I thought answering my calling would come with rainbows.
I mean, not literally.
But yeah… close.
I thought there’d be ease, bliss, and joy.
Synchronicities.
Making money doing what I loved.
Followed by a deep sigh knowing I’d finally found the path I was meant to walk.
Cue the fireworks.
Except it wasn’t like that at all.
Shortly after I said ‘yes’, I found myself very alone in a very dark forest.
Wolves howled in the distance.
My eyes searched desperately for the well-lit path.
Where was it?
Why was it so dark?
I waited for daylight, but it didn’t come.
Instead, the forest just got thicker and darker.
It would take me years to realize I wasn’t lost at all.
~
The Fantasy
Years ago, trapped in a corporate job, I daydreamed how it’d look:
Waking up, excited to get to work.
Taking an early morning walk instead of rushing to a desk.
Amy Porterfield in my ear explaining the strategies that promised success.
I imagined easily replacing my corporate income doing something that lit me up.
I thought about all the clients that loved receiving my help and were better for it.
Mostly though, I thought about how it would feel.
Free.
I’d be free.
I’d work out when I wanted, take breaks when I felt like it, and go on vacation without asking permission.
I could stop asking permission.
I could get away from being under watchful, critical eyes.
That sounded like freedom to me.
~
I remembered being 20 and wanting to be a life coach. I also remembered the practical part of me saying, “maybe you should get some life experience first.”
20 years later with a divorce, three careers, theatre school, business school, and many ‘life experiences’ behind me, I assumed I’d met the criteria required to follow my calling.
As if there were criteria, like a pre-requisite to an upper-level university class.
The first few months were pretty great.
I woke up excited to work on my business.
I felt hopeful.
It was a lot of hard work, but it was working.
I shoved down the nagging feeling I was building something I couldn’t sustain. “I’ll figure it out later,” I told myself, while continuing the hustle.
On one of my many walks I was listening to a podcast from a coach I admired.
She said a coaching client had come to her after being wildly successful and retiring her husband from his career.
But she’d unintentionally built her own prison cell.
She couldn’t get out.
The opposite of freedom.
This story lodged itself somewhere deep inside me.
Secretly I’d been rehearsing that very same dream.
Retiring my husband.
I’d thought about how good that would feel.
How good that would make me look.
It wasn’t just about freedom.
It was about finally becoming someone who’d made it.
To me, that was success.
Now that success looked dangerous.
Did I really want that responsibility?
At the time, I just remembered saying quietly to myself, “I need to be careful what I build.”
I didn’t leave one prison cell just to build another.
But the story stayed with me.
It planted a warning my body never forgot:
Don’t build another prison.
At the time, I thought I understood what that meant.
From then on, every path felt like it might lead me back to another cell.
After years of doubting my instincts, I’d forgotten how to read my own compass.
I kept making new paths.
Abandoning them.
Doubling back.
I didn’t know what to trust anymore.
I was just out there alone, trying to survive.
~
The Betrayal
This did not feel like the joy, bliss, and ease I’d imagined.
The more sustainable paths I ventured into had more freedom but weren’t lucrative.
I refused to choose between happiness and money.
There had to be a way to have both.
After all, I didn’t leave one desk to be trapped at another.
Even if that desk was of my own design.
Convinced I was on the wrong path, I dismantled everything I’d built.
The podcast.
The programs.
My coaching practice.
I told myself tearing it all down would help me find my way back.
If it was truly meant for me, it would be there.
The excitement was long gone and replaced with shame, doubt, and fear.
Every morning I woke up to thick dread.
I’d force myself out of bed.
Get my kiddo to school.
My husband would ask, “what do you have going on today?”
I hated that I couldn’t answer.
I ended up just mumbling something like, “writing, building a program…”
Then I’d trudge to my office.
Stare at my computer.
Every task felt hopeless because nothing worked.
Eventually I’d slide onto my yoga mat and stare at the ceiling instead.
