When the Clarity Hurts, But Heals

There wasn’t a single moment when I knew it was time to go — but there was a final one that confirmed what my body, my heart, and my spirit had been trying to tell me for a while. 

It came in a conversation that could have offered repair, but instead echoed the exhaustion I’d been carrying quietly. It was framed as feedback but felt like erasure — not of my work, but of my worth. I listened, hoping to find common ground, but instead I found a mirror: not of who I am, but of what this space has become. I saw myself — striving, explaining, justifying, shrinking.

That’s when I realized: this isn’t peace.
And if it’s not peace, it’s not for me anymore.

I’ve poured myself into this role — building, leading, solving, supporting. I’ve shown up with heart and purpose, even in the hardest seasons. But even water that sustains can wear away rock if it’s forced through the same channel over and over.

So I’m releasing.
Not in anger, but in clarity.
Not in defeat, but in freedom.

I’m stepping out of waters that have grown too heavy — and into currents that will carry me toward restoration. I don’t need to explain anymore. I don’t need to fight to be seen. I don’t need to shrink to fit someone else's version of who I should be.

God has already seen me.
And He's walking with me through this.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”
(Isaiah 43:2)

I’m not walking away because I gave up.
I’m walking away because I finally believe I don’t have to drown to prove I’m capable of swimming.

There’s grief in this choice, yes — but also space.
And peace.
And something else I hadn’t felt in a long time — hope.