Dear Journier,
How often do you slow down enough to realize that you were running on empty—and have been for far too long?
The week of September 14th, I had the opportunity to partner with the Mary Reynolds Babcock Foundation—an organization I’ve collaborated with before in Atlanta and Savannah through my work with NOOR Consulting. This time, however, I was hired directly by the foundation.
I share that to provide some context. I was in Gulf Shores, Alabama, for work. My role was to support the flow of a three-day gathering of grant recipients from across the South. What I didn’t expect was how deeply those three days would affect me.
When I show up for events like this, I prefer to stay in the background. That is, after all, my role. But on the last day, I found myself sitting in a circle of 30+ people from all different backgrounds, each sharing their reflections on the few days prior.
It all started for me when one participant shared that this gathering allowed them to see the ocean for the first time. As someone who has seen the ocean many times and in many places, I was overcome with gratitude. In that moment, I felt the weight of my privilege and my blessings.
Then the conversation shifted, as someone asked, “How do you know when the ancestors are speaking?” Another spoke about knowing God—not through religion, but through lived experience and spiritual connection. I found myself filled with emotion again. Over the years, I’ve come to know God beyond religion, as we are made in God’s image. In reflecting, I realized that the immense feeling I had that led me to tears was because, for me, even that relationship, which is ultimately with self, has been neglected.
We honored the foundation’s leadership, especially the CEO, and the intentional, love-filled stewardship that made the gathering what it was. There was a standing ovation—like the kind you see at award shows—but in a room full of people whose names you may not know, or only know if you do their kind of work. That moment brought me joy and more tears. Because whatever you do in this life—just do it well—your impact will reach further than you’ll ever know.
But what stood out the most, so much that my client thought something might have gone wrong, was this: over the course of the three days, there was space to rest.
And I realized, with clarity and conviction, and tears in my eyes, that I am exhausted.
Besides naps, I don’t yet know what rest truly looks like for me. I do know this truth is rising in me — I need more. I’m in need of a deeper kind of restoration.
As I wrote these words from my bed, my sister texted me. She needed to go to the hospital. She had been in pain for months, and it had only gotten worse. And so I returned to those tears I shed in Gulfview Ballroom III & IV, reminded of why they came in the first place.
As much as I want that rest, deeper than sleep, I don’t know if it’s my portion right now. I’m the only sibling with no children, no partner — so I carry the strength. I hold it because I often have to be the strong one for the people I love.
But here’s what I can do: I can be intentional in each moment, while looking ahead at what might be possible. I’m planning to take the rest of this year, the last three months, and go after what I want and ultimately what I need.
What I desire most is to move.
There is a place I have in mind. It might be missing that short walk or drive to the shore, but it has what I need to begin again. To create a sanctuary that restores me when life, as it always does, comes rushing in.
And finally, I’ll likely let go of the pressure to finish what I started back in December 2024, and that was to consistently share my words for a year.
This is my truth. And I’m sharing it with vulnerability, because sometimes, if we truly want change, we have to release it into the atmosphere. So with that, my words—and I—will go quiet until the new year. Unless Spirit otherwise says so.
Just in case I don’t get the chance to say it again: thank you. Thank you for the feedback, the encouragement and, the quiet affirmations I’ve received over these last nine months.
My hope and my prayer is that something I’ve written, then or now, has moved you to reflect on your own journey and how you choose to navigate -- or flow through.
With loads of Love & Light,
