Sacred Pathways

Tag: life

  • Learning to Die Well

    Embracing Endings, Change, and the Sacred Art of Becoming

    How Humans Relate to Death

    Most of us have been taught to fear death long before we ever face it. Not just the death of the body, but the quieter kinds too. The death of who we used to be, the version of Life we have imagined, the relationships that no longer fit. And yet, instead of honoring these endings, we cling. We call it loyalty, responsibility, stability.. but really, its fear.

    We don’t fear death because it ends something, we fear death because it asks us to surrender control.

    Somewhere along the way, we made death the enemy. We turned it into something cold and tragic instead of sacred and transformative. We built a world that celebrates birth, success, and new beginnings, but rarely teaches us how to sit inside an ending with reverence. We hide death in hospital rooms, behind closed doors, in unspoken conversations and silent grief. The same way we avoid physical death, we avoid change. We avoid the kind of choices that would require a part of us to die. The job we’ve outgrown, the relationship that no longer feels like home.

    Whether we invite it in or not, death is already present in our lives. In every season. In every leaf. In every breath, where we are asked to exhale before we can inhale again.

    “There is no ending… Only change of form. Change of illusion.” – The Law of One, Ra.

    What if death isn’t something that happens at the end of life? What if it’s happening every time we choose honesty over pretending, truth over comfort, spirit over ego?

    This is why we fear it. Because some part of us knows. Every time we choose to grow, something must be left behind. And were not just grieving what were losing, were grieving who we were inside it.

    Death Isn’t Just the Final Breath

    Death is not a moment. It’s a pattern. A rhythm. A law that life is built up on.

    We’ve been conditioned to see death only as the closing of physical life, something far away, something that happens to other people, sometime later. But if we slow down and actually look. death is happening all the time, everywhere, and within us.

    There’s the death of childhood selves we’ll never meet again. The death of beliefs we no longer cling to. The death of relationships that ended quietly long before they were spoken about.

    Every time we say, “I can’t be this person anymore,” some part of us dies. And every time we breathe into a new truth, a rebirth begins. Without death we cannot have rebirth.

    Nature has always understood this. Trees don’t cling to leaves that have turned brittle. Flowers don’t apologize for wilting when their season is complete. The tide doesn’t negotiate with the sand. It withdraws, so it may return again.

    But humans? We hold. We delay the funeral of our past selves. We’d rather stay inside a familiar suffering than step into the unknown of an unlived life.

    Not because we don’t know how to change. But because no one ever taught us how to let things die.

    And yet, the version of you reading this is proof that you have already died many times, silently, courageously, without a ceremony. You are here because someone you used to be is no longer.

    Maybe death isn’t a single moment at the end. Maybe it is the sacred space between who we were and who we are becoming.

    Why Humans Resist Change

    If death is woven into every part of life, why do we resist it so fiercely?

    Because on some level – conscious or not – change feels like dying. Not the kind that stops a heartbeat, but the kind that dissolves identity.

    We aren’t only afraid of losing what we have, were afraid of losing who we are.

    The ego is built to protect us, to preserve what is known. It whispers, “Stay here. At least you know the rules. At least here you know who you are.” Even when “here” is painful. Even when “here” is a life lived on mute.

    So instead of ending things, we linger. We stay in jobs that drain the color from our days. We hold on to relationships that feel like shrinking. We keep wearing versions of ourselves that no longer fit.

    Not because it’s right, because it’s known.

    Resistance is not protection, it’s a cage made of our own fear.

    We tell ourselves were staying safe, but what we’re really doing is slowly abandoning the life that is trying to be born through us.

    This is why death, real, symbolic, internal, is sacred. Not because it’s easy. Not because it doesn’t hurt. But because it frees us to live without being half-alive.

    Grief is not the enemy of transformation. Avoidance is.

    Death as a Sacred Portal

    If we could see death the way the soul sees it, we would no longer call it an ending. We would call it a doorway.

    From the lens of the Law of One, nothing truly dies. Energy cannot be destroyed – only transformed. Life moves in spirals, not straight lines. We shift form, identity, body, and vibration. But at the core, we remain.

    Physical death is only one expression of this truth.

