The Path Unfolds as I Walk It
Lately I’ve been sitting with this feeling: direction without destination. I’m writing, teaching, mothering, building, holding (doing all the things) and yet there are days when the horizon feels fogged in. I can tell I’m moving, but toward what? I can feel the work burning bright, but for whom? Some days that uncertainty is a whisper; some days it fills the whole room.
When I was younger, someone told me a story that still lives in my bones. There was a person standing in a pitch-black room. No light, no map, and no obvious way out. They knew they couldn’t stay where they were, so they lifted one foot and took a step. Their foot met a stair. They still couldn’t see but they took another step and landed on another stair. Step by step, still blind, they climbed. After what felt like forever, their hand found a doorknob. They opened the door and stepped into the light.
That story reminds me that fear of the unknown can do one of two things: it can freeze us in place, or it can build a quiet, necessary strength, the kind you only grow by moving anyway. Sometimes the staircase doesn’t reveal itself until you start walking. Sometimes the door to the light only appears after we’ve been in the dark long enough to know we never want to live there again.
Maybe that’s what growth really is, not a straight line, not a five-year plan, but something truer and more organic, like a seed.
A seed doesn’t know the garden layout or the weather forecast. It’s pressed into darkness and covered. No applause or certainty that it will take root and sprout. Yet it still begins. It sends roots down first, anchoring itself where no one can see. Only after rooting does it reach upward. It doesn’t burst through the soil on day one., it waits. It gathers strength. Then one morning, without permission or certainty, it breaks the surface and turns toward light it never actually saw, only trusted.
That’s where I am right now. Maybe that’s where you are too, in the rooting season. Not stuck or behind, simply rooting quietly, stubbornly, and securely. If that’s you, hear me: you are not lost, you are growing in the dark.
I told a student recently, and I’m reminding myself again here, that time, care, and rest fix everything, especially when you add a dash of patience. We don’t need to see the entire path to take the next right step. We can trust the process, trust nature, and trust the quiet work our roots are doing beneath the surface, even when nothing appears to be changing above ground. That’s the truth of this entire journey: healing isn’t always obvious. Sometimes, it looks like stillness, a conversation that softens something sharp inside, or it’s the moment you let yourself nap instead of push through. That’s what time, care, and rest really mean. Time to sit with the discomfort. Care through connection and speaking with someone who can truly hold space. Rest that nourishes and allows us to come home to ourselves. Throw in a bit of patience that says, “You will get there in your own time” and you have the magical spellwork of taking advantage of the great space called Unknown.
If you’re standing in the dark room, we’ll walk together. If you’re the buried seed, we’ll root together. The light will come. The sprout will break through. When it does, you’ll recognize the direction, not because someone handed you a map, but because:
The path unfolded as you walked it.
Sitting with Discomfort
Before we can move forward, we have to start with what’s here. To be completely honest, often what’s here is discomfort. Not just the vague sense of unease we like to brush aside, but a heavy, complex weight that reveals everything we’ve tried to avoid. Discomfort is not the enemy, it’s a messenger. Just like any messenger, it’s trying to deliver something essential: a message we’ve often refused to receive.
Discomfort doesn’t show up arbitrarily, it has purpose. It signals that something is misaligned. Something is unspoken or being neglected. Sometimes it whispers, sometimes it roars. But it always invites us to listen, not fix. This is the point where we need to override the instinct to find a way to make it better and to do it now. This isn’t about rushing to feel better, it’s about becoming better acquainted with what is. It is an invitation to identify the trauma, the pain, the heartache, and the wounds that have scarred us but also shaped us into who we are now. It helps us to see how we have trained our mind and body to react in those moments to protect us. Then we ask ourselves, "Does this help me or hurt me?" At this point, we are simply acknowledging where we are. We are not working to fix it. We are just sitting with it so we can understand.
This kind of presence takes courage. Because discomfort, when we truly sit with it, reveals the stories we’ve inherited, the pain we’ve swallowed, the boundaries we’ve abandoned. Sometimes the discomfort we feel is sadness, the kind that sinks in when we realize we’re alone, or worse, that we’ve been carrying someone else’s story as our truth. Other times, it’s grief: the deep ache of realizing the life we built, the one we were so sure would satisfy us, doesn’t fit anymore. To grow, we’ll have to walk away from it. That means leaving behind pieces of ourselves, relationships that no longer nourish us, and expectations that have been silently choking us for years.
Then, there’s the fury. The kind of rage that simmers beneath the surface when we realize we worked so hard, followed all the rules, and yet the path we were sold was never ours to begin with or was rigged/broken from the start. That we were taught to shrink, to obey, to doubt ourselves (ladies, I'm looking at you). Especially at this age (as I am writing this at 41 years old). Even more so when we’ve already poured so much into everyone else (moms, dads, and caregivers especially). This type of betrayal sucks and being angry about it is a perfectly normal response, but one we often deny ourselves.
