Sometimes it feels like a longing . . . sometimes like something is missing.

That we have the capacity to discover our innermost truths over the course of our lives still surprises me. This is probably most profoundly true because, as my mother would say, I’m no spring chicken! And yet, the layers continue to peel away.

We carry these soul stories within us from the very beginning—stories of what’s possible for us, of what allows us to feel truly alive.

They surface in many ways.
Sometimes they weave seamlessly into who we are becoming.
Sometimes they arrive unexpectedly, catching us off guard.

And sometimes they stay with us as quiet, faithful companions, whispering again and again, urging us to take notice.

Sometimes we act on these whispers.
Sometimes we take a few steps toward them.
And sometimes we turn away—
because we’re not ready,
or because we don’t yet trust ourselves.

Sometimes we experience them as longings.
Sometimes as something missing.

 Does any of this feel familiar?

I recently debuted a new workshop, the Origin Story. As with all of my workshops, I went through it myself in a participant mindset, before facilitating it. I wanted to be sure the experience would help participants connect—deeply and powerfully—with a truth that has been quietly shaping their lives, and help them recognize a theme or messages from their intuitive voice pointing to what is ready to be fully seen, embraced, and embodied in this moment.

Not only do I want participants to have this experience, but I also want to share my own, hoping that it encourages them to trust their own voice. Like them, I’m still in relationship with these stories too. Sometimes I take steps toward them. And sometimes I turn away because I don’t fully trust myself, or I’m not yet ready for what they’re asking of me. The story that emerged front and center—and that will not let me dismiss it any longer—is my need for creative expression. And not just seeing it, but really and truly embodying it now.

This is a story that has run through my whole life.

As a child and throughout much of my early adulthood, I was shy. It frustrated me to keep ideas to myself, only to hear someone else say the same thing and be considered brilliant. Artistically, teachers dismissed me, so I often found an isolated corner of a room to draw and just be with whatever I created. I had come to believe that others were far more skilled, intellectually and creatively than I was. And yet, something kept calling me to see and express things differently and perhaps even unconventionally.

My corporate life gave me breadcrumbs for that curiosity. I devoured information on creativity and innovation in the workplace. In the leadership programs I designed and led, I brought in innovation consultants to help participants think differently and more expansively about strategy and team leadership. Still, I didn’t think of myself as creative or innovative.

Then I went through a Personal Brand consultant certification and was absolutely shocked by my own results. Creativity was named as one of my top five strengths.

And my first reaction to that was fear.

All this time, I had hoped I’d successfully hidden this part of myself and now it was there, undeniable.

When I stopped to breathe, I realized something deeper—being seen as creative . . . as unconventional . . . didn’t feel safe.

And yet, this was one of those moments of reckoning. It was out there. I was out there. I couldn’t hide my true self any longer.

What would I do now?

I began to be more intentionally experimental, while still playing it as safely as I could. And yet, even with real evidence of my capability, creative expression remained on the periphery of my life. There it was again—the same pattern. My younger self hid my voice and creative stirrings, but my adult self still admired it in others, convinced they held something I did not.

And even now, I can see how often I remain at the edge:
not fully claiming it,
not fully trusting it,
not fully living it.

But another moment of reckoning has come.

My voice is speaking louder and saying that it is time to claim, trust, and live my creative life.

I’m ready to meet the part of myself that already knows how to live this story. It’s the one that guides and encourages me forward.

And the part that hesitates or resists is the one that holds wisdom I’ve often overlooked.

I stand now at that quiet threshold where something within me knows I’m no longer who I was before. Yes, I am ready to begin living this story, not with everything figured out, but with a sense of aliveness and passion in knowing this is true.

Have you been sensing a story within you—something that has been gently, or persistently, asking for your attention?

This may be your moment to not only see it, but to begin living it.

I invite you to join me in Weaving Your Sacred Story, a space to do exactly that.

Gently.
Creatively.
In your own way, and in your own time.

You don’t need to have it all figured out. You only need a willingness to listen and a curiosity about what might be ready to unfold.

If something in you is ready to be lived—not just understood—you’re warmly invited to learn more about Weaving Your Sacred Story here and to read what others are saying about the workshop here.  And as always, you’re welcome to reach out if you’d like to explore whether this experience is right for you.