    “The catalyst of experience is designed to offer the death of that which is no longer needed. In surrendering, the entity steps into a more light-filled configuration of being.” -Ra

    This is death as alchemy. And when we allow these inner-deaths to happen consciously, when we meet them instead of resisting, something shifts.

    Death becomes holy. Grief becomes a teacher. Endings become thresholds.

    Hermetic teachings echo the same truth: “Nothing rests; everything moves; everything vibrates.” – The Kybalion

    Meaning: stagnation is the illusion. Movement is the reality. Death is movement. Change is movement.

    To fear death, in any form, is to fear our own becoming.

    The Art of Dying Before You Die

    Across ancient traditions, mystics and seekers were taught one thing before all else: Learn how to Die while you’re still alive.

    Not physically. But to let the false self – the ego, the stories, the attachments – dissolve before the final breath ever comes.

    Because those who have learned to die well…are the ones who truly learn how to live.

    This wisdom echoes through centuries:

    “Die before you die. There is no chance after.” – Rumi

    To Die before you die is:

    • Letting the performance fall away.
    • Letting the old self go without needing to hate it first.
    • Grieving what once was while choosing what now wants to be born.

    It doesn’t always come with ceremonies. Sometimes it looks like:

    • Finally telling the truth.
    • Leaving the life you built when you didn’t know yourself yet.
    • No longer abandoning yourself to be loved.

    It’s not glamorous. It’s not always peaceful. It often feels like heartbreak, emptiness, or standing in a field with no map.

    The Celts understood this, too. To them, death was not a punishment. It was a passage.

    “Every falling leaf returns to the soil to feed the roots of what will bloom.”

    So what if we, too, practiced endings with reverence? What if we learned to sit at the bedside of our old selves, not with shame, but with gratitude?

    The art of dying before you die is not morbid, it’s not bleak. It is the most courageous devotion to life.

    To release.

    To trust.

    To begin again.

    Rituals and Practices for Sacred Endings

    If death and rebirth are part of being human, then we need to learn not just how to survive them, but how to honor them.

    Ritual doesn’t have to be dramatic or mystical. It is simply a way of saying, “Something has ended. Something new is beginning. I choose to witness it.” It gives the soul a language the mind can understand.

    Here are gentle ways to practice dying, and beginning, with intention:

    • Name what is dying. Bring it into the truth. Whisper it, write it, cry it.
    • Write an obituary for your old self. Write about who you were, what they carried, how they kept you safe. Then release them. You can burn it, bury it, rip it up.
    • Fire- The Alchemy of Release. Write down the beliefs, narratives, or habits you are ready to let go of. Burn them in a fire safe bowl or bonfire. As the smoke rises, choose to breathe deeper instead of holding on.
    • Earth Ritual-Burial and Becoming. Bury something that symbolizes your old self. A letter, a piece of jewelry, a dried flower from a past chapter. Let the soil transform it, like leaves to roots.
    • Breath as a Practice of Dying and Rebirth. Every exhale is a tiny death. Every inhale is a rebirth. Try this: Breathe in – I receive life. Breathe out – I let go of what is gone. This is the smallest, simplest ritual and the most constant one.
    • Grieve Without Rushing to “Move on.” Let grief exist without stuffing it into productivity or timelines. Grief is proof that something mattered. Let it wash over you like a tide, not to drown you, but to make space for something new.

    Ritual doesn’t force change. It simply says: I’m willing. I’m listening. i’m not running from the end anymore.

    Living Fully Only Comes After You’ve Died a Little

    There is a strange kind of freedom that only comes after something has died.

    Not the freedom of running away, but the freedom of no longer pretending. Of no longer forcing yourself into a life, a role, a version of you that your soul quietly outgrew.

    When you allow part of yourself to die – a role, a story, an expectation – you make space for something wilder, truer, softer to take root.

    This is the part of death we don’t talk about: the aliveness that follows.

    Because when you’ve sat with endings, when you’ve been brave enough to let go of the version of you that was built for survival, you love differently. You choose differently. You stop wasting time on half-hearted living.

    When you no longer fear the loss of a life you don’t belong to anymore, that’s when you start belonging to yourself.

    Suddenly:

    • You say “no” without guilt.
    • You say “yes” without fear.
    • You love people because you want to, not because you’re afraid to lose them.
    • You live with a steady kind of courage, because you’ve already met death in small ways and survived.

