Don't Do. Just Live.

Maybe the hardest part of becoming is learning to stop trying so hard.

I've been thinking a lot about this time in my life. Really, the last few months, although I think it's been building all year.

2026 has kicked my butt.

I've had difficult years before. Some really difficult ones. But this year has been hard in a completely different way.

Everything I thought I knew about myself, my relationships, my purpose, and even the world around me hasn't just shifted. It's been flipped completely upside down.

And I'm exhausted.

For most of my life, when something difficult came my way, I figured it out. I researched, asked questions, made a plan, found the right people, and did whatever needed to be done. Sometimes I didn't have a choice. There were children to raise, systems to navigate, organizations to run, and people who needed me.

I got pretty good at figuring things out. In fact, I think it's fair to say that figuring things out became a big part of who I am.

But what happens when the thing you're supposed to figure out is how to stop figuring everything out?

Because that's where I seem to be.

Don't do. Just live.

I keep coming back to a message I've heard in my spiritual readings.

Don't do. Just live. And then it'll all make sense.

Be patient.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard some version of this over the past year. From mediums, spiritual mentors, when I pray, and increasingly, from that quiet voice inside myself.

And every time I hear it, something in me recognizes it.

But good grief, it's hard.

What does it even mean to just live?

I've spent so much of my life doing. Taking care of people. Advocating. Writing. Creating. Solving problems. Making sure everyone has what they need.

There were years when I barely had time to breathe.

Now my kids are growing up and thriving. They're making their own decisions, finding their own paths, and building their own lives. I'm stepping away from work and responsibilities that have defined me for decades. I'm painting watercolors, exploring my spirituality, writing when I feel inspired, and making more time for myself.

These are good things. Things I've wanted for a very long time.

And yet, I find myself wondering who I am when I'm not doing the next thing.

When I'm not needed.

When there's no problem to solve.

I didn't expect that part to be so hard.

Maybe this is the cocoon season

I've written before about what I've been calling my cocoon season. That strange space between the person you've been and the person you're becoming.

When I first started thinking about it, I imagined a period of rest and reflection. A chance to step away from the noise, reconnect with myself, and eventually emerge with a little more clarity.

I think I underestimated just how uncomfortable that process could be.

Because it's not simply about figuring out what I want to do next.

It's about questioning the very things I've used to define myself.

For so long, I've been a mom, an advocate, a researcher, a leader, a problem solver. And I love those parts of myself. I don't want to lose them.

But what if those are things I do rather than who I am?

What if I don't have to keep accomplishing things to feel like I'm living a meaningful life?

What if I already am enough, even on the days when I accomplish absolutely nothing?

And what's been especially interesting is how other people respond as I begin to question these things.

I'll mention that I'm not sure I want to speak on a particular panel or travel to Washington, DC, for another advocacy trip, and someone will say, "What do you mean? That's who you are!"

And I understand why they say that.

For decades, that has been a huge part of my life. I've loved that work, and I'm incredibly proud of what we've accomplished.

But I'm beginning to realize that while those things are part of who I am, they're not all of who I am.

And just because I've always done something doesn't mean I have to keep doing it.

I'm trying to get better at pausing before I say yes. Asking myself whether I really want to do something. Whether it feels right. Whether I'm choosing it because it brings me joy and meaning, or because it's what I've always done and what other people expect of me - and what I've always expected of myself.

And sometimes, when I listen to my heart instead of my head, the answer surprises even me.

It's hard enough to change the way I see myself. It's another thing entirely when the people around me are still expecting the person I've always been.

But maybe that's part of this, too.

I'm not rejecting the person I've been. I'm simply allowing myself to discover that there's more to me.

And the truth is, I'm not quite sure who I'm remembering.

But I'm excited to find out.

Loving people without carrying everything

This has been one of the hardest parts of the year.

How do I love someone and let them struggle?

How do I watch someone I care about face something difficult, knowing I could probably help them figure it out?

And how do I decide when to step in and when to step back?

I've spent much of my life supporting people through complicated situations. It's something I care deeply about, and I think I'm pretty good at it.

But I'm beginning to recognize how often I take responsibility simply because I can.

I see a problem. I see what needs to happen. And before I know it, I'm making calls, organizing information, coordinating people, and figuring out a plan.

Sometimes that's exactly what someone needs.

Other times, I wonder whether I'm stepping into something that isn't mine to carry.

And sometimes, even when the need is real, I simply don't have the emotional capacity.

That last part is especially hard to admit.

Because what do you do when someone you love genuinely needs help and you're already running on empty?

I know all about boundaries. I understand why they're important. I could probably give a pretty good presentation on the subject.

But knowing something and actually doing it are two very different things.

I don't want to become someone who looks the other way when people are struggling. That's not who I am.

I also know I can't keep giving so much of myself that there's nothing left.

Surely there's a place somewhere in between.

I'm just trying to find it.

And then there's this spiritual awakening

Holy heck. I don't even know where to begin with this part.

Over the past year, I've been experiencing what I can only describe as a spiritual awakening. And it's been unlike anything I've experienced before.

I've had readings with mediums, conversations with spiritual mentors, and experiences that have challenged so much of what I've believed throughout my life. I've prayed more than I ever have in my entire life. I feel God constantly.

I've felt a connection with my dad and my grandmothers that has been incredibly comforting. Also, evidently I have a new spirit guide who is an elephant named Blade. Of course I do. :) I've also been exploring intuition, energy, and the possibility that there's much more to this world than I've ever understood.

And I don't just think about these things.

I feel them.

In my entire body.

