You’re Not Falling Apart You’re Integrating
The moment everything shakes is also the moment it starts to root.
It’s like your body’s been hijacked by a version of you that doesn’t speak English.
You’re staring into the fridge like it holds life’s answers.
You’re misty-eyed over a coffee commercial.
You feel itchy in your own routines—like the things that used to feel grounding now feel… off.
You cancel plans you swore you wanted.
You start a task and forget why you even cared.
You keep telling yourself, “I should be fine,” but something in you knows… you’re not.
Still—this isn’t a breakdown.
It’s a message.
A body memo.
“You’ve let go of something familiar. And now the unfamiliar is trying to land. Please don’t run. Please don’t override me again.”
This Isn’t Regression. It’s the Recalibration.
You’ve made shifts.
Set intentions.
Spoken truths out loud that you used to bury under a smile.
You’ve told the truth about what you want. What you’re done with.
What you're no longer willing to perform for.
And that clarity? It comes with a cost.
Old patterns don’t exit quietly.
Even good change can stir chaos.
So when the ground underneath you feels unstable, you’re not failing.
You’re just becoming someone your old patterns no longer recognize.
That Rejection? It Shook Me
and Then It Rooted Me.
When I pitched my TEDx talk, it wasn’t some big leap into the unknown. It was more like a coming home.
It was a clear, confident continuation of what I already do well, weaving personal values, career voice, lived experience, and soul-level purpose into something that moves people.
That talk reflected everything I teach. Everything I live. Everything I value.
It was sharp. It was real. It was honest.
And the committee said no.
That rejection was honored but …
It shook me.
But not because I doubted the message. Not even because I felt unworthy.
It shook me because I realized I was standing at the edge of something new—and the old way of seeking approval was no longer coming with me.
The “no” didn’t close a door.
It clarified the ground I was standing on.
The Ground Beneath My Feet Wasn’t the Stage. It Was My Values.
My values—creativity, clarity, truth, sustainability—held me steady when my ego wanted to spiral. They reminded me that impact isn’t measured by spotlights or stages.
Impact is how deeply your message lives in your bones—whether or not it gets a standing ovation.That “no” helped me practice what I preach:
That rest is a leadership strategy.
That integration is as valuable as execution.
That purpose doesn’t require permission.
I realized: if I need a TEDx mic to believe in my work, I’ve built it on shaky ground.
But if I can be told no and still keep moving, trusting, sharing, guiding—that’s unshakeable. That’s sustainable success.
My Values Became the Anchor
So I didn’t chase another stage.
I let my values hold me.
I let clarity—not urgency—decide what came next.
I remembered that I don’t teach from the stage—I teach from the soil.
That rejection became a return.
To what matters.
To what’s mine to say.
To the foundation I want others to build on, too.
Because if your expansion depends on applause, it’s not expansion—it’s performance. But if your expansion comes from alignment… it can weather anything.
Earth Shakes Before
the New Foundations is created
When you’re building new rhythms, new patterns, a new way of being… The old ones will try to pull you back. Because discomfort often feels more familiar than peace. But this moment—the hunger, the insomnia, the fog, the fire—isn’t a breakdown.
It’s your system searching for new ground.
You are not falling apart.
You are recalibrating.
You’re not regressing.
You’re integrating the version of you you asked for.
So What Does Anchoring Actually Look Like?
Not in theory—in your actual life?
Saying no to the impulse to explain yourself
Pausing before you react to that text
Feeding yourself something warm before opening another tab
Choosing stillness when your whole body says “fix it now”
Crying on the floor and not making that mean you’re broken
Anchoring isn’t graceful.
It’s real.
It’s messy.
And it’s holy.
You are not meant to live
at the pace of your panic.
You’re allowed to feel this. To name it. To tend to it. You’re the bridge between what was and what will be. You don’t owe stability to anyone while you’re building it.
Try this instead of doom-scrolling:
Next time you're hovering over a “just forget it” text, light a candle, put your feet on the floor, deep breath in and with the exhale … whisper: (or shout)
“I am the bridge. Not the breakdown.”
Need a hand across the bridge?
Download the Week-at-a-Glance + Priority Checklist for when your plans are melting and you need a fresh way to look at the week that doesn’t involve starting from scratch.
And if you’re building something big and tender and real…
The Creative Return is the compost, the clarity, and the quiet revolution you didn’t know you were ready for. It’s not a course. It’s a shift.