    We only begin to live fully when we stop living life safely.

    Because death – in all its forms – is not here to take life from us. It’s here to give it back.

  • Finding Balance in Love and Adventure

    They say the magic happens outside your comfort zone…

    There’s something about travel that pulls us out of our patterns. It asks us to see the world, and each other, in a different light. This trip to California my partner Nicholas and I took wasn’t just about the beauty of the land (although that was breathtaking). It was about learning about how two very different people can create something even richer when they choose to find love and meet in the middle. It was about how love grows when you choose to step outside your comfort zone, stay open to new experiences, and let differences be teachers instead of barriers. What unfolded between us in those days reminded me that balance isn’t something you find, its something you create together.

    Nicholas and I are very different. Especially when it comes to pace. He’s go, go, go, always ready for the next adventure. I’m more of a slow and savor kind of person..happy to cuddle in bed and take my time.

    It took a few days, a couple of constructive arguments, and some emotional moments to really find our balance. But when we did, it felt like something softened. He gave me the space to feel whatever I was feeling without taking it personally or trying to change it. And I gave myself the trust to adapt and lean into the moment without losing who I am. That’s where we could finally meet in the middle.

    In Yosemite’s beauty, we started to fall into a flow. He slows his steps so we could stop at the river and cool down. I tried things I might not normally do, just to be in the moment with him. We supported each other when the other was tired. We let each other just be without needing to “fix” anything.

    Our little tiny home tucked into the trees by the river felt like the most sacred place in the world. We cooked together, made fires, grilled hot dogs, drank wine under the stars, and let the stillness of night wrap around us. Being there just days before the full moon felt like a blessing.

    There’s this feeling that hits you sometimes, when you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, growing in exactly the ways you were always meant to. And you see how having someone by your side who sees life the way you do, in the ways that matter most..it makes you braver. More willing to look at the harder parts of yourself, to understand them, and to love them.

    And maybe that’s what allows you to call in the truest, most beautiful version of yourself you’ve ever been.

  • Taking The Leap

    How To Move Forward When You Feel Stuck

    You know that feeling. The ache in your chest, the tightness in your throat.The endless loop of thoughts that say, “I know I need to do something… but I cant seem to move.”

    Maybe it’s a decision you’ve been avoiding. Maybe it’s a conversation. A new chapter. A dream. Something inside you is whispering “it’s time.” But instead of action, you freeze. You scroll. You sleep. You overthink. You numb.

    And then the guilt sets in, because you know better, right? You know growth is on the other side, you’ve read the quotes. You’ve heard the pep talks. But still, something about taking that first step feels absolutely terrifying.

    Let me tell you something that might change everything. Taking action when you’re stuck might be one of the bravest things you’ll ever do. And the fear you feel? That’s not weakness. That’s a sign that the step you’re about to take… matters.

    This isn’t a post about pushing through. This is a love letter to the part of you that’s scared—and still willing. The part that wants a life that feels whole and honest and alive. The part that knows you can’t stay in this place forever.

    If you’re reading this, it means something in you is already shifting.

    Let’s talk about why taking action is so scary—and how to do it anyway, with grace, with truth, and maybe even a little bit of magic.

    Why Taking Action Feels So Scary

    Here’s the truth no one really talks about:

    Action isn’t hard because you’re lazy. It’s hard because it changes everything. When you take action—even the smallest step—you’re signaling to your body, your mind, and your soul: “We’re not doing things the old way anymore.” And that’s terrifying.

    Not because you don’t want change… But because part of you still clings to the comfort of the known. Even if the known is miserable. Even if it’s holding you back. It’s familiar. And the familiar is safe, even when it’s slowly suffocating you.

    Taking action—real, soul-led action—means risking discomfort. It means risking failure. Or judgment. Or success. (Yes, that can be just as scary.) It means standing at the edge of the cliff and deciding to jump… even when you don’t know if the wings will appear before the ground does.

    But here’s what’s even scarier:

    Staying stuck. Shrinking. Betraying yourself by doing nothing. That silent ache that follows you day after day, whispering “this isn’t it.”

    You’re not scared because you’re weak. You’re scared because the version of you on the other side of this choice is bigger. Brighter. Freer. And stepping into her means leaving behind all the versions of you who settled for less.

