Time Makes You Bolder
“Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?”
That lyric from Landslide is the one that keeps echoing for me, because I’ve asked myself this question over and over again. Especially this year.
Last week I shared how overhauling my business to fit my nonlinear, neurodivergent way of moving through the world became a central focus. That work touched one of my deepest insecurities as a business owner. As a highly sensitive person, can I actually handle showing up for something this big? Or will my emotions eventually swallow me whole and send me running back to shore again?
For a long time, shore felt like safety. Retreating, pulling back, disappearing when things got overwhelming. But where I’m standing now, I can see clearly that shore is no longer safe. Retreating at this point wouldn’t just mean abandoning my calling. It would mean abandoning the people who now count on me to show up for it.
For a while, I thought the hardest part of my life had already passed. Leaving my marriage. Starting my business. Navigating the interpersonal dynamics required to support myself and my child as a single mother. The biggest metaphorical deaths I’ve experienced.
And yet, here I am facing a new kind of initiation. Not the work of beginning, but the work of sustaining.
Learning how to stay. How to remain present with what I’ve built. How to trust myself not just in crisis or transformation, but in continuity.
As this year comes to a close, I find myself feeling proud not just because of what I’ve built, but of who I’ve become while building it. Proud of the courage its taken to keep going, the tenderness it took to keep accepting every part of me, and the trust in my inner compass to take another step forward without knowing exactly where the path was headed. Stevie Nicks was right — time does make you bolder.
After my marriage ended, I moved back into my childhood home and spent three years carefully plotting the moment to leave. Then, in the beginning of 2025, something shifted. My body knew before my mind did. I made a bold and abrupt decision to go, and that choice set off six months of faith, accountability, and courage. It was messy. It worried my support system. But it landed my son and me exactly where we needed to be: in a home that fully belongs to us.
Looking back, I’m proud of all the ways I bet on myself. Both in my personal life and my work.
Hiring support in my business didn’t make perfect sense on paper, but I trusted that stretching into that commitment would grow me in the ways I needed. And it absolutely did. I sustained being a Co-CEO of a church while also being a mother, doula, and spirit worker. Something I once couldn’t imagine holding all at once.
I’m proud of the home I created with my son, and of the boundaries that made it a true sanctuary. I’m proud of what I let go of. I got honest about my capacity and released projects and commitments that were rooted in urgency rather than truth. I chose a slower, more sustainable vision, trusting that what’s meant for me will return without forcing, without scarcity.
I’m proud of integrating my spirit work more fully into my doula practice. I stopped hiding behind information and expertise alone, and allowed myself to lead with intuition, lineage, and presence.
When I think of how time made me bolder, I see these moments.
And I’ve realized that there is never a perfect moment to leap.
Becoming someone I am proud of isn’t about waking up inspired one day; it’s about showing up daily as the person I want to be, in all the little choices, the big ones, and the ones no one sees.
Time has shown me that connecting with my spiritual and infinite self, and embracing my unique design is what allows me to move through life boldly and playfully. I’ve embraced creativity as the ultimate leadership skill for these times.
So if, perhaps, there’s something you’ve been sensing for yourself. Whether a vision or calling that hasn’t yet received recognition or approval from those you care about. With courage and practice, you can still honor yourself.
Celebrate your bold moves and acts of self-trust. Return to that inner child, that tender, wise, and resilient part of yourself who has been stewarding life long before who you've become now.
Hear that echo from the shore: “Oh mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above?” Yes. She can.
She does. And she will, as long as you continue to hold space for her, just as I hold space for the mothers, parents, and families who come through here. Until the next season and tides.
