There are seasons in our lives when creativity pours through us like an endless stream. Ideas arrive unannounced, energy feels abundant, and clarity becomes so natural we hardly notice it — we simply flow. And then, without warning, the current shifts. The bright flame turns to embers. The inspiration quiets. The once-clear path becomes foggy around the edges. You sit with your to-do list or your dreams and feel… stillness. Emptiness. A soft, unexpected pause.
And this — this moment right here — is where we often assume something is wrong.
But nothing is wrong with you. You haven’t lost your spark. You’re not falling behind. You’re simply entering a different season of the soul.
Your inner fire isn’t meant to burn at full blaze every day. It’s sacred, alive, and cyclical — just like you. It needs oxygen, nourishment, rest, and tending. Not pressure. Not demand. Not self-shame. A fire that is never allowed to rest becomes smoke. A fire that is honored becomes light.
Motivation isn’t a switch you forgot to flip — it’s a rhythm. A tide. A breath. It expands and contracts for a reason. Sometimes your fire dims not because you’ve failed, but because you’re being invited into deeper alignment. Because you’ve outgrown the goals you set months ago. Because your inner self is shifting and your old “why” no longer fits the shape of who you are becoming.
When the flame inside feels faint, the most powerful thing you can do isn’t to push harder — but to listen more closely. What is your fire trying to tell you? What needs rest? What needs release? What needs to be remembered?
And I know this intimately, because I’ve lived it.
A Personal Story: When My Fire Dimmed — and How I Reignited It
When I first began The Art of the Heart, I was completely lit from within — overflowing with passion, excitement, and a deep devotion to my calling. My love of crystals, Reiki, spirituality, intuitive development, and guiding others wasn’t just a business idea. It was the heartbeat of who I was. I felt aligned, alive, and certain that I was walking my soul’s true path.
Because I loved it so deeply, I poured myself into it fully. I worked seven days a week, often from morning until late evening — creating, teaching, holding space, building community. It didn’t feel like work. It felt like breathing.
When Leslie and I created Blossoming into Light Ministry, that passion expanded even further. We were building something sacred together — meaningful, intentional, and filled with heart. We poured everything into it. Long days, long nights, full devotion.
But somewhere along the way, without realizing it, I crossed the threshold from devotion into depletion. Not because I fell out of love with the work — but because I stopped tending my own fire.
There was one morning I sat down at my desk — the same desk where I had once felt so inspired — and instead of excitement, I felt… nothing. Just a heaviness. A deep tiredness I could no longer ignore. And in that moment, I realized my fire hadn’t gone out… it had simply gone quiet from being overworked and under-nourished.
My passion didn’t disappear — it just became quieter as exhaustion took up more space. Slowly, I found myself feeling tired, discouraged, frustrated, and deeply disheartened. I had poured so much love into everything… but I had forgotten to pour that same love into myself.
This became one of the most important lessons of my life:
Even sacred work requires balance.
Even purpose needs rest.
Even devotion needs boundaries.
So how did I return to joy, clarity, and motivation?
Through awareness.
Through honesty.
Through remembering myself.
I slowed down.
I went inward.
I let myself feel what I had ignored — the exhaustion, the yearning for balance, the desire for spaciousness.
And from that place of truth, I reconnected with what truly lights my fire:
Seeing someone awaken to their gifts.
Watching a student step into their confidence.
Witnessing someone remember who they really are.
Guiding others into their own knowing, healing, and purpose.
That is what brings me joy.
That is what reconnects me to my “why.”
That is what reignited my flame.
Once I remembered that, my fire returned naturally — stronger, steadier, and more aligned. Not forced. Not pressured. Just… alive again.
Today, I honor the rhythm of my fire with gentleness. I allow it to ebb and flow. I allow it to rest. I allow it to rise. And in doing so, I continue to create, teach, and serve — not from depletion, but from devotion.
Fire Returns Through Presence, Not Pressure
As you move through your own seasons of inspiration and quiet, may you soften into the truth that your fire is still here — even on the days it flickers.
Your spark is not fragile.
It is faithful.
It is waiting to be tended, not judged.
And with a little breath, a little beauty, and a little intention…
your fire will rise again.
May your inner fire glow a little brighter this week.
Sue
