The Work I'm Not Used to Yet (Inner Work)

This week started quieter than I expected. Work was busy, but for a while,

my mind wasn’t.

It felt slower.

It seemed like the noise finally stepped back far enough for me to hear

myself think again.

I’ve been thinking about how often we confuse quiet with resolution. As if

silence means everything has settled, or that we’re supposed to feel okay

once the chaos lifts. But I’m learning that staying inside the quiet, even if

it’s uncomfortable, can be its own kind of reckoning.

I noticed how quickly I seemed to want to fill the space. To move on, and to

pretend like I’m “fine.” And how uncomfortable it felt to resist that urge.

There were moments this week when everything was technically fine, and I

still felt something tugging at me.

I’m realizing how much of my life has been shaped by learning how to

endure, and how little practice I’ve had with simply being present when the

urgency fades.

Surviving teaches you a lot. Living asks something different.

I don’t have clarity yet on what exactly that feels like.

I don’t think I’m meant to.

But I am noticing where I rush myself past the truth.

Where I expect neat endings to explain my feelings.

Where I assume that feeling discomfort or pain means I’ve somehow failed.

Maybe this is just the early work of listening.

Of learning to be still.

Of letting things surface without deciding what they mean right away.

Some of these thoughts have been following me since this week’s

conversation on Grace Lives Here.

What stood out to me wasn’t an answer, but a pattern.

When things slow down, I want to rush healing forward, and I miss what’s

trying to teach me something.

And when I don’t, truth has a chance to surface.

I’m learning that listening isn’t passive.

It’s still work. Inner work.

Just quieter work than I’m used to.

And I’m learning to meet that work with a little more grace.