There are moments in life that seem small on the surface—a missed call, a hesitation, a sigh—but underneath, they carry the weight of everything we’re trying to become.
Today, I didn’t answer the phone when Dr. R called.
She’s my longtime therapist back in the States. A woman who walked beside me through some of my hardest seasons. She once told me, “We make a great team.” And she was right. We did. We do.
Without her, I never would’ve made it to Bali. She dusted me off at my all-time lowest. Held space when I couldn’t hold myself. Reminded me that my brilliance wasn’t broken. It was buried. She didn’t just listen. She witnessed. She blessed.
But when her name lit up my screen, I froze.
Not because I didn’t want to hear her voice. Not because I didn’t miss her. But because I didn’t want to say out loud what I’ve been carrying quietly.
That I haven’t finished my book. That I haven’t hit publish on FreedomBeyondFifty. That the audience I dreamed of inspiring still feels like a whisper in the void.
I thought I would move to Bali and immediately start making moves. I thought I’d arrive with clarity, with momentum, with a plan. But what I didn’t account for was the recalibration. The nervous system release. The deep exhale that comes when you finally step outside the machinery of American productivity.
So many expats talk about it. The sleep. The stillness. The strange quiet that follows the leap. It’s not laziness. It’s recovery.
It’s like that moment in Pac-Man when he eats the energy pellet. You can’t move him right away. He needs a second to build strength. To gather power. To prepare for the chase.
That’s where I’ve been. In the pause. In the gathering.
And yes, I felt a flicker of shame when I didn’t answer Dr. R’s call. But the truth is, I’m not afraid of disappointing her. I’m afraid of disappointing myself.
And maybe that’s the real work of this season—not just building platforms or finishing manuscripts, but learning to meet myself with grace when I fall short of my own expectations.
Because healing isn’t linear. Creativity isn’t a checklist. And freedom? It’s not something we arrive at. It’s something we practice. Especially when we feel stuck, small, or scared.
So no, I didn’t answer the call. But I’m answering it now—in the only way I know how.
By writing. By telling the truth. By showing up, even when I feel behind.
If you’ve ever ignored a call, delayed a dream, or felt like you’re not where you “should” be…
You’re not alone. You’re just human. And you’re still becoming.
And that? That’s more than enough.
What would it look like to show yourself grace in the middle of becoming?
What if the moment you feel furthest behind is actually the moment you’re closest to yourself?
I took one step closer to my version of Freedom. What does Freedom look like for you?