    You don’t need to leap. You don’t even need to run. But you do need to move. And sometimes that starts with a breath. A text. A journal entry. A yes. That’s how momentum builds.

    This fear is not the end.

    It’s the beginning of your return.

    Reframing The Fear

    What if fear wasn’t something to fight… but something to listen to?

    What if it wasn’t a stop sign, but a signal that something meaningful is waiting just beyond your comfort zone? Before every big change in life, there’s usually a quiet moment of reckoning. First comes awareness.

    The realization that you’re repeating the same cycles. Making the same choices. Feeling the same ache. And suddenly, you just… can’t unsee it anymore.

    It’s in that moment—when the old way becomes too painful to bear—that transformation begins. But right after awareness? That’s when fear arrives. Not because you’re broken or weak—but because something deep inside you knows: If I follow this path, I won’t be the same person on the other side.

    And that’s scary.

    But fear doesn’t mean stop. Fear means this matters. You don’t need to shame it, fight it, or try to shove it down. You can look it in the eye. Acknowledge it. Thank it for trying to protect you.

    And then love yourself enough to say:

    “I no longer live here. I’m choosing something higher.”

    Fear isn’t here to rule you. It’s here to remind you that the leap you’re about to take is real. It means you’re not sleepwalking anymore. You’re awake.

    And that changes everything.

    How To Move Forward When You’re Frozen

    Let’s be real—when you’re in that stuck place, advice like “just do it” feels insulting. Because if it were that easy, you would’ve done it already.

    You don’t need pressure. You need permission. Permission to move slowly. Gently. In a way that honors your nervous system and your soul.

    So if you’re frozen right now, here’s what I want you to know: You don’t need to take the big leap today. You just need to lean forward.

    Here are a few soul-led ways to begin:

    1. 

    Start Smaller Than Small

    If the step you’re imagining feels too big, it probably is. Shrink it. Shrink it again. Until it feels almost… laughable. That’s the one. Tiny movement still creates momentum. And momentum dissolves fear.

    2. 

    Create Ritual Around the Step

    Infuse your action with intention—it helps the body feel safe.

    • Light a candle.
    • Say a prayer or affirmation.
    • Ask your guides to walk with you.

    3. 

    Ground Yourself in the “Why”

    You’re not doing this because someone told you to. You’re doing it because the old way no longer fits. Remember why you’re ready to grow.

    4. 

    Speak to the Fear with Love

    “I see you.”

    “I understand why you’re here.”

    “But I’m choosing something different now.”

    Every time you choose love over fear—even in thought—you shift your path.

    5. 

    Celebrate the Step—Even If It’s Invisible to Others

    Some of your bravest moves will happen in private. Celebrate them anyway. Honor the version of you who showed up, even when it would’ve been easier to stay asleep. Because that version? She’s the one leading you home.

    It’s Time To Soar

    With each step you take, no matter how small, everything shifts.

    Your energy changes. Your timeline bends. Your future softens and expands to meet the version of you who dared to move. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be true.

    Because even the tiniest step toward the new version of yourself is a step back home.

    You will never feel fully ready. That’s the point. Comfort wants you to stay where you are. But you didn’t come here to stay small.

    So look comfort in the eyes and say:

    “Thank you for protecting me. But it’s time for me to grow. It’s time for me to soar.”

    Start where you are.

    Move gently.

    Move honestly.

    Move with love.

    Because you’re not stuck.

    You’re standing at the edge of your becoming.

    And I promise—on the other side of this fear, there’s freedom.

  • Transforming Scarcity Mindset into Abundance

    One Thought at a Time

    Lately, I’ve found myself revisiting the same lesson again and again. How deeply I have been conditioned to expect the worst, to brace for struggle, to subconsciously believe that I have to earn my right to be okay.

    It doesn’t always scream at me.

    I’ll be halfway through the day and realize I’ve been running on autopilot- not entirely present, just going through the motions. I’ll think of a list of things I have to take care of, and instead of starting a task, I shut down.

    That’s the voice of lack too. For a long time, I didn’t recognize it. I thought that was just how I was wired.

    But the more I peel back the layers, the more I see that this is a freeze response, one I learned early on.

