battleground of control and comfort. Clearing that energy is revolutionary.
That’s why it’s next.
I want to nourish from a clear place. I want the meals I serve to carry joy, not obligation.
The master bathroom, for me, holds some of the deepest energetic weight.
It’s where I’ve wept in silence. Where I’ve looked in the mirror and questioned everything. It’s where I’ve had hard conversations with myself. Where I’ve peeled back old skin and tried to remember who I am. It’s private, raw, and intimate.
Bathrooms are where we purge.
Where we eliminate.
Where we cleanse.
But they also tend to be the places we forget to treat as sacred.
Cleaning that space will be my final act in this clearing because I know it will require a kind of emotional stamina. It’s where the most vulnerable parts of me live. I want to enter that part of the process when I’ve already built some energetic momentum, already reestablished peace in the rest of the home.
When I get to the master bathroom, it won’t just be about scrubbing the tub. It’ll be about reclaiming my reflection. About clearing old shame. About remembering that I’m not just a woman who’s endured, but one who’s risen again and again.
So, yes, this full moon I started a clearing.
Not a weekend project.
Not a checklist.
A holy unraveling.
I don’t want to just change the vibe. I want to change the frequency.
I want to walk barefoot through this home and feel God here.
I want my children to sleep in rooms that feel safe enough for their nervous systems to rest.
I want every room to be a prayer.
A boundary.
A blessing.
Because our homes are not storage units. They are living temples. They are the physical containers of our inner world, and our ancestry, and our legacy.
And when we clean with that in mind, no dust bunny stands a chance.
What have you noticed your home holds onto — energetically, emotionally, or even ancestrally?
Have you ever felt the weight of an old memory in a certain room, or sensed that something needed to shift in your space before you could move forward? I’d love to hear your reflections.
What rooms speak loudest to you, and what have you been called to clear?
As always loving you from here,
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Rene’ Schooler(Author)