To sit with discomfort is to say, "I am willing to hear the truth of myself". It's also acknowledging the truth of what has been done to you. It is the first act of honesty. It’s not passive; it’s radical and it is necessary. Because if we don’t pause long enough to listen to what hurts, we will carry that hurt with us into the next chapter, relationship, and opportunity. We will repeat the same cycles, call it fate, and wonder why we still feel unfulfilled.
The only way forward is through and the only way through is by honoring what’s real, even if it’s uncomfortable.
Especially if it’s uncomfortable. That’s where the wisdom lives. That is where true change and the end of toxic cycles begins.
Accepting Uncertainty as a Trust Fall Into the Self
From that initial honesty, we step into uncertainty. Not because it's easy, but because it's real. Accepting uncertainty isn’t a passive surrender, it’s an active declaration of trust. Not just in divine timing, or the unfolding of nature (though those things matter), but in ourselves. Our ability to be with what is. To respond with presence and to rise when it’s time.
It’s a trust fall but not the kind where someone else catches us. It’s the kind where we realize we are the net. That there’s a self within us capable of catching what falls.
This kind of trust doesn’t come from theory, it comes from experience. Every time we take a step forward without full clarity and survive it, we build trust. Every time we face discomfort and resist the urge to numb or escape, we strengthen it. Every time we tell ourselves, “I don’t have the full map, but I know the next right step,” we become more rooted in our own wisdom.
Self-trust grows when we choose to focus on what is in our control. That might mean getting up and making the bed. It might mean saying no when we’d usually say yes. These choices, small as they may seem, signal to our nervous system that we are safe with ourselves.
Safety is the foundation of self-esteem.
As Dr. Christine Carter (2020) wisely points out, “To best cope with uncertainty, we need to stop complaining.” Instead of fixating on the problem or waiting to be rescued, we can shift toward the outcomes we desire. Carter explains that “rescuers tend to give us permission to avoid taking responsibility for our lives,” while emotionally supportive friends or therapists “see us as capable of solving our own problems.” This shift from helplessness to ownership changes everything. It allows us to take back our agency and engage with the mess of life in a more empowered way. This is the groundwork for resilience.
Nicole Whitting (2022) expands on this by encouraging us to “have our own back.” She writes, “Developing a resilient relationship with failure and uncertainty is essential for personal growth. This entails supporting oneself through trials and errors, acknowledging that while outcomes may not always be predictable, one’s ability to navigate and adapt to them is within our control.” In other words, we stop waiting to be saved and start becoming the one who saves ourselves, again and again.
When we take action from this place of grounded self-trust, we stop fearing failure so deeply. We see each misstep as part of a larger unfolding. We begin to understand that even when things don’t go to plan, we have the tools to regroup, realign, and try again. This isn’t just about grit. It’s about grace. The grace to believe that we are enough. That our inner wisdom is trustworthy. That no matter how uncertain things feel, we are not powerless.
Connection as Clarifying Mirror
We aren’t meant to walk this journey alone. But here’s the thing, connection isn’t about trauma-dumping or venting into the void. True connection is a space of shared presence, where we can speak and be heard, not just in our pain but in our process and our becoming.
When we speak aloud, we give shape to our inner world. We stop the mental ricochet of thoughts trapped in our minds, the ones that bounce like rubber balls in a sealed room, growing louder with each echo. Talking externalizes those thoughts, allowing us to see them more clearly and respond with wisdom rather than reactivity.
This isn’t just poetic, it’s physiological. In Human Physiology: Expression of Veda and the Vedic Literature, Dr. Tony Nader (2014) describes how the brain processes sound through an eight-step sequence, transforming vibration into meaning. When we speak and hear our own words, we engage this process consciously. We become both speaker and listener, both sender and receiver. That moment of inner resonance, when we truly hear ourselves, can spark insight that silence alone may not reveal. Think on this for a moment. Have you ever had a moment where you heard yourself speak and thought, “woah…that came from me?” or “wow…I said that?” That’s because when the thought is able to leave the echo chamber of the mind, take form as sound, and then go through each of those 8 steps, it becomes fully realized and our brain is able to process it physically, mentally, and emotionally. We are able to see that we already know what we need to do, we already know the process, and we know ourselves better than anyone else. From that point, we can move forward with confidence, our friends don’t even have to put in much effort other than holding space for us.
So, find your people.