    From moments when I felt unsupported, when asking for help I didn’t feel safe, when emotions were too big for the room I was in. So my system coped by going quiet. By checking out.And even now, as an adult trying to rewire it all, my body sometimes still thinks it has to protect me that way.

    But I’m learning to meet those moments with compassion, not judgment.

    To say: You don’t have to disappear to be safe. You don’t have to be invisible to be loved. You’re allowed to take up space, even in stillness.

    And when I can remember that — even for a breath — I start to come back online.

    Not in a big, dramatic way. But in small, sacred ways that remind me:

    Abundance isn’t something I chase. It’s something I allow.

    The Power of “Catching It”

    It happens in fleeting moments. I’ll catch myself mid-thought, mid-worry, and pause. I don’t always feel better right away, but that pause is sacred. That’s when I reach for my reminders:

    “Everything always works out for me.”

    “I am supported. I am safe. I am provided for.”

    “I don’t have to hold it all. I can be held.”

    These words aren’t about pretending. They’re about remembering — if even for a breath — that abundance is already within me. Sometimes that’s all it takes to feel a soft shift, a glimmer of peace, like my nervous system just unclenched a little.

    And to me, that glimmer is everything.

    Rooting Down to Rise Up

    As I do this work, I’ve been drawn to my root chakra more than ever. It makes sense, the root is all about safety, trust, and the right to exist in peace. For most of my life, that’s felt like something I had to prove or earn. But I’m realizing now… I don’t.

    Balancing this energy isn’t about being perfect. It’s about presence.

    I’m learning to feel into my body more. Noticing where the tension lives, slowing down my breath, stepping barefoot into the grass when I can. These small acts help rewire the story that I’m alone or unsupported.

    Because I’m not. And neither are you.

    I’m Not “Fixing” Myself — I’m Loving Myself

    Maybe that’s the biggest shift of all.

    For so long, I thought healing meant removing the fear. That if I still had doubt, or stress, or scarcity pop up, I must not be doing it right.

    But now I see that healing isn’t about elimination.

    It’s about relationship. With myself. With my thoughts. With the parts of me that still get scared sometimes.

    I’m not trying to force myself into fake positivity. I’m not slapping affirmations over wounds I haven’t acknowledged.

    I’m learning to listen — gently. To notice when my inner child is afraid and offer her safety, not shame.

    To slow down just enough to whisper:

    “I see you. You’re allowed to feel this. And you’re still safe. You’re still loved.”

    Lack still visits me sometimes, but I don’t build a home for it anymore.

    I don’t feed it. I don’t let it drive.

    Instead, I light a candle for truth. I breathe deeper. I come back to presence. I affirm again, not to fix myself, but to love myself back into remembrance.

    And honestly? That’s the most abundant thing I’ve ever done.

    For You, If You’re Walking This Too

    If you’re doing this work, rewiring your beliefs, learning to trust the unknown, remembering that you’re worthy just by being alive — I want you to know something:

    You’re doing beautifully. Even if it feels messy.

    Even if you have to remind yourself a hundred times a day.

    Even if abundance feels far away.

    It’s closer than you think.

    It lives in the breath you’re taking right now.

    It lives in your willingness to keep showing up.

    A Few of My Favorite Daily Reminders:

    • Everything always works out for me.
    • I am safe to rest.
    • I am always supported and provided for.
    • I am rooted. I am rising.
    • I am already enough.
    • I trust the unfolding.

  • Beyond Judgement

    Seeing the Divine Within All

    There is a truth the heart knows, but the mind sometimes forgets.

    Actions may become distorted.

    Souls remain divine.

    We are invited to see beyond the veil of judgement into the deeper memory of Oneness.

    Distortion Is Not Identity

    When we encounter cruelty, selfishness, or harm, in others, or in ourselves, it is easy to collapse it into labels: “Good” “Bad” “Worthy” “Unworthy”

    But distortion is not identity. It is forgetting. It is the result of pain, fear, and disconnection wrapping around a light that has never been extinguished.

    The soul remains whole.

    The soul remains divine.

    Even when forgotten.

    When we realize distortion is not the souls truth, we stop making enemies of others. We stop making enemies of ourselves.

    We can witness pain, fear, anger, without merging with them or defining anyone by a single moment.