It's difficult to explain, especially for someone who has spent her life immersed in research, evidence, and critical thinking.

I like understanding things. I like knowing why. I like being able to make sense of the world.

And suddenly, I'm having experiences that don't fit neatly into any of the boxes I've spent a lifetime creating. Heck, look at the experience of finding that HOPE rock in my backyard that I'm sure was a sign for me, which I wrote about earlier this week.

I don't know exactly what I believe anymore.

That's a pretty big admission for someone who has historically seen the world in fairly black-and-white terms.

But here's what I find so interesting.

Even as I'm being encouraged to surrender, trust my intuition, and be patient, I catch myself trying to figure out my awakening.

What gifts do I have? How do I develop them? What am I supposed to do with them? Is there something I'm meant to become or remember? How do I even figure this all out? What is there to discover? How do I feel less alone as I do this work of discovering?

I'm reading, asking questions, looking for connections, and trying to understand what comes next. It's hard to explain how crazy this year has been. I mean, I've never been a particularly spiritual or religious person. I'm writing about that in my next book, The Threshold.

Apparently, I've managed to turn my spiritual awakening into another research project.

I have to laugh at myself a little.

Because I think that's exactly what I'm being asked NOT to do.

Maybe I don't have to figure out what any of this means right now.

Maybe I can just experience it.

Be curious. Pay attention. Trust what feels meaningful while continuing to ask questions.

And let whatever comes next unfold in its own time.

That sounds wonderful.

It also sounds incredibly difficult.

Choosing because it expresses who I am

There's another message I've been sitting with lately.

You get to choose these things because they express who you are, not because you need them in order to establish who you are.

I've thought about those words so many times.

Because I think there's something really important there for me.

For much of my life, the things I've done have helped define who I am.

I was the mom who advocated for her children. The person who started organizations because something needed to change. The researcher who wanted to understand why systems weren't working. The writer who had something important to say.

And I don't regret any of that.

I'm proud of what I've done.

But I'm beginning to wonder what it would feel like to make choices without needing them to establish my identity.

To write because I love writing, not because I need to publish another book.

To advocate because I choose to, not because I feel obligated.

To explore God and spirituality because I'm curious, not because I need to discover some grand purpose.

To paint because I love playing with colors, even if the painting ends up in the recycling bin.

To spend an afternoon doing absolutely nothing and not feel like I've wasted it.

Maybe the difference is subtle.

But for me, it feels enormous.

It's the difference between doing something because it brings me joy and doing something because I need it to mean something about me.

And I think I'm only beginning to understand how much of my life has been shaped by that distinction.

I'm also just really tired

I think this is important to say.

Not everything needs to be a lesson.

Not every disappointment needs to have some deeper spiritual meaning.

Sometimes life is just hard.

And this year has been hard.

There have been so many changes, so many emotions, and so many moments when I've questioned things I once felt certain about.

I've also had some of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I've watched my children continue to grow into extraordinary people. I've experienced love, connection, wonder, and moments that have moved me in ways I never expected.

I'm grateful for all of it. And it's going to get easier. I feel it.

But I can be grateful and exhausted at the same time.

I can love my life and still wish parts of it felt easier.

I can believe I'm growing and still have days when I'd really like everything to stop changing for a while.

And maybe I don't need to make sense of every feeling.

Maybe I just need some rest.

Real rest. The kind where I'm not thinking about what needs to happen next. The kind where I'm not "doing."

I wonder what that would feel like.

So where does that leave me?

At the beginning of 2026, I chose the word *Balance*.

I had no idea how much that word would come to mean.

I thought balance was going to be about finding more time for myself. Working less. Enjoying life more. Being intentional about where I put my energy.

And it is about those things.

But it's also become about balancing my mind and my intuition. My love for others and my responsibility to myself. My instinct to take action and my growing understanding that sometimes the best thing I can do is nothing.

It's about learning that I can care deeply without carrying everything.

That I can be curious without needing answers.

That I can have gifts without needing to turn them into something.

And that I can be a whole person without constantly doing something to prove it.

I wish I could say I'm getting good at all of this.

I'm not.

Most days I still find myself trying to figure things out. Wondering what comes next. Questioning whether I'm doing enough, helping enough, learning enough, or making the right choices.

And then I remember.

Don't do. Just live. And then it'll all make sense.

I've been thinking about my word for 2027, and one keeps coming to mind.

Surrender.

Maybe I'm getting a head start on it.

After all, yesterday was 11/11. In numerology and many spiritual traditions, 11:11 is associated with awakening, alignment, and new beginnings. Some people see it as a little reminder to pay attention and trust the path unfolding in front of them. Given everything I've been experiencing lately, I can't help but smile at the timing.

I don't know what 2027 will bring, but I sure hope it's a little gentler.

I want more light. More color. More peace. More time to experience the things that make me feel alive.

I want to keep exploring this spiritual side of myself without feeling like I have to understand it all.

I want to be there for the people I love without losing myself in the process.

And I want to become comfortable with the possibility that I don't need to know what's next.

Maybe that's what this cocoon season is really about.

Not becoming someone entirely different.

Not discovering another purpose or finding the next big thing.

But remembering parts of myself that have been there all along, perhaps buried beneath decades of responsibilities, expectations, and doing.

I don't know exactly who I'm remembering yet.

But for the first time in a while, that uncertainty feels a little exciting.

Maybe surrender isn't about giving up who I've been. Maybe it's about making room for all the parts of me I haven't had time to know.

And maybe I don't have to figure out how to become her.

Maybe I just need to let her emerge.

Don't do. Just live.

I'm beginning to think I might finally understand.

Well, at least a little.