The ones who don’t rush to fix, who know how to hold space, who meet your truth with tenderness instead of discomfort. Let your words be spoken in the presence of someone who sees you, not just the polished parts, but the raw, unraveling edges too. Let your truth leave your body and land in a space where it can be witnessed, held, and reflected. Not to fix you but to free you. Because healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in relationship, when the nervous system begins to feel safe, not just because you said it out loud, but because someone stayed and listened.
Turning Presence Into Practice
Once we’ve acknowledged our discomfort and accepted the uncertainty, the next step is gentle action. Not frantic scrambling for solutions. Not impulsive leaps that lead to more chaos. But small, steady steps that move us in the direction of self-trust and alignment.
This is where intention becomes our compass. Rather than trying to control the whole map, we start with what’s right in front of us. What do I need today? What would nourish me—not numb me? What would support my nervous system instead of overwhelm it?
But intention is only half of the equation. To truly move forward, we also need a way of thinking that matches our depth and complexity. This is where we embrace critical, creative, and holistic thinking, not as academic tools, but as soul-level practices that help us see clearly, imagine freely, and integrate fully.
Critical thinking helps us challenge our assumptions. It allows us to ask: Is this thought true? Where did I learn it? Does it still serve me? Especially in moments of uncertainty, critical thinking gives us the courage to pause before reacting. Then we discern what’s real from what’s fear-driven, inherited, or outdated. It’s not about judging ourselves. It’s about examining our patterns with compassion.
Creative thinking gives us space to dream beyond the binary. When life feels stuck, creativity opens windows. It allows us to play with new possibilities, to imagine outcomes we’ve never considered, to tap into resourcefulness that exists beyond logic. It doesn’t always mean art. Sometimes creativity looks like asking a better question, flipping the script, or simply saying, What if there's another way?
Holistic thinking is the glue. It’s the awareness that everything is connected: mind and body, inner and outer, past and present. This kind of thinking honors nuance. It understands that healing isn’t linear, that people are more than their worst moment, and that solutions are often found in the spaces between disciplines. It reminds us that our nervous system, our relationships, our environment, and our beliefs all influence each other. It also reminds us that true change happens when we tend to the whole.
Together, these three ways of thinking form a powerful triad. They help us reclaim agency without bypassing complexity. They let us move forward with both logic and intuition, grounded in presence but open to expansion. When we apply them, whether to a decision, a conflict, or a life transition, we’re not just reacting, we’re responding consciously.
As Dr. Diane Sliwka (2025) reminds us, focusing on short-term actions within our control is a powerful way to reduce anxiety and regain a sense of agency. So, we look for what we can do. Maybe that means drinking water. Maybe it means responding to that one email. Maybe it means resting when the world insists that we hustle.
The key is not the size of the step, it’s the direction.
Even the smallest move made in alignment with our well-being plants a seed for change. And just like a seed, that change needs tending. It needs consistency. It needs care. And it needs the quiet permission to grow at its own pace.
The Courage to Pause
Pausing in the middle of uncertainty is not easy. In fact, it can feel terrifying. When we don’t know what’s around the corner, our nervous system goes on high alert. We stay busy, distracted, and always looking over our shoulder. Not because we’re weak, but because we’re wired to survive. Stillness can feel threatening. When we stop moving, we start to feel. And sometimes what we feel is fear, or sadness, or the spinning unease of rumination.
But rest is not a luxury. It’s a strategy. It’s not avoidance, it’s an act of courage. Dr. Diane Sliwka (2025) writes that when rumination feels excessive, we can shift our focus to planning as an antidote. Journaling, mapping out next steps, or simply imagining a few grounded scenarios can help us feel more prepared, more anchored. And it’s in moments of rest, when the body is calm enough to think clearly, that we can begin to do this kind of reflective planning.
Even the military understands the necessity of the pause. When I was deployed, we weren’t in a constant state of combat. We had R&R (Rest and Recuperation) baked into the rhythm of our deployment. Leadership would check in if we didn’t take it, concerned that we might be spiraling into burnout. It wasn’t indulgence. It was necessity. It was protection of the mission and of ourselves. We would be wise to offer ourselves the same.
In a way, this is the wisdom of the Earth itself. You can toss a seed into any soil, and it may grow. But if you nourish that soil, fertilize it, care for it, make space for it to breathe, that seed has a far greater chance of thriving. The pause is the fertilizer. Rest and self-care are what strengthen the roots before the sprouting begins.
So even if it feels uncomfortable, even if the silence stirs old fear, remind yourself: I am safe in this moment. I can stop, soften, and replenish.
Then remind yourself:
“When I do, I don’t lose momentum. I gather strength.”
Turning Insight Into Action: A Self-Guided Practice
You’ve walked with me through some hard truths:
· Sitting with discomfort
· Learning to trust yourself
· Trying to think differently
· Connecting with others
· Finding the courage to pause
But what do we do with all of this? How do we carry it into our real lives, especially when the path is uncertain?