    Judgement Builds Walls. Understanding Builds Bridges

    Every judgement we hold against another, or against ourselves, is a stone we place in a wall around our hearts.

    Understanding does not mean agreeing. It means refusing to imprison the heart behind barriers of fear. Judgement says, “You are your mistake.” Understanding says, “You are learning. You are still light.”

    When we choose understanding, we choose to remember. Everyone is walking their own sacred, messy, beautiful journey home to Source.

    We Do Not Excuse Harm, We Remember Love

    Accountability matters.

    Boundaries matter.

    Choosing wisdom matters.

    But our deeper work is to see through distortion without letting it shatter our remembrance of Oneness.

    Love does not blind itself to pain.Love sees pain clearly – and still chooses compassion. Love sets necessary boundaries – without hatred. Love holds truth and compassion in the same hand.

    We are not called to excuse cruelty. We are called to refuse to let cruelty destroy our ability to love.

    Even Those Lost in Distortion Are Walking Home

    Some lessons are learned through joy. Some are learned through sorrow. Some are learned over many lifetimes of forgetting.

    All journeys eventually lead home.

    We are not here to “save” anyone. We are not here to “fix” anyone. We are here to witness the Divine spark still glowing, even when its buried beneath layers of pain.

    We are here to remember. For ourselves. For others. For the whole.

    Real Life Reflections

    In daily life, this remembrance invites us to soften:

    • When we see someone lashing out in anger online, we can pause and remember, “They are still learning, just like I am.”
    • When a loved one speaks from fear instead of love, we can set boundaries if needed- but also recognize the hurt beneath their harshness.
    • When public figures act from distortion, we can hold them accountable without reducing them to their worst moment.
    • When we judge ourselves harshly, we can whisper: “I am divine even in my imperfection. I am still walking home.”

    The more we practice, the more the walls fall away. And bridges of light are built in their place.

    How Do We Practice Seeing the Divine Within All?

    Small, powerful ways to integrate this truth daily:

    • Pause before reacting:

    When triggered by someones behavior, breathe. Ask yourself: “What fear or pain might be hiding underneath?”

    • Bless instead of curse:

    When encountering harshness, silently offer a blessing. “May you remember your own light, and I remember mine.”

    • Forgive yourself first:

    When you fall short of your own ideals, place a hand on your heart and say: “I am still divine. I am still learning. I am still worthy of love.”

    • Practice sacred vision:

    Each day, try to see at least one person – stranger, friend, or yourself – not through the lens of actions, but through the lens of eternal spirit.It is not built by ignoring darkness.

    It is built by facing it with clear eyes, and choosing love anyway.

    The Great Remembering is not naive.

    It is courageous.

    It is the choice to hold both truth and compassion together

    and to walk forward, remembering that every soul — every single one —

    is a part of the journey home.

    You Are Divine.

    They Are Divine.

    All Are Walking Home.

    May we meet each soul, including our own, with the eyes of remembrance.

    Not by excusing harm.

    Not by collapsing into separation.

    But by anchoring the truth:

    We are One.

    We are Love.

    We are remembering.

    Adonai.

  • The Transformative Power of Discomfort and Growth

    The Purpose Hidden in the Pain

    There are seasons in life when everything feels tender. Maybe something ends. Maybe something begins. Maybe nothing on the outside has changed, but inside, something is stirring. It’s easy to wonder what’s going wrong. Why the ache, the uncertainty, the unraveling. But what if it isn’t a sign that we’re breaking down? What if it’s a sign that we’re breaking open?

    There’s a term I’ve come to love for these moments: Catalyst. A term I first encountered through the lens of spiritual study, but one that applies to life no matter your belief system. Catalyst is anything that shakes us, stirs us, or stretches us. Not because we’re being punished, but because we’re being shown something. Something we’re ready to see, feel, or become.

    Catalyst Comes in Many Forms

    Catalyst doesn’t always arrive like lightning. Sometimes it tiptoes in, disguised as a new relationship, a big opportunity, a conversation you cant forget. Sometimes it shows up as someone who triggers you. Sometimes its joy that cracks you open- and sometimes its grief that does the same. Catalyst can be found in endings, beginnings, boredom, chaos, stillness, or even that one sentence someone said that keeps echoing in your mind. It’s not the form it takes that matters, it’s what it activates in you.

