The closer I got to the blog release date, the more emotional and anxious I became. What I thought would feel exciting began to feel heavy. My emotions were everywhere—layered, tangled, unnamed. I didn’t yet have language for what I was feeling, only the awareness that something inside me was stirring.

Around that same time, a girlfriend casually mentioned the feelings wheel. She had no idea that my emotions were spinning wildly in that very moment, or that I was struggling to sit with them. It felt divine—how God uses conversations we weren’t even part of to gently nudge us toward awareness.

I reached out to my niece—who is also my sister, my friend, my prayer partner, and my sounding board. We did what we always do. We analyzed. We dissected. We pulled out the meat and discarded the garbage. We asked the uncomfortable questions that get us closer to the root. That process is never pretty. Sometimes it’s painful. But it’s also where healing begins.

Then she asked me a question that stopped me cold:

“When were you rejected? You don’t have to answer—but was it really rejection, or was it protection? Or was it neither, and the bait was simply taken?”

That question led me back to the relationship that sparked this entire blog.

I thought about how my partner at the time isolated himself in the basement. How that physical distance slowly became emotional distance. How the silence grew louder than words ever could. It made me feel rejected. Conversations became scarce. Effort felt one-sided. It almost felt like self-sabotage—like you didn’t even want it to work. Like you weren’t even trying.

And the truth is, the feeling of not being someone’s first choice cuts deep. To believe you had a place in someone’s heart, only to feel that place disappear—it hurts. Watching someone give up on working at it feels like being quietly dismissed. I felt rejected.

I think that’s why putting myself out there—sharing pieces of my life, not just this recent chapter but my story as a whole—felt so terrifying. Vulnerability always carries risk. Will people be receptive? Will anyone relate? Will I be misunderstood?

And then it hit me.

This isn’t about other people.
This isn’t about reception.
This isn’t about validation.

This is about me moving forward.
This is about obedience.
This is about healing.

When I began the countdown to the blog’s release, messages started coming in. Most were loving and supportive, and I’m grateful for that. But with encouragement also came noise—You should post here. You need to monetize this. Do this, do that, figure it all out.

And I had to pause.

Because that’s not what this blog is about.

This blog is an outlet—one I believe God gave to me. My chief of staff reminded me of something simple but profound: sometimes you just have to be quiet. Sometimes you don’t explain. You don’t strategize. You don’t rush. You just show the world where you are.

God gave me the vision for Grown Women for a reason. This is my outlet. This is my ministry. This is attached to my purpose. It is God-given. And it does not need to be influenced by the chatter in my ears.

So I’m choosing to be quiet.
To be prayerful.
And to move how He tells me to move.

I’m deeply grateful for the people God has placed in my life. My circle is small, but it is seasoned, rooted, supportive, encouraging, and Spirit-led. I know that placement was intentional.

And here’s what I’m learning:

Don’t be afraid to ask questions.
And don’t be afraid when questions are asked of you.

You may not always have the answers in the moment—but the questions themselves are sacred. They are invitations. They are tools. They are part of the healing.

And healing, I’m learning, often begins right where discomfort lives.