The Season of the Sacred Pause

There comes a moment in every healer’s path when doing more stops working.

No matter how many strategies you stack, books you underline, or affirmations you tape to the mirror… the old rhythm stutters.

The schedule you once sprinted through now feels like sandpaper on your spirit.

The offerings you once poured yourself into feel hollow.

The voice that once roared with clarity now whispers with doubt.

And if you're anything like me, your first instinct is to fix it.

Rebrand it.

Redesign it.

Rewrite your bio, your opt-in, your launch copy.

Take another course.

Map out a new funnel.

Light some sage and call it clarity.

But what if this moment isn’t asking you to fix a damn thing?

What if this is your nervous system finally waving the white flag of sacred pause?

What if this quiet in your bones isn’t a failure or a fluke—but a holy invitation?

Because here’s what I know from decades in therapy rooms, moonlit writing sessions, and my own cracked-open seasons:

Healing doesn’t always look like progress.

Sometimes it looks like stillness.

Sometimes it looks like letting go of a version of yourself that once felt necessary. Sometimes it looks like sitting in the echo of a truth that no longer fits in your mouth.

And yes—this part is terrifying.

This unbecoming.

This sacred undoing.

But it's also the place where clarity starts to bloom again.

Not because you hustled for it.

Not because you forced it.

But because you stayed.

Because you stopped running.

Because you let the holy hush arrive without immediately translating it into content.

I call this season the sacred pause—the space between what was and what will be.

This is where nervous systems recalibrate.

Where wild-hearted truths return.

Where the next version of your life begins to write itself inside your body before it ever hits a Google Doc.

So if you’re in that strange in-between, I see you.

You're not behind.

You're not broken.

You're not done.

You're in process.

And this? This is part of the work.

The soft, invisible, soul-deep work of becoming.

Let yourself rest.

Let yourself listen.

Let yourself trust that nothing true can be lost in the pause.

I’ll meet you there.

—Holly

for the wild-hearted and the wise