To the girl with no answers.
By which I mean myself.
To the girl who always knew what she wanted. What was that again?
We were sure about that? I’d forgotten what it’s like to ‘strive’. Was this what we meant by surrendering?
November brought a big move to a new state.
December and January brought a miscarriage, tornado, and emergency plane landing.
And each time, I heard the question loud and clear: you are not in control here. Can you trust in something else?
It’s been a dizzying dance, learning to trust again. Balancing the act of trusting in myself—self-efficacy, and knowing my capabilities. My strengths.
While staying committed to the belief that letting go and letting be is an act of bravery.
Do we believe that things are coming together, girl? Even if we have no idea what the answers look like anymore?
(We do.)
In a world where writing was my home, it’s a current ghost town. I launched a book in April and immediately abandoned it. A full-time job, restlessness—they were masquerading as self-sabotage. I couldn’t find the words to talk about my emotions anymore. I didn’t think anyone cared.
And because of it, my dear book—what I knew I wanted from the moment it began to swirl inside of me—has been ignored. Not reaching hands it could help. Not being celebrated for what it is.
That’s self-rejection’s way in every time. That a voice in a sea of a billion voices needs to claw and cackle to matter. (It’s a lie.)
So while holding the reality of self-abandonment, I still hold a new budding truth in the other hand.
I don’t want to do it all.
There’s an aching to slow down in a world that chews up and spits out. An eagerness to express in the mess. I’ve stopped writing newsletters because my thoughts are disjointed, disgruntled. They don’t know where to land or how to make sense of themselves.
They’re inspiring. And they’re certainly not.
They’re not trying to sell anything. But they want to be heard.
So to the girl with no answers,
it’s okay.
Ten years ago, in a dark San Francisco room, a psychic told you the same thing. You were a girl who always knew what she wanted. And now you didn’t.
You burst into flames right there and then. And have been glowing ever since. You trusted the way through. You chose to trust yourself.
So continue to tend to your grief. Carry your loss. Put it down at night and lay it with lavender. Cradle your joy. Sing it to sleep. Share it with others.
But give your truth space to evolve. Let it run and explore. Find footing in the discomfort. And remember that life isn’t about having answers.
It’s about turning over rocks and watching trees sway and crying in your loved one’s arms and celebrating new life.
And saying what you need to say, while you still can.
It’s about following the next morsel of truth in front of you.
And slowing down time long enough to remember you’re a part of it.
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