GETTING MY HOUSES IN ORDER: Working on Me, Deepening the Spiral

This post has been the hardest of the three to write.

The internal work…the deep, soul-layered stuff…feels tender. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable. I've spent a lot of my life avoiding this kind of openness. Oh, the nakedness of it all! But opening up is part of my journey. And I'm committed to it.

As I've shifted into living in ways that truly work for me, I've realized how nuanced and layered this journey really is. Maybe it's always been this way. But now I've committed to stopping "the push" long enough to actually notice. And what I'm seeing is changing me.

Once upon a time, I lived more slowly. I could appreciate my life; I witnessed the subtleties, textures, and quiet moments. But somewhere along the way, I started making more and more sacrifices to keep others comfortable, until I couldn't sense myself at all.

In 2009, that changed. I got divorced and said no more.

But here's what I didn't expect: in my commitment to find my way back to myself, I flipped into hyperdrive. From April 2009 to December 2024, my focus turned almost entirely to my work. And it wasn't all bad. I finally felt free to show up and do my thing. I had a vision. I had drive. I had purpose.

But I also had a trap I'd set for myself: I believed I needed to make up for lost time. So I went all in. For better and for worse.

Here's the part I don't talk about much. Underneath all that striving, I was trying to silence a deep feeling of inadequacy and shame. I needed to prove, to others, and more importantly to myself, that I wasn't the sum of the negative labels people had placed on me throughout my life. I'd been a dumping ground for other people's projected fears and insecurities for a long time. And slowly, subconsciously, I'd started to believe them. The things others said about me, and what I began to say to myself, were brutal.

As I grew more aware of my patterns, whispers inside me started asking me to slow down. I kept telling myself I'd rest once I got to a certain place. But I'd developed a habit. I was habituated to working, pushing, striving. The merry-go-round was moving, and there was always so much to do.

And then, at the end of the busiest year of my life, while on a break in Sedona, something shifted. My body and nervous system began to unwind in a way I hadn't felt in the longest time. And I missed that feeling so much it hurt.

My inner voice stopped whispering. It started insisting.

Stop this now. You have done and learned enough. You know what you need to know to move forward. You have nothing to prove to anyone, including yourself. You never did. Please. Stop and rest.

And I could finally feel, in my bones, that it was true.

This culture will always push us to do more. I'm done submitting to that. That trip to Sedona was a turning point; the end of my overdrive and the beginning of my commitment to breathe, exhale, notice, and actually live my life.

My priorities have shifted. I'm now doing ancestral shadow work to release burdens that were never mine to carry. I'm redefining what self-care actually looks like for me: honest conversations, advocating for myself, and attending to my health and sleep. I'm creating a home environment that supports rest and ease. I'm reassessing what success and abundance really mean. I'm noticing where I sabotage myself and choosing differently. I'm building friendships and communities that are soft places to land. I'm taking more time to recharge and follow my curiosities. I'm tending to the less glamorous parts of my life. And I'm leaning — truly leaning — into joy.

I'm grateful to have finally arrived here.

It's not about perfection. It's about presence. It's about learning to experience my life, not just work in it.

And if I had to sum it up in one sentence:

I am deepening the spiral of who I am becoming, one breath and one choice at a time.