After leaving my full time job in February I had ambitious plans of becoming a published writer/author.
The day I walked out the building for the last time, hope sparkled in my eyes as I had conceived and put into action another plan to do only per diem work in order to cover monthly expenses. Elation was my drug of choice as I released my 8-5, reserving space, energy and making room for my true love.
But I didn’t have a plan past just writing. I had no idea for whom or what I would be creating, I just knew this is what my heart needed to do, what I was called to do. Never once did I factor in the notion of my immense aversion to the unfamiliar and uncomfortable, two things that surely accompany freelancing and were indeed awaiting patiently my arrival to the whimsical transitional spot. My expectation was I would just transition seamlessly, without problems or bumps in the road. I’m a creative therefore I would create, all of the other stuff I would figure out along the way. The first few days were productive and then I hit the wall. Not the dreaded writer’s block but something much more intense and dark. Each time I sat down with the purest intention to create, my heart raced erratically, my insides shook, my skin broke out in hives and tears watered my keyboard. Before I could process exactly what was happening, I found myself deeply entrenched in muck. I fell fitfully asleep ridden with fear and anxiety and awoke to overwhelming feelings of failure. Every second of the day I was questioning my choices of late. I awoke at odd hours nightly conversing with God. I begged Him for direction, wisdom, understanding and discernment. And the answers came but not in the manner I expected, I felt He was waving a big ol’ STOP sign in front of me. Instead of charging full steam ahead I need to take a pause and deal with my fears because surely they would arise again if I chose to ignore them. For days as one fear was uncovered another one would rear its head and just when I thought I would collapse underneath the depth of my fear abyss, I realized I had not allowed myself the space to adjust to my new normal. I was beyond exhausted, again not factoring in the last two years I had worked countless hours of overtime, pushed my physical body beyond its capacity and exposed myself to a very stressful environment. Each time I chose to rest guilt would creep in and encircle me. The temptation to become a hermit was growing stronger as each day passed. But in one of my enforced moments of stillness graced upon me, the revelation hit:
Transition is not a destination; it is not the final arrival. It is a journey, the beginning of the process, of becoming. When encased in the tight cocoon the caterpillar is transitioning to become the butterfly. It is through process she becomes. If the cocoon was the finale we would never see the butterfly!
To my fellow creatives: Be gently with yourself whether you are mid swim in the abyss of fear or starting your trek towards transition, a little gentleness covers much. Rest when you need it. Reach out to like minded individuals. Journal. Take time to adjust. And most importantly remember you already possess everything you need in order to be!