We’ve been trained to talk about pressure after it passes. To clean up our insights, package them, and call it growth. But I don’t do that anymore. I’m writing this from the middle of the wave, not because it’s over, but because I’ve trained my survival mind how to stay present while the storm is still moving. That’s been the shift in my process, as well as in how I live.
Since 2021, I’ve written and published over 20 books and essays. I’ve sustained an indie music career for over a decade. I’m a certified life coach and I’ve built a social media presence that isn’t flashy or high-strategy, but organic and deeply personal. The whole thing is built on emotional transparency. Not branding or seasonal trends. Just a fresh perspective of truth spoken in real time. And that’s what this is: Real time.
For a long time, I thought that once I felt relief, I could finally expand. You know, I’d hit a moment where the pressure would soften, and I’d think: “Is this it? Is this when I can finally breathe?” And then another wave would hit. I’ve come to realize that expansion doesn’t always feel expansive. Sometimes it feels like you’re pushing through fog and with effort that feels like lifting a heavy block with an untrained body, especially when you’re still tethered to people who are contracting, creating the extra weight. If you’re surrounded by contraction, you don’t get to expand casually and carefree. You have to do it very consciously and that changes everything.
This doesn’t mean you stop expanding, it just means you have to expand without collapsing. It means you don’t have the physical support for the casual and carefree way. So, you do it with precision, with focused intention, and with deep breathing. That’s what I’m doing right now.
I’ve started seeing my life (that way that I process things) as part of the inhale/exhale rhythm of being alive. The ebb and the flow; the push and the pull. And the tension in the in-between space of push and pull is where disassociation creeps in. That’s where things feel like an ungrounding earthquake. But that’s the part most people never talk about…not until hindsight, retrospection, or when it’s too late to integrate it fully. It’s very real though. It’s been something I’ve had to train my body to be present with since 2016. And it’s happening again right now. This time, I’m not waiting to be polished before I name it.
It’s for training your nervous system to ride the wave while it’s still storming, while the earth is shaking, and to find the eye of the storm when everything is twisting and shattering around it. But to eventually lie on the water when it’s calm…floating, playing, splashing, and swimming. And also to pause, breathe, track, and notice when I’m in the pull because if I am the wave, then I’m responsible for tracking its fluctuations. This isn’t a philosophical metaphor. It’s real. If something in my body feels blocked, if I feel the contraction, I ask: What’s opening? What’s closing? What’s hurting? Because if I don’t track it, the wave pulls me under. But if I do, I move with it.
That’s why I’m so meticulous about word choice and word phrasings when sharing information. Because the way we talk about healing, metaphysics, and self-development is often framed in hindsight and that keeps people disconnected from the now. Avoiding the actual sensation of what’s happening in their bodies and from the truth of the wave. Much of what people call “healing” is actually just spiritualized detachment. It’s not a secure attachment to self, it’s a dissociative posture cosplaying as “light and love”. And my approach and the content that comes from it, often don’t feel good on purpose.
My content is for you to get good at feeling so you can be more deliberate and more present when you do feel good. If you’re always chasing good feelings, you start dismissing discomfort. And when you do that, you start misreading the pressure cooker of this life.
That’s the nuance we all are living in. Right now, I’m writing within the tension of this pressure cooker. Because when I’m in the tension, I’m gestating. I’m pulling structures, pulling storylines, pulling insights, pulling truths not just to escape the pressure, but to ground myself through it. And that pulling is what’s feeding the five books I’m working on right now 🤫.
When I write from within the wave, I don’t need to edit the feeling later. The clarity arrives and speeds everything up as soon as the intensity clears. That’s the system I’ve built. That’s the real miracle…not that I’m productive, but that I’ve created a way of living and working that doesn’t require me to bypass my own body.
Here’s what still lingers in my survival mind, though: What happens if the ungrounding wave hits when I’m in public? When I’m speaking on stage? When there’s a bigger demand for my presence?
I think about what I’ll do if I’m mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-insight and the wave comes. It’s not that I don’t trust the process. It’s that the unpredictability makes me brace and I don’t want to live in a braced posture. I don’t want to get ahead of the collapse. What I want is to be able to say: “Pause. I need a moment.” Without it turning into demon-screaming emergency. To take a beat, not out of panic, but out of clarity. Because even mid-wave, I’m still here. That’s the level of realness I’m committed to. This isn’t a curated pretentious performance. It’s full presence on my terms and what can sometimes funnel through me in real time.
I’m not modeling how to escape the wave. I’m modeling how to become it while writing, creating, existing, and living inside it. And if you’re here, reading this, you probably are too. Let’s not mistake the tension/pressure for a problem. Let’s remember: pressure is still part of the pulse. It’s still part of the wave. And if we can track it clearly, we don’t just survive it, we live in it, and eventually even thrive when we stay the course.
In the meantime and in between time, be kind and gentle with yourselves, as I do the same.
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