What The Tides Know
The ocean is majestic.
It pulls back from the shore in a sacred rhythm and then returns with the same quiet certainty it always has. Day in, day out. It has moved this way for longer than we have had words for it.
I've been thinking about how differently we treat our own retreats.
We call it withdrawing. Disappearing. We feel the need to explain our silence, to justify the seasons when we have less to give, to keep showing up in ways that look right even when everything in us is pulling back. At least I do, and I have.
We learned somewhere along the way that stillness looks like giving up. That going quiet means losing momentum, but the tide doesn't lose ground. It's the same ocean. It's just breathing.
It took me a while, but I know this phase very well right now. The urge to explain myself has quietly left. The need to be understood by everyone... somehow just gone.
There is something I'm building, something that matters deeply to me, and I've found that I don't have to share it before it's ready. I don't have to preview the process.
The water gives no warning before it returns. It simply comes.
Your quiet season doesn’t need an explanation. Some people will understand later. Some won't and that's okay.
You haven't gone anywhere. You're just beneath the surface for a while, gathering yourself the same way the ocean gathers before it rolls back in.
And when you return, you'll carry more than you left with. 🌻
✨ Are you in a quiet season right now? One where you've stopped explaining yourself and started protecting what you're building? I'd love to hear it your story.
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