12 Things This Year Taught Me About Showing Up
I've been dreaming about this since 2019. That's not an exaggeration. For years, I told people I wanted to start a blog. I created a website, came up with the name, the color scheme, and the vision. Hell, I even sent surveys around to my friends to see which title would work best. So much effort and then I let it sit there, unused, gathering digital dust while I convinced myself it wasn't ready. Let me repeat that…While I convinced myself I wasn't ready.
Perfectionism is a beautiful cage. It feels like preparation. It feels like you're being thoughtful, intentional, careful even. But let’s cut to the chase, you're just afraid. I was afraid for a long time.
Then I took a career sabbatical. I made myself a promise: I would focus on the things that bring me joy. I would stop abandoning passion projects. I would stop talking about the life I wanted to build and actually build it.
I was in Nepal, at a yoga and wellness school, learning how to breathe, learning how to be present. And one day, tired of my own bullshit, I asked myself: what do I have to lose?
So I pressed publish on a long-awaited dream. On something I'd been holding in my hands for years but was too afraid to let go of.
That was a year ago today. Here's what showing up has taught me:
1. You don't need to wait until something is perfect to share it with the world.
I could have waited another year. Another five years. I could have built the perfect brand, the perfect platform, the perfect first post. I could have kept perfecting but perfection is a parasite. It feeds on your fear and tells you you're not ready under the guise of preparation. The truth is, I was never going to feel ready, so I published anyway. That imperfect first post was infinitely more valuable than a perfect one that never happened.
2. Building something is the best form of therapy.
I've done a lot of work on myself but there's something about taking the stories you've been sitting with, the lessons you've been learning, and turning them into something tangible that heals you differently. Every essay I've written has been a conversation with myself. Every post is a way of making sense of my own life. The healing isn't in the applause; it’s in the act of creating. Everything else is just a gift on top.
3. Your people will find you.
I used to think about algorithms and reach and whether my voice would matter. I used to think I had to chase an audience. I learned very quickly that's not how it works. After reading the Creative Act by Rick Rubin, I fully embrace that the audience should come last. Because if I’m creating the things that bring me joy and fulfillment then I know with time the right people who need it will find it. No need to chase them.
4. Community is where the magic lives.
The spotlights on Drea and Stephanie, the interviews, the women I've featured and amplified; these have been the most rewarding part of this entire year. Not the blog in isolation, but the community that formed around it. The conversations. The people who became my people. The realization that we're not meant to build alone. Community is where loneliness ends. It's where the real magic actually lives.
5. You don't need permission to follow your dreams.
For six years, I waited for permission. For someone to tell me I was allowed to call myself a blogger. For the credentials, the right moment, the perfect circumstances. It took me a while to understand that permission doesn't come from outside yourself. It comes from deciding that your dreams matter enough to pursue them even without approval. I stopped asking for permission. I just started building.
6. Validation is an inside job.
I spent a lot of early months refreshing my inbox, watching my subscriber count, waiting for proof that this mattered. I realized external validation is never enough. It's never stable, it’s like water slipping through your fingers. The only validation that lasts is the kind you give yourself. The kind that comes from knowing you showed up for something you believe in, whether the world notices or not. The numbers are nice but they're not the point.
7. Your life doesn't have to be figured out for your voice to matter.
I launched WokenHeart while on a sabbatical, between chapters, with no job title and no clear next step.. I wasn't sure what came next. I thought that meant I had nothing to say but the most honest writing came from that uncertainty. People connected with the searching. They recognized themselves in the questions I was asking. You don't need to have arrived at the destination to help someone else find their way. You just need to be honest about where you are.
8. The version of yourself you're becoming is watching.
Every time I hit publish, I'm not just writing for an audience. I'm writing to the person I'm becoming. I'm making promises to her. I'm saying: this is what I believe in, this is what I stand for, this is the life I'm building and then I have to live up to those words. That's accountability in the most generous form.
9. Be as audacious as possible. Delulu is the solution.
This is my favorite thing I've learned. I've given myself permission to dream bigger than seems rational. To imagine things that feel slightly ridiculous, and maybe a little cringe. To believe in SOWN before it was fully formed. To say yes to opportunities that seemed out of reach. The people who actually build things are the ones who were willing to be a little delusional first. They believed before they had proof. Some people may call me naive but that’s how creation works.
10. At any moment, you can pivot.
I started as WokenHeart and now I'm becoming SOWN. I've shifted formats, changed my focus, evolved what this space is for. I worried if people would understand. Will they follow me? I learned that you can change your mind. You can pivot whenever you want. Your people will follow if the pivot is authentic. If they don't, you were probably heading somewhere different anyway. There's freedom in knowing that nothing is permanent unless you want it to be.
11. Allow yourself to be a novice. Stay curious.
I didn't know how to build a blog or newsletter. I didn't know how to interview people or create community or navigate the business side of this. I learned by doing. I gave myself permission to be bad at things, to ask questions, to stay curious instead of pretending I had it figured out. That beginner's mindset is what keeps this alive. It's what keeps me interested. It's what prevents this from becoming another abandoned dream.
12. Rejection is redirection.
Not everything I've tried has worked. Not every collaboration has manifested. Not every idea has landed the way I imagined. Every "no" has pointed me toward something better. Every closed door has redirected me toward something more aligned, more true, more me. I've learned to trust that if something doesn't work out, it's not a failure. It's a redirect.
Six years ago, I created a website and let it collect dust because I was afraid. One year ago, tired of my own excuses, I pressed publish anyway and in doing that, I learned how to show up for this dream I'd been holding for so long.
This year has been the most honest year of my life. Not because everything went perfectly, but because I finally stopped waiting for perfect and started building instead.
Thank you for being here. For reading these words that were so long trapped in my head. For letting me figure this out in public. For showing up for me the way I'm learning to show up for myself.