    Our First Response: Resistance and Fixing

    Before we consciously invite growth, we often unconsciously summon it. We manifest the people, places, and patterns that stir the sleeping parts of us. Not to punish ourselves, but because some part of us is ready to remember it. Ready to feel. Ready to heal.

    But when catalyst arrives, especially in the beginning, our first instinct is usually to resist. To fix it. To control it. To ask: “How do I get back to how things were?” It’s only with time (and a lot of grace) that we begin to ask a different question: “What is this here to show me?”

    Presence Over Perfection

    When we stop trying to escape the discomfort, a new kind of space opens within us. A space where we can listen. A space where we can ask: What part of me is waking up through this? Sometimes the answer comes easily. Sometimes it takes months, years, or even decades to fully unfold.

    Catalyst often asks for something we don’t expect: not action, not immediate understanding- but presence. A willingness to stay open even when it hurts. A willingness to hold ourselves tenderly in the uncertainty, trusting that meaning will reveal itself in time.

    Because Catalyst is rarely about the surface event, it’s about what the event activates inside of us.

    Conscious Catalyst

    There comes a moment, sometimes quiet, sometimes profound, when we realize that life isn’t happening to us, it’s happening for us. It’s not that the pain disappears overnight. It’s that something inside of us shifts. Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” we begin to ask, “What is this awakening in me?”

    This is the moment the catalyst transforms from something we fear into something we can work with. We stop resisting the discomfort and start listening to it. We stop trying to fix ourselves and start honoring the ways we are being reshaped. After all, that’s why we came here!

    Conscious catalyst doesn’t mean we stop feeling pain. It means we stop making pain the enemy. We recognize it for what it is: a teacher, a messenger, a bridge.

    And in that recognition, we step into our power. Not the power to control life, but the power to co-create with it.

    Empowerment in Practice: How to Trust the Catalyst

    Trusting the catalyst doesn’t mean forcing yourself to enjoy the discomfort. It doesn’t mean pretending you’re fine when you’re not. It means giving yourself permission to become aware within the experience, instead of collapsing under it.

    When I was recently in a car accident, I was faced with a choice. I could have let fear and scarcity take over- believing I had lost something essential, that I had fallen behind, that life was working against me. But instead, I chose to trust. I chose to believe that I could always have what I need. That even when things seem to fall apart, something greater is being built. That worry and stress were not my true guides- faith was. And through that trust, I found peace in the unknown.

    Catalyst invites all of us into that same choice. Not once. But again, and again, and again.

    Here are a few ways to gently walk with catalyst when it arrives:

    1. Reflect instead of react: When something stirs a big emotion or unexpected shift, pause. Before labeling it “good” or “bad” simply ask: “What might this be showing me?” Sometimes the insight is immediate. Sometimes it unfolds slowly. Trust the timing.
    2. Feel instead of fix: Pain often asks to be felt, not solved. Instead of rushing to change your circumstances, allow yourself to sit with the feeling. “What does this emotion want me to know?”
    3. Trust timing instead of forcing outcomes: Catalyst rarely delivers neat, fast answers. Growth is a spiral, not a straight line. “What if this moment is planting seeds I cannot yet see?”

    Trust that the meaning will reveal itself when you’re ready to receive it.

    You are not failing if you feel discomfort. You are not falling apart if you feel unsure. You are becoming. You are unfolding into the fullness of you you already are.

    You Are Not Broken, You Are Becoming

    Every moment of discomfort you have survived has shaped the depth of who you are. Every catalyst you’ve walked through has expanded your ability to love, to listen, and to live more fully.

    You are not broken because you have struggled. You are not lost because you have grieved. You are not failing because you sometimes feel afraid.

    You are becoming.

    Catalyst doesn’t come to prove your inadequacy, it comes so you can finally realize you are already whole. It comes to reveal your resilience. It comes to show you that even when life rearranges itself around you, the core of who you are remains steady, whole, and worthy.

    The next time something stirs you, shakes you, or challenges you, I invite you to pause. Take a breath. Place a hand over your heart. And ask yourself:

    “What if this, too, is part of my becoming?”

    You are stronger than you know. You are wiser than you realize. And you are exactly where you are meant to be.