There is a grief that makes no noise.
It doesn’t wail. It doesn’t demand attention.
It lives quietly in the cracks of our daily lives.
In the pause before answering,
The stare into the fridge when you’re not really hungry,
The way your body aches for rest but doesn’t know how to stop.
This grief is so familiar, so embedded, we forget it’s even grief.
We call it stress. Or fatigue.
We blame the kids, the job, the news, the culture.
And yes, they all play their parts.
But the real grief?
It’s what happens when we abandon what’s holy in ourselves to survive what is profane.
We do it in subtle ways:
When we say yes to things we don’t believe in.
When we shrink to keep the peace.
When we call wrong “love” and confusion “kindness.”
When we keep the mask on so long, we forget who we are underneath it.
The ache I’m speaking of doesn’t need a diagnosis.
It needs a reckoning.
Because there’s a quiet spiritual war happening right now not just out there, but in here.
Inside homes. Inside marriages. Inside women’s bodies.
Inside children who are being led to question what it even means to be a child.
Inside the space where masculinity used to stand as a fortress and now gets mocked, medicated, or erased.
We are grieving what we were told not to value anymore:
Motherhood. Fatherhood. Marriage. Family. Structure. Roles.
The masculine that protects. The feminine that receives.
We are grieving the sacred.
But here’s the twist: we’re not allowed to say we miss it.
To say “I miss when women were women and men were men” is to risk being labeled regressive.
To say “children are not mature enough to make permanent decisions about their identity” is considered hateful.
To say “marriage should be honored, not discarded like a trending outfit” makes you sound naïve or religiously rigid.
So, we tuck the ache away. We spiritualize it. We numb it. We gaslight ourselves.
But the ache doesn’t disappear.
It deepens.
It shows up when we lie next to a partner who doesn’t see us.
Or when we raise children in a culture that tells them their bodies are irrelevant, and their sex is just a suggestion.
It shows up in our dreams.
In our skin.
In our longing for something real.
This ache…
this sacred sorrow…
isn’t weakness.
It’s a sign you’re still alive beneath the conditioning.
And if you’re willing to follow it, it will lead you somewhere true.
For years I tried to make sense of this ache in others.
As a mother of seven, and now a mimi to six, I’ve watched culture shift at warp speed.
And while many of us tried to adapt, embracing tolerance, inclusion, new definitions of love and family, there came a point when the cost became too great.
What we were calling progress started to look a lot more like amnesia.
We weren’t evolving. We were erasing.
I saw it in women who no longer knew how to rest, receive, or feel safe in their bodies.
I saw it in men who had no clue how to lead, love, or protect without shame.
I saw it in children (confused, sexualized, medicated, uprooted) crying out for boundaries, even as adults were applauding their “freedom.”
I’ve worked with couples on national television, spoken on stages, co-written books with some of the biggest names in wellness and transformation.
I’ve heard the unfiltered truths in late-night coaching sessions, and I’ve sat at the foot of suffering when no cameras were rolling.
And you know what I’ve learned?
The world isn’t starving for more information.
It’s starving for remembrance.
Remembrance of what’s real.
Remembrance of how we were designed.
Remembrance of why sex matters, why childhood matters, why the divine masculine and the sacred feminine are not social constructs, but ancient blueprints of life itself.
When I wrote Sober Sex: Embracing the Power of Intimacy Without Escape, it was never about performance.
It was about presence.
About returning to the place where connection was not performative, but felt.
Where sex wasn’t something to escape into, but a portal to something holy.
And now, this new book — The Voice That Made You — is a deeper excavation.
It’s not just about relationships or intimacy.
It’s about reclaiming the voice beneath all the noise.
The one that knew the truth before the world told you to forget it.
That voice is sacred.
It’s not self-help. It’s soul-help.
It doesn’t yell, but it doesn’t lie.
It has waited for you through every phase, through heartbreak, divorce, confusion, abuse, betrayal, and even success that left you empty.
And it’s still there now,
calling you home.
So today, as we enter Day 2 of this prelaunch journey, I want to ask you:
Can you feel the ache that doesn’t have words yet?
Can you be honest about what’s no longer working, even if it’s popular, even if it’s praised?
Can you hold space for your own remembering, without trying to make it palatable for everyone else?
Because this book wasn’t written to win approval.
It was written to wake people up.
It was written for those of us who still feel,
even when it hurts.
Especially when it hurts.
You’re not broken. You’re not crazy.
You are sensitive and that is your superpower, not your curse.
Let this ache not be something you run from.
Let it be the birth canal of your return.
Because the truth is:
You were never meant to be a shadow.
You were meant to be a flame.
And the world is darker without your fire.
Preorder opens soon.
If this moved you, share it.
Leave a comment.
Forward to a friend who’s ready to stop performing and start remembering.
Tomorrow, we go deeper.
With you in the ache,
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Allec Gomes On Unsplash
