I've been noticing how many people live in a state of constant reaction now. Every ping gets answered the moment it lands. Every question gets handled on the spot. Someone brings something up at dinner and the phone comes out, the call gets made, right then. The reason is almost always some version of the same thing. I just want to get it done so it's out of my head. And in the next breath, the same people wonder why they're so exhausted all the time.

Most of the people I work with don't come to me knowing what they want. They come to me saying the opposite.

"I don't know what I want."

It usually comes with a little embarrassment, because they feel like they should know by now. These are accomplished people. They've built businesses, raised families, led teams. They're the ones everyone…

I've written about my Long Covid journey and the writing practice that healed me physically. But there's a piece I haven't shared yet, and it changed me more than the healing itself.

A simple framework for understanding where you actually are in a change process, and why the messy middle isn't a sign that something is wrong with you.

About five months ago, I dusted off my Tarot of the Spirit oracle deck and pulled four cards. I told you about the first one — the Death Card — in my last post. It pointed to a major transformation. That I'd need to go into it alone. That I'd face my darkest fears first before new ways of living could accommodate who I was becoming.

But I didn't tell you about the second card.

Card #2 in that pull represented: "What am I not seeing?" And the card that came up was The Hanged Man.

A few months ago, I was neck-deep in knowing that something needed to shift in my business. I'd been feeling it for a while — that quiet, persistent pull toward something more aligned, more authentically me. But I wanted some additional guidance around it, so I dusted off my Tarot of the Spirit oracle deck and pulled 4 cards.

I create intentions for each card I pull, and Card #1 represented "What I am currently seeing."

I pulled the Death Card

For twenty years, I ran my handbag business with a clear north star: my own voice. When vendors pushed back, I held my ground. When people at trade shows said "these are different" (sometimes approvingly, sometimes not), I smiled. Different was the point.

I designed lightweight, functional, sophisticated bags because that's what I wanted and couldn't find. I drove my factory a little mad with revisions on each style until I knew in my bones it was right. And you know what?

Life has thrown some curveballs recently. A serious one came when a close family member was badly injured in a car accident in early last month—just as I was finding my rhythm again from the previous month’s upheaval. That’s how life is, right?

Thankfully my loved one is on the mend, but moments like this are powerful reminders of what’s truly important—and of how the choices we make can either support or drain us, both in the short and long term.

We celebrate independence.

We’re taught to strive for it. To hold our own. To not be a burden. To prove—quietly or loudly—that we can do it all without needing anything from anyone.

And many of us are really, really good at it.

We manage the logistics, the emotions, the work, the care. We pride ourselves on being strong, self-reliant, capable.