I woke up at 2:30 in the morning with an ache I couldn’t quite name.
A quiet, persistent whisper:
“I used to be somebody.”
Not in the fame or title sense—but in the deep, internal knowing. A groundedness. A certainty that my presence meant something, simply because I existed.
And now I find myself asking:
How do I get back to that?
Not to the version of myself that achieved or performed, but to the truth that has always been mine. The thing no role, no accolade, no outcome could give or take away.
But how do you find your worth in the middle of all the noise?
The striving.
The pressure.
The constant hum of “not enough.”
The fear of not belonging.
How do I allow my body to release the air it’s been holding—this tight grasp on needing to prove I matter?
How do I assure, and re-assure, my nervous system that God’s plans are still in motion—even when I feel uncertain?
How do I invite peace into a world that seems to measure value by accomplishments alone?
Maybe the real question is this:
How does anyone forgive themselves for not knowing how to become what they already are?
Learning to Honor the Space
Recently, in a coaching session, I was invited to reflect on the discomfort I’ve been feeling with the unexpected space in my schedule.
With less work than I’d like right now, I found myself equating productivity with purpose. The empty margins on my calendar began to feel like a reflection of my worth.
But my coach offered a reframe:
What if this space isn’t a threat, but a gift?
What if this is not the absence of value, but an invitation to reconnect with it?
I’m learning that honoring space—rather than rushing to fill it—is a powerful act of trust.
Trusting that rest is not wasted.
That slowness is not failure.
That something meaningful is happening even here.
There are seasons in every life… Some seasons last longer than we want them to.
It’s not our fault. Things are just happening as they are.
See if you can lean into acceptance of yourself in your life as it is, as you are.
Moving From Resistance to Being
A mentor of mine recently deepened this lesson for me by sharing her perspective on moving from resistance to acceptance. She told me about a Valentine’s Day she spent on her own, shortly after her marriage ended. Of course, like so many of us, she dreamed of enjoying a special gift or company on that day. But instead of letting her resistance to her circumstances weigh her down, she said, “I put on my sexiest outfit, made the most delicious meal, and turned on delightful music. And then I enjoyed the heck out of myself.”
She smiled as she told me how that small but meaningful act shifted her experience. She didn’t cling to what was missing. Instead, she found joy in what was present.
More recently, she shared a story about Memorial Day. She usually loves hosting cookouts for friends and family, but this time, no one she wanted to spend time with was available. Did that stop her? Nope. She pulled out the grill, turned on her favorite tunes, and made a feast for herself.
The lesson she shared with me was this practice of saying, “I am here, being all that I am, no matter what.”
That last part hit me hard: no matter what.
No matter how many clients I have, or don’t have. No matter how visible or productive I feel. No matter the circumstances. I’m realizing that it’s not about filling the emptiness but about showing up fully in it. I can enjoy my life, share my gifts in many ways, and trust that the rest will come.
When I resist what is, I’m not open to receiving what might be coming my way. But when I stop fighting reality and make space for the now, I create room for possibility.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’re feeling this too, here’s my invitation:
Give yourself space for days like this—when clarity feels far, and the weight of mattering feels heavy. These days don’t make you less. They make you human.
And if you lead a team—or simply share space with one—offer that same grace outward.
Make room for the moments that aren’t performance-ready. Honor the off days.
Trust that the quiet contributions, the unspoken efforts, the presence of someone simply showing up—all of it matters.
In fact, the very existence of days like this is a reminder of how important it is to recognize and appreciate the people around us. Not just for what they produce—but for who they are.
And maybe, just maybe, in doing so, we begin to remember who we are.
Let’s be intentional about creating environments where humanity is not just allowed, but welcomed.
Where acknowledgment isn’t an afterthought, but a rhythm.
Where people don’t have to lose themselves to belong.
If nothing else, let’s show up fully. No matter what.
And let’s remember to be the reminder—for ourselves, and for each other.