By the end of the day, I felt like a fraud.
Nothing to show.
I wouldn’t even remember if I’d showered or brushed my teeth that day.
Out in the world, I was terrified someone would ask how my business was going.
I couldn’t bear to tell the truth.
I couldn’t bear to let anyone see how badly I believed I’d failed.
~
I wondered how I got it so wrong.
Did I totally misunderstand my calling?
If this was meant for me, why did it feel so wrong?
Did I do something wrong?
Is something wrong with me?
I’d answered the call.
Why wasn’t it working?
~
The Maze
I was convinced the light was somewhere ahead, so I kept searching.
Maybe I needed a different business model.
Maybe a different niche.
Maybe another coach.
Maybe a completely different direction.
Every new path gave me hope for a while.
But the doubts always crept back in.
I’d question everything, convince myself I’d chosen the wrong path, and start over.
Nothing felt right.
Nothing felt like me.
~
The Return
I’d been searching externally for answers for years.
I started to wonder if every path was leading me back to long-buried fears.
I trained in theater, so I didn’t think I had a problem being seen.
But performing isn’t the same as being visible.
On stage you’re protected by the character.
You can hide behind their words.
I didn’t have that kind of protection in my business.
I had to stand behind my own words.
If people misunderstood my words, there was no character to blame.
Being looked at isn’t the same as being seen.
~
I spent years collecting more information because, as long as I was learning, I didn’t have to stand behind my own voice.
But I’d lost faith in new strategies.
No matter what I changed, I was still bringing myself with me.
At first, I wanted to understand why I felt so stuck.
That question was getting more specific.
Why does being seen feel so dangerous?
That question led me into somatic therapy, Internal Family Systems, nervous system work, and spiritual practices.
The breakthroughs were exhilarating but they didn’t last.
It looked like a few steps forward, a few back.
A little less editing.
A little more saying what I want.
A little more of me.
The process was slow and invisible, but doing something important.
It was reacquainting me with who I really was beneath everything I’d learned to be.
Gradually, I saw the patterns.
Every time I wrote a newsletter, I’d imagine an ex-boss reading it and criticizing every word.
Every time I joined a workshop on racism, I was convinced I’d say something that revealed how much I still had to learn.
Every time I got close to posting, I watered it down just in case it would be misunderstood.
Every time I got visible online, I’d remember anyone could be reading it.
I couldn’t people please my way to safety.
No amount of editing could guarantee I wouldn’t be misunderstood.
There was no version of myself I could construct that everyone would approve of.
I’d left corporate to stop asking permission and get away from watchful, critical eyes.
But I hadn’t.
I’d brought those eyes with me.
~
Home
In my effort to stay protected and safe, I’d been asking the impossible.
I’d been asking my business to keep me safe.
Safe from judgement.
Safe from looking stupid.
Safe from being misunderstood.
I’d been asking it to make me believe I was enough.
Without realizing it, I’d given my business the same job I’d once given the characters I played.
To protect me.
But no business, strategy, niche, or amount of success could ever do that.
Even if everyone had approved of me, it wouldn’t have changed what I believed about myself.
Nothing could protect me if I believed the real me wasn’t acceptable.
~
Now I could see the path.
It hadn’t suddenly appeared.
It had been there all along.
I hadn’t been lost.
I hadn’t misunderstood my calling.
I’d misunderstood what it meant to say ‘yes’.
It was asking me to stop abandoning who I already was.
My calling was calling me home.
If this essay felt familiar, I’d love to invite you to something.
Safe to Be Seen is a live 7-day group experience for highly sensitive entrepreneurs who want to become safe enough to do the work they’re here to do.
The founding cohort begins October 1.
Beautiful journey. Have been on the exact same one. ❤️
This resonated so deeply… we can be on the right path but if we don’t feel safe to follow it, it’ll really be another prison. Your safe to be seen initiative sounds so impactful… I’m definitely considering it!