And Then, I Changed My Mind
Momentum isn’t always meaningful when we’re not sure what direction we want to go.
In one month, it’ll be a year since I started what would turn into 18 days of hemorrhaging.
I would love to say that I’m all better a year later, especially with a hysterectomy that’s now three months behind me, but I’m not.
I’m not losing iron anymore, and that’s something.
But I’m not better.
In fact, in many ways, I’m a lot worse.
That’s not to garner sympathy or attention; it’s simply the truth.
My healing post-op is slower than most because I’m still deficient despite now being within the “normal” range on my lab work (normal is often far from optimal or what’s necessary for healing, which is something we’d never know without being forced to research it for ourselves as the system continually fails us). I’m extremely burned out and unsure why I’m doing a lot of the things I’m doing, all while simultaneously telling myself that staying consistent is important. I’m tired. I feel a bit lost.
I made a whole episode for my podcast's one-year anniversary about the pride of pushing through, filled with appreciation for doing something that mattered to me and continuing to show up and engage in these conversations despite how sick I was.
At that moment, and for a little while after, it was true.
I was proud.
I did know why I was doing it.
I was grateful that I didn’t stop throughout my health storm.
And then, I changed my mind.
Or, more accurately, what’s right and aligned for me changed, and I’m finally honoring that truth.
I learned several years ago what I’m being reminded of now: that sometimes, you really do need to burn the boats to find your way forward. Sometimes, you have to step back and away in order to grasp the bigger picture and make sense of the map, finding new pathways and allowing space for new possibilities to emerge. Sometimes, that’s not something that can be done while you’re still immersed in everything old.
In 2017, I pulled down seven years of content one frigid winter evening. From so many perspectives, including my mentor’s, it was the stupidest thing I could have done—years of content, search engine juice, backlinks, and funnels gone—just like that.
But what I knew in my heart, and what proved to be true, is that it was the best thing I could have done for me and my work.
Despite the traction I absolutely lost on the internet, I have zero regrets.
It’s the only reason a deeper and richer aspect of the work was born, paving a new way forward and anchoring me into a more aligned version of self.
This moment feels so similar.
I can feel the urge to wipe the slate clean.
The definite need to not be online in all the ways I have been for nearly two decades. Because even though I pulled seven years of content down, I was still online. I still posted to social media and sent things to my list. Heck, I was even making vlogs!
This time, it feels louder, bigger, and more critical.
It feels necessary to stop.
The podcast.
This Substack.
The things I was building.
Showing up online in any capacity.
Work will continue behind the scenes because the agency is always running.
But me?
It’s time to fade into the darkness of being offline for as long as it takes to heal and figure out the right way forward.
I know that this can and may sound inspiring to some. The courage to step back and leap into the unknown. The strings of well-crafted (I hope) sentences flowing in a meaningful direction. The lessons. The prospect of new and better things to come.
But I can tell you that it’s not.
Not in the messy middle of it.
Not after so much loss in so many different ways.
Not with how it feels to be me, in this body at this particular moment in my journey.
Despite the many seasons of grief, trauma, feeling lost, battling bouts of depression, and navigating through the disorientation of change, I’ve never stopped creating. I’ve always continued to write online. I’ve always had a presence, a profile, a channel of communication with the world. I’ve always documented and made things for others.
I’m not doing any of that right now, and I’m unsure when I will again.
I know it’s not forever because I’m wired to create, but I also understand that I can’t keep fighting what feels aligned for my heart and soul right now. I can’t keep showing up because I’ve never not or because I’m worried about “losing momentum.”
Despite what many will preach, momentum isn’t always meaningful when we’re unsure what direction we want to go. Sometimes, it’s better to sit down in the middle of the proverbial road until we’re clear on which way is right and ready to stand back up and take those steps forward.
Discernment.
Pushing through while I was sick was right.
Pushing through now while I work to figure out what’s next isn’t.
Changing my mind is also part of my energetic wiring, and when the desire and energy aren’t there for something anymore, it serves no one for me to keep pushing.
So, I’m not.
I’m stepping offline for an undetermined amount of time.
Thank you for being on this journey with me, whether you listen to the podcast or read my words. I make no promises of a return to either*, though it’s not totally off the table. The only promise I make is that my work will remain accessible on my website and YouTube and that I’ll only come back if it feels right, in the way that feels right.
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Hugs and love to you!
PS—Remaining podcast episodes that are edited will continue to drop. Subscribe on YouTube or iTunes to find them and to catch new episodes if/when the show resumes.
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