Where My Transmissions Begin

A Gentle Note Before Reading

This post speaks openly about child loss, deep grief and thoughts of not wanting to be here. Please take care of yourself as you read, and leave this page if these words feel too close or difficult for you today.

My creations are first brought through in support of me.

That might not be what people expect me to say.

Perhaps they imagine I create a transmission because I already know what is needed. That I am standing on the other side of an experience, looking back with the answers.

But quite often, I am right in the middle of it.

After losing a child, there is more darkness than light. Some days, hindsight becomes the operator of my ego, my person and my entire day.

Some days, getting to the end of that day can feel almost impossible.

These are the parts of grief we don’t often talk about—the thoughts we keep to ourselves because we know how frightening they can sound to someone who hasn’t experienced this kind of loss.

When we do speak them, people naturally want to help. They want to blanket us, send us to medical professionals, put us on medication or find some way to save us.

But I never need someone to save me.

I need space to experience all of it—raw and unfiltered.

I need to fight my way through it and discover what is there for me to face, meet or wrestle with until I find some point of resolve.

That doesn’t mean I like it. It doesn’t mean I accept it or suddenly make peace with what has happened.

It simply means I come through more resourced by Spirit and better able to cope with another day.

Because tomorrow, or another day after that, it will hit me again.

I know it will.

And when it does, I will have to find my way through again. But I will have new tools and support from my team to help me.

Once my team is aware that I’m in this vibration, they stay pretty damn close.

They surround me, ready to catch me.

I know they’re there because I can feel them against my skin.

There was a time when I made the decision to walk into the ocean and not come back.

I had started walking down the beach towards the water. I’d reached the wet sand when a butterfly began flying into me—bumping against my nose, my forehead and my face—until I finally stopped and looked at it.

It settled on the sand in front of me.

I knew it was Sacha.

“Mum, stop. Don’t do this. I’m here.”

Was I suddenly okay?

No.

But I stopped. I sat down on the sand.

And I stayed.

The Right to Leave

There are moments when I think, I have the right to leave.

I know those are horrible words to read.

As a mother, I would never have wanted to hear one of my children say them. I could never have simply sat back and said, “That is their choice,” and been okay with them ending their life.

That isn’t what I mean.

But from within the darkest parts of my grief, the thoughts are still there:

I’m a grown woman. I have the right to leave.

Then I think about what leaving would mean.

I would leave Natasha here without her mother. I would leave my husband to continue being her father without me.

Bruce loves Natasha completely, but his relationship with her is different from mine.

Natasha and I share a bond that reaches beyond time and space. I don’t only know her as my daughter in this life. I understand the way she experiences her body, her energy and the worlds and beings she connects with. We often recognise what the other is experiencing without needing to find the words to explain it.

There are parts of Natasha that only I understand because I can see and hold both—the human daughter living beside me and the much larger being she is.

How could I leave her to navigate this life without me?

How could I leave?

This is the conversation that can go on inside me.

The part that doesn’t want to continue and the part that knows I need to—and that I will.

The unbearable weight of living after the passing of my child, alongside the love and responsibility that keep me here.

Both are true in that moment.

This Is Where My Transmissions Begin

This is often where a transmission begins for me.

Not every transmission comes from grief, but they do tend to come through during those moments when I cannot see my way to the other side of something.

Sometimes it is grief. Sometimes it is physical pain, exhaustion, uncertainty or change. Sometimes I simply reach a place where my everyday Vicki mind cannot find what I need.

That is when I call in Ngahekah, my creator self, and my team.

I don’t call them in already knowing what they will bring me.

They show me.

They begin creating the support, tools and frequency I need to move beyond what is consuming me in that moment.

Vicki is usually the first person who needs the transmission.

I receive it from within the experience—not after I have risen above it and found all the answers.

Ngahekah chose to experience life through this body: the bodysuit created for my life as Vicki, with its own personality, interests, desires and very human experiences.

It isn’t my everyday Vicki creating the transmission.

Vicki is the one who needs it.

My team creates a frequency that allows me to experience something beyond what is happening within my bodysuit, while still remaining fully present inside it.

I do not leave my body.

My senses remain active. I can feel my breath. I can hear the sounds around me. I can sense what is happening physically.

I am still Vicki.

But I am also connected to something larger than the grief, pain, challenge or thoughts consuming me in that moment.

That is how my transmissions come through.

They Are More Than a Technique

My transmissions aren’t a ten-minute “how-to” teaching you a technique.

They are a space to come into your breath, slow down into your body and open to a vibration that is bigger than your physical form and the reality you are experiencing at that moment.

For me, that frequency is love.

It is light.

But it doesn’t pretend the darkness isn’t there.

It doesn’t ask me to think positively, overcome my grief or become someone untouched by what has happened.

It meets me exactly where I am.

When I slow down and acknowledge the state of despair or difficulty I find myself in, something begins to shift.

Not because the grief disappears.

Not because the challenge has magically resolved itself.

But because I am no longer alone inside it.

There is more space around what I am experiencing. There is more breath, more of me present and more support available to help me find my way through.

That is what I need most.

Not to be taken out of the experience, but to be resourced enough to meet it.

Bearing Down

This is part of the reality of grief, motherhood and losing a child.

Living on when you don’t want to, while knowing that you need to—and that you will.

There is a strength required that isn’t bright, polished or particularly inspiring.

It is raw.

It is physical.

It is instinctive.

A mother bears down to bring her child into the world.

After losing that child, she bears down again—this time to remain in it.

That is the place many of my transmissions come from.

They are not created from a life without darkness. They are created within those moments when I call in the support I need to stay, breathe and fight my way through another day.

I receive them first.

Then I share them with you.

A Transmission to Support You

If this post has stirred something within you, I’ve included one of my transmissions below.

I originally brought this transmission through for Mother’s Day, but its support isn’t limited to one day or only to mothers. It offers a space to slow down, receive Sacred Feminine healing energy and return to the love and support of Spirit.

As with all my transmissions, you don’t need to understand or do anything. Simply find somewhere comfortable, allow yourself to receive and notice what unfolds for you.

A Sacred Return to Love and Spirit: Receive Sacred Feminine Healing Energy

A Session With Me and Our Teams

If you’re moving through something difficult and feel you need more support, you’re welcome to book a private session with me.

Together with our teams, we’ll create space for you to slow down, reconnect with yourself and receive the support you need to meet what you’re experiencing.

Receive a Session With Me

My sessions offer personal and spiritual support but are not an emergency or crisis service.

Please, if you need immediate support in New Zealand, call 111. You can also call or text 1737 at any time for free, confidential emotional support.