I am venturing out into the unknown, charting new territory in my own mind. Who knows what I will encounter? There are others who have ventured this path before me, but we all have our own journey.

It is uncomfortable in the unknown. There is no familiarity, no certainty. As if to rescue me from my own foolhardy adventure, a familiar voice pipes up:

“Maybe you can’t do it.” “People are just being nice.” “You don’t have anything else to offer.” “Maybe you should stick to things you know you are good at.”

It is tempting to believe her. To remain in the comfort of what I know, even if I know I am not happy there. At least I know what to expect.

But that is not why I am here. It is not why I chose this adventure. To dim. To fit in. To go through the motions.

I am here to live, to my fullest potential, in my most authentic expression. Years of conditioned living had clouded who that was, the voice in my head had created a shrouded mist it was hard to find my way through.

But now there is another voice speaking. Guiding me along the path. The frequency of truth dissolving the mist.

“This matters.” “You are being called to this for a reason.” “You don’t know how it will work out, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be successful.” “Everything always works out for you.” “Just because something feels hard, doesn’t mean you aren’t good at it.”

As I navigate a new way of being, I listen for Her. She is the one who provides comfort in the unknown, who offers faith when things feel uncertain. She is the creator, She is me.

Have you ever noticed a second, quieter voice underneath the critical one? What does it sound like when it shows up?

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I have dreamed of being a writer for at least a decade, fantasized about what I could write and how it could impact others, longed to have my imaginary works read and appreciated. But something always stopped me before I ever really got started. No, not something, someone.

She said things like: “Who do you think you are?” “That’s indulgent.” “This is not real work.” “Someone else has already said it better.” “You are not qualified.” “You are not original enough.” “You should do something more productive.”

She spoke in such a subtle whisper, I didn’t fully register the words—I didn’t even question them. I accepted them blindly as the truth, as reality. It is strange how someone so quiet can be so commanding.

It is also strange how loud she got when I decided to go ahead and write despite my reservations. The whisper became a shout; I could hear her more clearly. I could actually see the web she had woven in my mind, how its threads touched every aspect of my life, how it trapped me.

The more I write, the more the threads begin to unravel.

Fears that hadn’t reached the surface of my awareness are now rising up.

The ways in which my past experiences have reinforced my self-imposed limits are becoming apparent.

The disconnection from my true self is laid out before me like a severed wire.

That is the ultimate cost of allowing her to weave her web, the web of my identity: being so wrapped up in it that I didn’t even realize it was cutting me from my lifeforce, my very essence.

But she only did it to protect me. She didn’t know she was causing harm. So I won’t violently hack at the web that has trapped me these many years. I will release the threads gently, slough them off my shoulders so I can step back and behold the beauty inherent in the well-spun web, the perfect order of it all.

From this place of appreciation I can begin anew. I can’t help but weave a web—it is what we do. But I can use different threads, ones that flow from the center of my being rather than my conditioning. And who knows, maybe she can help me do it.

Is there something you have wanted to do but talked yourself out of doing? What does the voice that stops you say?

My writing is free, but if you find value in it, you can leave a small, one-time donation here to support my work. Many thanks!

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