This section isn’t about fixing your life in five easy steps. It’s about building a relationship with your inner knowing—one step at a time. Below is a self-guided practice structured around three stages:
1. Reflect,
2. Reset,
3. Respond.
You can walk through this in one sitting or revisit each step over time. You might want to grab a journal, a pen, and a quiet moment to yourself before diving in.
PART 1: REFLECT: Understand What’s Present
This is where we begin, by getting honest about what’s here. Not what should be here. Not what we wish was here. But what’s real.
Instructions: Use the following prompts to name what you’re feeling, what’s unclear, and what’s trying to get your attention.
· What feels uncertain in my life right now?
· What emotion keeps surfacing lately: fear, anger, grief, numbness, something else?
· When I sit with that feeling, what is it trying to tell me?
· What part of me wants to be heard but I’ve been avoiding listening?
Coaching Tip: Remember, you’re not here to solve anything yet. You’re here to witness. This is the pause. You’re a newly planted seed who needs time to take root. Let yourself rest in awareness.
PART 2: RESET: Come Back to Center
Now that you’ve named what’s present, it’s time to nurture yourself before moving forward. Just like settlers on the frontier or soldiers on deployment, rest is a strategy. It’s not giving up. It’s gathering strength.
Instructions: Choose one of the following actions. Keep it simple. Small acts matter.
· Body: Drink water, stretch, lie down with your hand on your chest. Remind yourself: I am safe in this moment.
· Mind: Write down the 3 things on your mind right now, then give yourself permission to only focus on the one that’s most important.
· Heart: Text someone you trust and say: “Hey, I could use some connection. Can we talk soon?” Let yourself be seen.
· Planning (Not Ruminating): Following Dr. Diane Sliwka’s guidance (2025), turn rumination into planning:
o What’s one possible scenario I’m worried about?
o What’s one small way I could prepare for it?
Metaphor to Anchor This: A seed will grow in any soil, but it thrives in fertilized soil. Self-care is that fertilizer. Rest, nourishment, connection…these aren’t luxuries. They are how we strengthen the self so that action comes from alignment, not exhaustion.
PART 3: RESPOND: Take a Gentle Step Forward
Now that you’ve listened and cared for yourself, it’s time to act. Not from panic. Not from pressure. But from presence.
Instructions: This is where we use critical, creative, and holistic thinking together.
1. Critical Thinking (Discernment):
Ask: What do I actually know to be true in this situation?
What is a fact vs. a fear? What is the truth vs. a belief? What needs more information before I decide?
2. Creative Thinking (Possibility):
Ask: What if there’s another way?
Like we explored earlier, there are infinite ways to arrive at the same truth (2 = 1+1, 3–1, 4÷2…). What’s a nontraditional or imaginative solution I haven’t yet considered?
3. Holistic Thinking (Integration):
Ask: What does my whole self say: body, mind, and spirit?
What step feels aligned, even if it’s small or uncertain? What feels nourishing and forward moving?
Now, write this sentence in your journal:
Today, the step I am choosing to take is: _______.
I choose it not because I’m certain, but because I trust myself to keep walking.
Final Reflection
Uncertainty may shake the ground beneath us, but it can also become sacred ground. A place where we slow down, re-center, and rediscover the steady pulse of our own becoming. This is not a detour, it is the path. Every pause, every act of reflection, every small decision rooted in care rather than fear… it all counts. You are not lost. You are learning to listen. You are not behind. You are aligning. The beauty is, you don’t have to do it all at once. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You simply return (again and again) to the truth that you are worth tending to, even here, especially here.
So take the next step and if the next step is rest, then let it be deep and unapologetic. If the next step is action, let it be gentle and intentional. Because the real work isn’t about chasing certainty. It’s about remembering who you are within it.
You don’t have to know the entire path to take the first step.
You don’t have to be fearless to move forward.
You only have to be honest, gentle, and willing.
The rest unfolds in motion.
References
Carter, C. (2023, October 18). How to live with uncertainty. Greater Good Science Center. https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/how_to_live_with_uncertainty
Whitting, N. (2024, April 26). 10 ways to calm your mind and body in times of uncertainty. Healthline. https://www.healthline.com/health/how-to-live-with-uncertainty
Sliwka, D. (2025, February 14). When rumination feels excessive, focus on planning as an antidote to anxious feelings—Feeling prepared for different scenarios can help. UCSF Health. https://www.ucsfhealth.org/education/planning-as-antidote-to-anxious-feelings
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. (2016). Science of being and art of living: Transcendental Meditation (Rev. ed.). Penguin.
Nader, T. (2014). Human physiology: Expression of Veda and the Vedic literature. Maharishi University of Management Press.
