𝘈 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘈 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦.
There’s a different kind of strength in the woman who no longer needs to announce every move.
Not because she’s hiding.
But because she’s anchored.
Because she trusts her timing, her body, her God.
Because she’s learned the difference between force and faith and has finally stopped confusing the two.
This past week was full.
Full of grace. Full of unexpected yeses. Full of fast-moving momentum that didn’t require chasing.
We bought a house.
It wasn’t sudden because we were lost. We weren’t outgrowing where we are. This wasn’t a desperate grab for a different life.
In fact, we’ve been planning for property. For land. For space. For peace.
But there was no push to make it happen right now.
And then… it did.
A home showed up. With a pool. With space. With soul.
We made an offer one afternoon, sitting together at a hookah bar after touring a property that felt like home before I’d even stepped inside.
It wasn’t part of some five-year hustle. It wasn’t a goal with a deadline tattooed to our timeline. It was a nudge. A whisper. A turn of the wheel toward something we’d already dreamed of, just arriving sooner, softer, and in flow.
And when we said yes to it, the universe said yes right back. No force required.
That’s what this season feels like.
Like things are finally flowing again.
But not because I did more.
Because I stopped trying to make everything earn its way in.
I used to think the only things worth having were the ones I suffered for.
The jobs I bled myself dry to prove I could do.
The love I molded myself into silence for.
The success that demanded I bypass my own body.
I thought if it came easy, it probably wasn’t real.
That ease was just laziness in disguise.
But now?
Now I believe that life can rise up to meet us.
That we don’t have to sprint toward what’s already meant for us.
That grace has a rhythm, and it’s quiet. But it’s fierce.
I’m writing this with my bags half-packed.
Craig and I are leaving on a trip tomorrow. Just us. Just joy.
We’re heading north. To Niagara, to Toronto, to the lakes.
There will be fireworks and wine tastings and quiet mornings near the water. We’ll stay with his sister. We’ll explore land that might one day hold our future home.
It all feels sacred.
Not because we planned it down to the last detail.
But because we didn’t have to.
It unfolded in that delicious rhythm that only shows up when you stop forcing timelines and start trusting them.
I’ve lived both lives.
The one where everything was clenched.
Where I white-knuckled my worth.
Where love had to be chased and sex had to be earned and healing had to be loud and painful and full of declarations.
And now… this one.
Where my success tastes like silence.
Where my joy isn’t staged.
Where my intimacy isn’t an apology.
When I wrote Sober Sex, it wasn’t about just removing the wine or the weed.
It was about this.
About finding what it feels like to stop needing to dull your own knowing.
To stop needing an audience to validate your presence.
To make love without pretending.
To say yes without performing.
To finally feel safe enough in your skin (in your truth) that you don’t need to vanish behind a bottle to get through the night.
I used to drink to feel like I could show up.
In my first marriage, back in my 20s and 30s, I didn’t know how to say no so I used wine to make yes bearable.
In a relationship after that, I was giving my body to someone who loved fantasies more than he loved the reality of me.
I smiled. I poured the vodka. I survived it.
But there came a day when I realized I wasn’t broken.
I was just numb.
And I didn’t want to be numb anymore.
That’s what this moment is.
The buying of the house.
The softness between Craig and me.
The book finally being released into the world.
The trip we’re packing for.
It’s feeling all of it.
Not performing. Not escaping. Not broadcasting every detail to make it more real.
Just… living it.
With open palms.
There’s a kind of success that doesn’t come with applause.
The quiet kind.
The kind where you look at your life and feel proud, even if no one else sees it yet.
The kind where you know you’re in your purpose because peace walks with you into every room.
That’s where I’m at right now.
And if you’re not there yet. That’s okay too.
I wasn’t either for a long time.
But I promise, there’s another way.
If you’re still performing, still hustling for your own healing, still wondering why it feels so hard to hold on to joy…
Just pause.
That soft breath you’re taking?
That stillness you’re aching for?
That’s where it starts.
Not in the grind.
Not in the perfection.
But in the letting go.
So here’s what I want to say, from the deepest part of me:
Let it be easier than you thought.
Let it be quiet if it needs to be.
Let it surprise you.
Let it come with laughter instead of labor.
Let it land. Not because you chased it down,
but because you made space for it to arrive.
A NOTE ON THE BOOK
Sober Sex: is officially out on Kindle for $3.99 through July 9th.
The paperback releases on July 6th for $12.99 — and will go up to $16.99 on the 15th.
This book isn’t just about alcohol.
It’s not about becoming “sober” in the traditional sense.
It’s about becoming present.
Real.
Free.
It’s about the stories we’ve told ourselves to survive — and the ones we’re ready to rewrite.
There are journaling prompts. Exercises.
There’s soul.
And yes — there’s heat.
Because your desire isn’t a problem.
It’s a compass.
This book is for the women… and the men…
who are done hiding behind a glass just to feel worthy of being touched.
Grab your copy.
Leave a review if it moves you.
Join the book circle on July 15th.
And if nothing else —
remember this:
Life can be soft and full.
It doesn’t have to hurt to be sacred.
GET THE BOOK ON KINDLE ($3.99)
Share this post if it resonates.
Comment below on how you are struggling to stand in flow or how you’ve fully stepped in? I want to hear your story.
As always loving you from here.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Rene’ Schooler(Author)
