Holding the Vision
On prayer, signs, and trusting what you can’t yet see
Thank you all so much for the love on my last post. Sometimes it can feel like you’re talking to the void on here, so the DMs, comments, calls, and shares truly mean the world.
The week after posting, I wanted to write again, but I felt like I didn’t really have much to say. Which was strange, because my inner world is rarely quiet. I’m constantly processing, reflecting, making sense of things as they unfold. I’d been speaking about so much with the people closest to me - so how could I suddenly be without words?
It was in that moment that I realized just how much I censor myself for the internet - without even realizing it.
It often doesn’t even occur to me to share my deepest thoughts online. Not everything needs to be shared, of course, but I hadn’t realized how much I was filtering. Maybe that’s why I’ve always struggled with social media. When I try to post, it often feels like only a fraction of me makes it through.
Maybe I’ve only ever let a fraction of myself through.
To grow on social media, they say you need to be consistent - post weekly, daily, even multiple times a day. I’ve often felt frustrated that I can’t keep a constant rhythm of output online. I might post constantly for a month and then disappear for a year.
But one thing that last post showed me is that I don’t actually have to follow the rules. I probably average eight or ten likes on a Substack post. This one reached over 130 (that’s basically viral for me, haha), despite the fact that I hadn’t posted in months. Something clicked: maybe traction doesn’t come from manufacturing content or following the algorithm, but from removing my internal filter and allowing more of my true self to be visible.
In that last post, I mentioned that I can feel a new chapter beginning.
I can feel it in my bones.
Like a tide pulling me beneath the surface.
Since then, my mood has been fluctuating. Most days I feel excited and energized, content with where I am, and genuinely looking forward to the future. And then there are moments when I suddenly feel behind, off track, disappointed with certain areas of my life, and not entirely convinced that everything I’m hoping for will come to fruition.
(It’s worth noting that these moments are highly correlated with my cycle and how well I’ve slept.)
At some point last week, the words “hold the vision” dropped into my mind.
And I realized that maybe this season is asking me to learn exactly that.
To hold the vision of where I’m headed.
To trust something before there is much evidence for it.
It’s both an exciting and confronting place to be.
If I’m totally honest, while there has been so much beauty in the last few years, I’ve often felt a bit lost at sea. It’s only recently that I feel things starting to move in a clearer direction.
I recently heard Sarah Baldwin describe the human experience as a labyrinth - a maze where sometimes the walls are so high you can’t see beyond where you currently are.
Some days I can see the bird’s-eye view of my own labyrinth. I can see how everything happens in perfect timing and how one thing leads naturally to the next.
And some days I can’t see beyond what’s right in front of me.
Those are the days when it’s easy for me to feel behind.
Of course, my adult self knows there is no such thing as “behind.” We all start from different places and are on our own journey. Comparison is the thief of joy, as they say.
But there are moments when adult me leaves the building.
And comparison creeps in.
In those moments, I can feel myself making my future life more important than my present one.
And when I really get stuck there, I want to curl up under my favorite blanket (the best $200 I’ve ever spent - my adult version of a blankie), feel sorry for myself, and quit.
The funny thing is, I’m sure there are people who compare parts of their lives to mine. And if we all really knew each other more deeply, I suspect none of us would feel the weight of comparison in the same way.
We would see our shared humanness - that we’re all just trying to figure it out as we go.
When I find myself unable to hold the vision, I usually talk it out with a friend or my fiancé, who can hold it for me. I listen to an inspiring podcast. I go for a long walk in nature.
And if I can, I look for evidence.
Not evidence that everything has arrived, but evidence that parts of what I’m wanting already exist.
I might not be in my dream home yet, but I wake up to birds chirping outside my window. I hear the bells of sheep and goats in the distance. It’s a little rough around the edges, but I have a garden with wildflowers growing, and the most beautiful hikes just outside my door.
My career might still be in transition, but I went out on a limb and trusted myself enough to pivot into something that feels more aligned.
My bank account might not be where I’d like it to be, but I live somewhere so abundant and lush that you don’t need to be rich to have a rich life. I eat at one of my favorite restaurants in the world every week, traveling to beautiful places is a regular part of my life, and I’m finally near the end of the long road of paying off my student loan debt.
Sometimes that perspective shift is enough. And sometimes, despite all the perspective, long walks, and conversations with friends, I still find myself wanting reassurance that I’m not doing all of this alone.
And when all else fails, I turn to prayer.
I’ve spoken briefly about starting to pray. I still feel a little awkward and inconsistent with it, but it keeps coming back to me - like something I’m being gently called toward.
I like to ask for signs. Little reminders that I’m not orchestrating all of this alone, that something larger is at play, working on my behalf in ways I can’t always see.
When I lean into that, I remember that my timeline is based on something that isn’t actually real. Things don’t have to happen in chronological order. Life can suddenly click. Things can all at once fall into place and move faster than I can currently conceive.
Maybe that’s what this season is teaching me.
Holding the vision isn’t about forcing the future to happen. It’s about learning to trust that I’m already participating in it.
It isn’t about obsessing over where I’m going, but noticing the parts of it that are already here.
The ways my life is already reflecting back pieces of what I’ve been asking for.
The things that once felt far away that now feel ordinary.
Maybe that’s the evidence.
Not that everything has arrived.
But that I’ve already begun.
That I’m already on the path.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
I have faith in you! 🫶