We've all heard it: Every moment is a choice between fear and love.

It’s quoted in spiritual circles like scripture. It sounds right. It feels right. But lately, I’ve realized—through a beautifully unexpected mirror—that it’s not the full truth.

Most of us were introduced to the idea of a “sacred pause” in the context of emotional regulation.

It goes like this:

Something triggers you. Your chest tightens. Your jaw clenches. You’re about to react.

And then—you remember…

Lately, something unexpected has been happening in my body.

I’ve been in a constant state of creative flow—building, writing, designing, channeling—and I feel deeply, wholly… satisfied. Not just intellectually or emotionally, but erotically. My libido is quieter than usual. Not gone, just… at peace.

And I’ll be honest, it caught me off guard.

"I enjoy showing up for you.” That was their response after doing something generous for me.

And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Not because it was unexpected—this partner is already soooo generous—but because of what the phrase stirred in me. The part of me that has, for so long, equated asking with BURDEN.

For the last 20 years or so, I had a tradition.

Each year on my birthday, I would choose someone who had meant a lot to me in the previous year and I’d buy them a gift and write them a heartfelt letter—something that honored how deeply they had touched my life.

At some point, I stopped buying the gifts.

I was wrong. And it’s important I say this.

For years, l shared the common belief that you never fully “heal” your core wounds—especially those of abandonment, rejection, and unworthiness. That these traumas would always linger in some form, coloring how you relate, attach, grieve, or fear.

But I can’t say that anymore.

Have you ever noticed how two people can experience the exact same situation yet interpret it completely differently? One sees it as punishment; the other as a gift.

The difference? Sovereignty.

When you operate from sovereignty, you anchor yourself deeply into the belief that you are the Creator, rather than the victim, of your reality.

We've all been there—feeling judgment, anger, or resentment toward someone, convinced that they're the source of our discomfort. But what if these emotions are less about them and more about unacknowledged parts of ourselves?​

Consider this: every person we encounter acts as a mirror, reflecting our beliefs about ourselves and the world. This perspective suggests that our external interactions highlight internal truths we might overlook.​

There’s a strange kind of magic in achieving a dream. That moment of arrival—when you finally grasp the thing you once thought was out of reach—feels like the pinnacle, the peak, the mountaintop.

And for a while, it is.

You revel in it. You celebrate. You breathe it in, because it’s the best you’ve ever had in that particular category of life…

I don’t owe anyone an explanation for why I walk away.

And neither do you.

Not when a relationship turns sour.

Not when a job drains you dry.

Not when a friendship reveals itself as a one-sided performance.

There’s a lot of talk about “cutoff culture,” about how ruthless it is to sever ties and move on without looking back…

You’ve done the shadow work. You’ve journaled, processed, and unraveled your deepest patterns. You feel solid. But instead of breaking through, you feel… stuck.

That’s because at a certain point, growth can’t happen in isolation. The next level requires witnessing—not just self-reflection, but real-time expansion through relationships, mentorship, and being seen.

Growth happens in reflection.

Personal growth has long been obsessed with the idea of shadow work—digging into your wounds, uncovering subconscious blocks, and constantly seeking out what’s “wrong” so it can be healed. It’s been positioned as the key to transformation, the path to unlocking your full potential. But what if I told you that the way most people approach shadow work is actually keeping them stuck?

What you focus on EXPANDS.