Month: April 2025

Fear is incredibly powerful. It doesn’t come in the shape of a monster—it comes in quiet disguises: hesitation, insecurity, self-doubt. It slips into our thoughts, into our stories, and our relationships until we forget who we are. Fear doesn’t scream—it whispers, until it numbs us. It convinces us that we’re stuck, that we can’t change, that the horizon is forever out of reach.

Yesterday, I worked with a kindhearted man. His gentle voice and his inability to express himself with clarity reminded me of a version of myself I once knew so well. I could sense his insecurity, not through what he said—but how he said it. His whole energy spoke of someone who didn’t feel chosen, who had learned to stay small to feel safe.

I remember being that way, too. I truly believed that was just who I was—born that way. Some people were simply stronger, I thought, and I was one of the softer ones. Even my mother used to say, “As long as the people she loves are around, she’s fine.” But deep down, I wondered: Isn’t there more in store for me?

This man reminded me of that younger self. I know how painful it is to feel stuck inside your own skin, to identify with fear so strongly that you forget it’s just a lens—not a truth.

He told me how unfairly he’d been treated. I listened. And to my surprise, he was telling my story. Almost word for word, he described an experience I had lived through years ago, when I was mistreated by a team I worked with. The pain, the resentment, the spiraling thoughts of injustice—I knew them intimately.

And yet, as he kept speaking, I noticed something strange. The more he stayed in the story of what had happened, the smaller he became. And though I felt compassion, I also felt my energy shift. I felt stronger. I began treating him like someone who was subordinate—not because I wanted to, but because he was casting himself in that role.

It struck me: we don’t see the world as it is—we see it as we are. And so the world responds to that version of us. As Neville Goddard said, “Everyone is you pushed out.” Our outer world mirrors the assumptions, beliefs, and expectations we carry inside.

If you believe people will overlook you, they will.
If you believe you’re powerless, life will reflect that back.
If you believe you’re unworthy of love or abundance—you’ll live in the shadow of that belief.

Fear is not truth. It’s a distortion of truth. A colored lens through which we perceive life. And our awareness—what we consistently focus on—creates the reality we live in.

Even this morning, I felt it. I looked at my bank balance and saw a number I didn’t like. Immediately, a wave of fear rose up. A mental movie started playing: What will I do? How much more will I have to work? What if I can’t make it?

But as Byron Katie teaches: “Is it true? Can you absolutely know it’s true?”

In that moment—right now—I had a roof over my head, food in my kitchen, warmth, and peace. But my thoughts wanted to live in a catastrophic future that hadn’t happened yet. That’s how sneaky fear is—it pulls us out of the moment and into illusion.

I see this often in the children at daycare. They play different roles, try on different identities. Through play, they imagine who they will become. But somewhere along the way, as we grow up, we forget that we’re still allowed to choose. We forget we can rewrite the script.

We start believing we are our fears.
We start believing we are our traumas.
We start believing we are what others told us we were.

But we’re not. We’re the one who decides. Always.

And when we forget, we give our power away—to people, to situations, to numbers on a screen.

So I ask you:

• What are your fears?

• What inner conversation do you keep alive?

• Who is the new version of you waiting to be born?

• Where are you still playing the role of the victim, when you could be the hero of your story?

• Where do you hand your power over to others?

• Where are you still choosing fear over freedom?

Remember: fear doesn’t disappear by force. It dissolves through awareness.

Come back to that calm center—the quiet place within the hurricane of your thoughts. It’s always there, waiting for you. And from that stillness, you can choose again.

Every day, I encounter women who long for change. And of course—they’re not alone. We all reach moments when we ache for something different. But here’s the truth: if we want change, we must be the change. Life doesn’t happen to us—it happens through us.

In my last blog, I wrote about wanting a child. It’s a helpful picture to understand how life moves through us. If we want a child, we must first sow the seed. A baby isn’t handed to us; it grows within us, shaped by time, nourishment, and care. And just like any seed, it carries a unique DNA—its future is already embedded in the intention.

It’s the same with every desire.

I think of myself years ago when I left the spiritual cult I had grown up in. I had been married young by the community’s authorities. My entire world—my friends, family, and beliefs—was wrapped up in that structure. I had no formal education, little financial independence, and a young son who needed me. I was told I knew nothing. I believed it. And I thought change was impossible.

Neville Goddard once said he cut the word “impossible” out of his dictionary. I hadn’t found Neville yet back then—but I had found something just as important: desire. I didn’t know how I would survive on the outside, but I knew I couldn’t stay.

Walking away from everything I’d ever known felt like throwing myself into a river with no shore in sight. The current was strong. I was terrified. And yet—somewhere inside, a voice kept whispering, “Keep going. There’s more.”

Without any real roadmap, I often wandered into situations where others took advantage of my vulnerability. I confused kindness with approval. I clung to others’ needs before my own. I mistook survival for love. My inner compass had been hidden under years of guilt, obedience, and shame.

But it was still there.

The years since then have taught me more than I can capture in one blog. But the most important truth I’ve discovered is this: you can change your life. No matter where you start from. No matter how stuck it seems. You just need to take responsibility for how you perceive your life—and that’s where your power lives.

People sometimes say to me, “Your situation is different than mine.” Maybe. But as someone once said: “Each person’s hell is the worst hell.” That may be true—but it also means that each person’s hope can be the most powerful hope.

You have to ask yourself:

• Do I see life as something that won’t change—or as something that’s already beginning to shift?
• Am I investing energy in all that’s going wrong—or imagining what might finally go right?
• Am I willing to step into the unknown?

For so long, I wasn’t.

And people often think I’ve always been strong or peaceful. The truth? I’ve been a fighter from the very beginning. I believe that spirit has always been with me—even from before birth. My mother once told me she almost had an abortion, but something stopped her. She said she felt my will to live. And that same spirit carried me through the darkest tunnels of my life.

Yes, I’ve been scared. Yes, I’ve been a victim. But I’ve also woken up. And I’ve learned that the mind loves the comfort of familiar suffering more than the risk of freedom.

What helped me most was beginning to question my thoughts. Byron Katie’s four questions became a lighthouse in my storm:

1. Is it true?
2. Can I absolutely know it’s true?
3. How do I react when I believe that thought?
4. Who would I be without it?

Those questions taught me to slow down the wild horses in my mind.

So if you’re reading this and you’re stuck, afraid, or exhausted by your own looping thoughts—I’m here to tell you: you are the one who sows the seed. And the life that grows from it is already waiting inside you. But only you can water it.

Don’t wait for life to hand you the change. Be the change.