I’ve been feeling a little stuck lately.
There. I said it.
Things in my business have slowed down. I’ve been finding it harder to create, to show up, to feel motivated.
The usual zest and excitement that I can so easily tap into hasn’t felt quite so available.
And if I’m honest, it’s not just my business. Life has felt heavy.
This year I lost my grandad, who was a huge father figure in my life and someone I was incredibly close to. My nan is now on her own and deteriorating with dementia, which means I’m regularly on the phone helping to navigate things, supporting my dad, and being a sounding board while he tries to manage what is understandably an incredibly stressful situation. And my other grandad has become very unwell following a major stroke which has left him paralysed on one side.
There has been a lot of illness. A lot of ageing. A lot of conversations about care, decline, loss and mortality. And all of this has been happening alongside living with chronic pain every single day for the past five years.
I think, for a while, I just kept going. I kept working. I kept creating. I kept holding events. I kept showing up.
But somewhere along the way, I started to retreat.
I went into my cocoon.
Over the past year, I’ve noticed myself withdrawing quite a lot. I stopped going out as much. I stopped making plans because I never know how I’m going to feel from one day to the next. I haven’t had much desire to be entertained or constantly doing something.
Instead, I’ve wanted quiet. Space. Nature. Stillness. Time alone.
And for a while, I wondered what was wrong with me. Why didn’t I feel more social? Why wasn’t I excited about going out? Why did I seem to want to retreat from the world rather than participate in it? But I’m beginning to see it differently.
Perhaps nothing was wrong with me. Perhaps I was listening. Because there has been so much noise in my own life, in the world around us, and inside my own mind that my natural instinct has been to create some peace and harmony wherever I can.
To cocoon myself. To go inward. To make sense of what has been happening. To find meaning. To find hope. To find my way back to stillness.
And perhaps that is exactly what I’ve needed.
The wisdom of the chrysalis
There’s something about the caterpillar entering the chrysalis that has felt particularly meaningful to me lately. From the outside, it looks like nothing is happening.
It has stopped moving. It has withdrawn from the world. It has disappeared into darkness. But inside, an extraordinary process is taking place. The caterpillar is breaking down and becoming something entirely new. There is surrender involved. It can’t control the process. It can’t rush it. It can’t know exactly what it will become. It simply has to surrender to what is happening.
And honestly, that’s how this past year has felt for me. A deep process of surrender.
A period of letting go of my need to know where I’m going, what I’m doing and exactly how I’m going to get there. My faith has felt tested. The everyday joy that used to come so naturally has sometimes felt much harder to access.
And I’ve had to find new ways of creating stillness within myself. I’ve been deepening my spiritual practice, reconnecting with teachings that bring meaning and perspective, and returning to daily practices like Transcendental Meditation to find the peace and quiet I’ve been craving.
Not because I have everything figured out. Quite the opposite. Because I don’t.
Maybe this isn’t me giving up.
I think this is the part I most want to share. Because when your business slows down, when your motivation disappears, when you stop making plans and when you’re spending more time alone, it can be very easy to tell yourself that you’re failing.
That you’re falling behind.
That you should be doing more.
That you need to get yourself back on track.
I’ve certainly had those thoughts. Especially when you’re someone who talks about intentional living, expansion, possibility and creating the life you desire. I’ve felt the tension of continuing to show up for my work and my events while simultaneously feeling like I just want to retreat from everything.
But I’m beginning to understand that this isn’t necessarily giving up.
Maybe it’s surrender.
Maybe there are seasons where we’re not supposed to be pushing forward.
Maybe we’re supposed to stop.
To listen.
To clear.
To allow.
To let the old version of ourselves fall away.
And perhaps that is what this season has been for me.
Preparing to emerge
The butterfly doesn’t emerge from the chrysalis by becoming a better version of the caterpillar. It becomes something new. And I feel like I’m in that process now. Letting go of old beliefs. Old patterns. Old ways of thinking. Old expectations of who I thought I needed to be. Clearing the obstacles and resistance that have kept me from fully stepping into my own power. Learning what it actually means to create from a place of alignment rather than force.
And perhaps most importantly, learning how to hold space for other women in the way I’m here to do by learning to hold that space for myself first.
I talk a lot in my work about women stepping out of survival mode. About moving beyond the constant push, pressure and proving. About creating a life that feels expansive rather than exhausting. And perhaps this season has been asking me to embody that more deeply myself.
Not just talk about it.
Not just teach it.
But live it.
I keep coming back to Marianne Williamson’s words. For a long time, I’ve interpreted this as a call to dream bigger. To be bolder. To take up more space. To stop hiding.
And I still believe that.
But I think I’m understanding it differently now. Playing small isn’t only about shrinking our dreams. Sometimes we play small by staying attached to an old version of ourselves because it’s familiar. Sometimes we play small by believing we have to keep pushing when everything inside us is asking us to pause. Sometimes we play small by waiting until we feel completely ready, certain or healed before we allow ourselves to step into what we’re here to do. And sometimes expansion begins with going inward. With clearing the noise. With surrendering. With becoming still enough to hear the voice underneath all the fear, expectation and conditioning.
That’s where I am right now.
Still in the cocoon. Still listening. Still healing. Still becoming.
But I can feel something shifting.
I can feel that I’m preparing to emerge differently. Not by forcing myself back into the life I had before. But by allowing myself to become the woman who can hold the life I’m actually here to create. And perhaps that is the real work. Because I know I’m here to help women stop playing small.
To believe in their dreams. To take up space. To create intentionally. To live with more freedom, joy and possibility. To build lives that actually feel like theirs.
And if I’m going to ask other women to step into that, I have to be willing to step into it too. So for now, I’m honouring the cocoon.
I’m letting myself be quiet. I’m letting myself not know. I’m letting myself heal. I’m trusting that there is a deeper process unfolding beneath the surface. And I’m preparing my vessel for what comes next. Because I don’t think I’ve lost my way.
I think I’m becoming ready for a new one.
Final Note
Please be gentle with yourself while reflecting on any of this 🤍
Let there be no self-judgement. Only curiosity, awareness and compassion.
Sometimes just noticing the pressure we’re carrying is the first step toward finally releasing it.
Sending love,
Lisa x