Learning to Exhale:
on Writing, Fear, and Showing Up Anyway
Six years ago, I started a blog.
I spent a week up in the mountains, surrounded by snow and postcard-like, icicle-covered trees. I was wrapped in cozy clothes and encouraged by the occasional Irish coffee. On the surface, it seemed like the idyllic beginning to what I thought would be my dream life: traveling, writing, and somehow helping people with my words.
Except… six hours in, I hadn’t published a single post.
I was terrified. Somehow, putting words out into the world felt scarier than streaking at a homecoming game. It wasn’t just the permanence—it was the unknown. What if no one read my work? What if someone did—and didn’t like it? What if they didn’t understand the intent behind my words?
If worries were affiliate links, I could’ve made a fortune.
Instead, I put pen to paper and wrote. And rewrote. Then typed. And retyped.
This was before ChatGPT, so I relied on Grammarly to clean up my mistakes. Even with a score of 98 or higher, I still questioned every sentence. (Where are my fellow recovering perfectionists?) Nothing ever felt good enough.
I ended up publishing just three posts before quietly shutting the whole thing down, feeling like a failure.
Looking back, I can see what was really at play:
The voices around me were louder than the voice within me.
I was afraid to take up space—both in life and on the page.
Fear of showing up imperfectly kept me from showing up at all.
I still don’t have it fully figured out. But after working with hundreds of women around the world, I’ve realized I’m not alone.
“I’ve learned that not showing up feels like living without ever fully exhaling.”
I still don’t know if anyone will ever read these words—or if they do, whether they’ll resonate. But I’ve learned that not showing up feels like living without ever fully exhaling. These days, I’m less interested in getting it perfect and more interested in getting it out. Sharing my art, my thoughts, my process—messy or not—feels like an act of trust. In myself. In the people who might need to hear it. And in the possibility that showing up, even imperfectly, is enough.
Journal Catalyst: Where in your life do you feel like you’re holding your breath?
This can be in a literal sense or in a figurative way—that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Make a list of things that come up for you. Take a minute to journal about something that needs to be released. (Hint: Whatever comes to mind first, is usually the goldmine.)
