There’s a unique kind of stillness that finds you when the noise fades, not just around you, but within you. The kind that doesn’t come with schedules or success metrics, but with silent afternoons, unwritten to-do lists, and the realization that you are more than what you produce.
Today, I’m reflecting on what it means to truly be not do, not prove, not perform. Just be. And in being, I’ve learned something deeply valuable: even in my quietest seasons, I am still growing.
This season hasn’t come with grand declarations or public wins. It’s come with slow mornings, quiet prayers, unfinished drafts, and a lot of internal questioning. But it’s also come with clarity. It’s come with deeper awareness of myself as a creative, a thinker, a daughter of God, and a vessel with layers worth exploring.
Sometimes the world makes you feel like you must always be on posting, producing, performing. But lately, I’ve been giving myself permission to pause. And not just the kind of pause that looks like a break, but the kind that invites me to lean into what I’m truly feeling, desiring, and even avoiding.
I’ve picked up my pen more often not to write for applause, but to write for healing. I’ve written in ways that surprised even me, expressing things I didn’t realize were still tucked away beneath my composed smile and multitasking mind. I’ve been reconnecting with the part of me that writes for the sake of honesty, not impact. And in those moments, I’ve met myself again.
Being multifaceted is a blessing, but sometimes it can feel like a weight. There’s pressure to do everything well, to keep up with every layer. But today, I reminded myself that it’s okay to tend to just one layer at a time. The others won’t disappear they’ll simply wait for their turn.
This still season is teaching me the sacred art of presence of being where my feet are, feeling what I feel, and allowing space for divine direction. I don’t have to rush through this. There is purpose even here. Especially here.
And maybe you’re in a similar space. Maybe the quiet is uncomfortable because you’re used to the constant movement. Maybe you’re wondering if you’ve slowed down too much. I just want you to know: you’re not behind. You’re not stagnant. You’re in a space of refinement, and that’s holy too.
This quiet is preparing you for clarity.
This pause is making room for peace.
And this slowness is reminding you that you are more than your pace.
I’m not rushing out of this season. I’m leaning in. I’m showing up for the small, sacred moments. I’m nurturing my creativity without demanding perfection. I’m resting in the truth that I am still whole, even when the world can’t see what I’m building.
If you’re reading this and it resonates, I want to remind you too: the quiet doesn’t mean absence. It might just be the whisper of God, drawing you deeper into who you’re becoming.