Waiting To Exhale...

I’ve lived seasons where vision gave me direction. Where clarity felt like anointing.

But this season is different.

It’s rebellious. Quiet. And often feels self-preserving; even selfish. I’ve never taken up space in this way. It feels irresponsible; unsafe, even.

In this season, vision has been replaced with something softer: listening. The noise of ambition is so faint, it feels gone. Like a burner on a stove struggling to ignite, all I hear is tick, tick, tick. This season feels more like sitting quietly on a bench watching the world exist without me.

Am I doing this wrong? Should I be doing more? I have bills to pay. I have a business to rebuild. Why the f*ck is all of this happening when the world is on fire?

But here I am—sitting, painting, reading, observing, listening. Choosing not to see all of the big ass elephants in the room. Choosing to lean on my husband in a way that feels scary. Will he buckle?

The old question returns. The one i thought i resolved: Am I too much?

In the silence, pieces of the chapter I’m closing begin to reveal themselves. The biggest one: I built an identity out of duty and devotion, believing that if I poured my heart into everything and everyone, peace would follow. But that way—while noble—came with its own kind of exhaustion. Its own kind of pressure. Its own unique cost…Who would’ve thought…

Surrender, I used to say. Recalibrate, I used to encourage. But like most sacred things, it’s easier to preach than practice.

The very meaning of “I” has changed. I have changed.

I’m tired of chasing. Tired of trying to be anything more than I am. Ready to trust a new way forward. But how do I translate this into my life and business? How does this new “I” want to show up, be loved and be witnessed? Especially when in so many ways I feel like a child again—curious, apprehensive. Bubbling with unharnessed energy. Observing the world from a distance and wondering

Am i needed?

But then the quiet of this season rescues me from the edge of reason. I’m not rebuilding the old model “better.” I’m building the better model from what survived the collapse; time in this context is my friend.

In this liminal space, breathing through the ache of uncertainty, I’m learning that confidence isn’t the same as faith—and that certainty isn’t proof of alignment.

I am exactly where I need to be, even if, I’m still waiting to exhale.