The Stillness Isn’t Empty — It’s Holy

At first, it feels like a wilderness.
You crave direction, clarity, and momentum.
You want the green light, the open door, the confirmation.

Instead, He whispers,
“Sit with Me.”

It’s maddening at times.
Because I’ve always been the go-getter. The fixer. The “let me figure this out” kind of woman.
But in this season, my striving doesn’t work. My plans fall flat. My old coping tools feel… hollow.

And God?
He doesn’t give me a step-by-step.
He gives me silence.
Not to hurt me.
But to slow me down enough to hear what I’ve been running from.

When I first launched my coaching business, I thought I knew exactly what I was here to do.
It felt aligned. Purposeful. I was finally helping women the way I wished someone had helped me — guiding them through the deep work of healing their childhood wounds, reconnecting to their inner child, and finding themselves again after years of loss, trauma, and emotional survival.

And don’t get me wrong… that work matters.
But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
I started feeling unsure, like the language I had been using didn’t quite fit anymore. Like the path I was walking wasn’t the one I was meant to stay on forever.

The content felt off.
The words didn’t land the same.
And every time I tried to force clarity, to figure it out, to “rebrand” or “pivot,” God said:
“Not yet. Just sit.”

He didn’t give me a strategy.
He gave me stillness.

And that — for someone like me, who’s been a Realtor for decades, who’s wired to hustle, to chase, to close — felt terrifying.
Being told to stop?
To be still?
To wait without knowing what comes next?

It was foreign. Unnatural. Agonizing at times.
Because the dark night of the soul at least gave me something to do.
EFT tapping. NLP techniques. Somatic bodywork. Shamanic journeys. Journaling. Crying. Releasing.
I knew how to move through pain.
But this?
This waiting room?
This sacred pause?

There’s no checklist for this.

This is the undoing of the doer.
This is the unraveling of every identity I’ve worn: the fixer, the achiever, the wounded healer, the strong one.

And in the silence, I’m being shown something deeper.
Not just who I am — but what my life has become through every decision I’ve made, every season I rushed through, every time I tried to build something without pausing to ask,
"God… is this really where You want me?"

Now I’m being invited to see everything through His eyes.
To slow down enough to look at my life with Him.
To feel where He’s gently realigning me — not punishing me, but parenting me.
Not criticizing, but redirecting.
Patiently. Tenderly.

And it’s in this surrender, this deep holy stillness, that I realize —
God’s waiting room isn’t passive.
It’s powerful.
Because here, I’m not just finding answers.
I’m finding Him.

And maybe that’s been the point all along.