It started with a question I’ve asked hundreds of times—sometimes to clients, sometimes to friends, and often, in quieter moments, to myself:
“What are you actually trying to achieve?”
A few months ago, I found myself very, very tired—after days of back-to-back coaching sessions, content creation, planning for a new program launch, completing workshops, and polishing yet another high-stakes proposal. From the outside, it looked like momentum. Success. Maybe even ease.
But inside, I was tired—and becoming quietly drained.
And I realized then: I wasn’t tired from the work itself.
I was tired from the holding.
Holding clarity—so I could make sense of things before they touched me too deeply.
Holding usefulness—so that even my pain would serve someone.
Holding beauty, containment, poise, inquiry—so that no matter what I was navigating, I could still make it land well.
I was tired from holding myself—and sometimes others—through every unknown.
And underneath all that?
A quiet fear:
If I let go, would anything catch me?
That moment became part of a larger reckoning. Because behind the scenes, I’ve been building something new: a company and body of work that’s meant to help people lead with more sovereignty, more wholeness, more alignment. I want to offer tools and spaces that don’t just enhance performance—but restore integrity. Not just leadership—but self-leadership.
But I couldn’t do that honestly without pausing to ask myself:
Am I living this work, or just designing it?
And the truth is—let’s be honest—for many of us, overdoing isn’t just a habit.
It’s how we feel safe.
It’s how we stabilize uncertainty.
It’s how we earn our place when we’ve been taught that being useful is the price of being loved.
But the catch is: overdoing often blocks us from doing the work that truly matters.
Because deep, soul-aligned work doesn’t come from the part of us that’s performing safety.
It comes from the part of us that’s brave enough to stop performing at all.
Here’s what I’ve come to believe:
Alignment doesn’t come from holding more.
It comes from allowing what’s already inside to rise—without fixing it, framing it, or filtering it first.
This isn’t a perfect process.
It’s a lived one.
And right now, I’m in it with you.
What This Piece Is—and Why It Matters
What follows is not a set of steps. It’s not a productivity hack. It’s a window into the deeper architecture of control—and how even our most polished strengths can become unconscious defenses.
It’s also an invitation:
To meet the parts of yourself that have been working overtime to keep everything together,
and to begin releasing them—with reverence, not rejection.
We’ll explore five subtle forms of inner control that show up in high-achieving, self-aware people—especially women. Then, we’ll move into a ritual practice grounded in archetypes and embodied reflection to help you soften, shift, and realign.
This is about more than letting go.
It’s about reclaiming the parts of yourself that have been waiting underneath the usefulness and clarity and beauty and grace.
The ones that don’t need to land anything.
The ones that simply need to be.
Through the lens of archetypes—especially the Inner Stabilizer—you’ll begin to notice which part of you is driving the moment… and which part of you is ready to be heard, even if she’s a little messy or wild or unknown.
The ritual I’ll guide you through isn’t about fixing anything.
It’s about creating space for what’s forming, before you shape it.
So if your leadership is outpacing your inner integration—if you feel the tug toward something truer, deeper, and more yours—this is for you.
Let’s begin. Let’s begin by naming the subtle forms of control that often wear the mask of mastery.
The Many Faces of Control (And How We Mistake Them for Mastery)
I’ve always prided myself on being clear, helpful, and composed. In moments of stress, I didn’t fall apart—I organized. I coached. I created frameworks.
It made me feel strong. It made me feel safe.
And it was strong—until it became rigid.
Because here’s the truth I had to face:
Control doesn’t always look like gripping the wheel.
Sometimes it looks like always having a plan.
Sometimes it looks like asking the perfect question before you let yourself feel the messy truth.
That day on the office floor, I met my inner stabilizer—the part of me who quietly whispers:
“If you can shape it, you won’t drown in it.”
She wasn’t trying to sabotage me. She was trying to save me.
She showed up in childhood, in academic systems, in boardrooms where the room tilted the moment I got “too emotional.” She showed up when things felt unsafe or unstable. She gave me language when I had none.
But she was tired.
And she was fencing me in.
The Neuroscience Behind Our Need for Control
Let’s talk about the science.
The human brain is wired to seek certainty.
Psychologist Lisa Feldman Barrett’s research shows that our brains are constantly trying to predict what’s coming next—not just for efficiency, but for survival. Uncertainty, to the brain, is a threat. It taxes our nervous system. It triggers our stress response.
So, we create systems. We seek information. We control.
But here’s the twist:
Too much prediction, too much structure, limits the brain’s capacity for insight, creativity, and deep transformation. The prefrontal cortex—the part responsible for executive functioning—actually deactivates during peak emotional or spiritual breakthroughs.
Which means: When we grip too tightly, we block the very expansion we long for.
What I’ve Learned About Control in Myself—and in Others
In my work with high-performing women, I see this again and again. We don’t call it control. We call it:
“Needing clarity to move forward.”
“Wanting it to be useful.”
“Wanting it to look good, sound good, land well.”
“Not wanting to fall apart in front of people who expect us to lead.”
We’re praised for this. Promoted for this. Relied on for this.
And yet…
At some point, we begin to feel the cost.
Control is not just a strategy—it becomes a lens.
And over time, it narrows your access to the part of you that feels before she knows, that creates before she explains, that lives before she teaches.
That’s the part I had to meet again.
My Personal Practice: Releasing the Inner Stabilizer
Here’s what I now do when I notice myself rushing toward clarity, usefulness, or structure too fast:
I stop. I breathe. I light a candle.
And I speak to the part of me who wants to organize the chaos.
I thank her.
And then I gently say:
“You don’t have to fix this. You don’t have to teach this.
You are allowed to just feel this.”
It’s not dramatic. It’s not even long.
But when I do this, something softens.
And underneath the structure, I thought I needed…
Something true begins to rise. A willingness to do more authentic work.
Why This Matters for Leadership—and for Self-Development
This isn’t just personal. It’s foundational to how we lead.
In a world that rewards speed, productivity, and polish, slowing down to feel before you frame is a radical act. It’s not weak. It’s not indulgent. It’s necessary if you want to lead from your whole self—not just the high-functioning parts.
Why? Because...
Your team doesn’t need another masterful framework. They need to see that you have access to your own soul.
Your clients don’t just want answers. They want resonance.
Your daughter (if you have one, like I do) won’t remember how tidy you kept the house. She’ll remember whether you knew how to sit in your own becoming.
If You See Yourself in This, Try This:
I’ve included a ritual below that you can revisit. Not because I or you are broken. But because we are evolving.
In a world that tells us to move faster, be clearer, stay useful, and always have the answer, ritual offers a different kind of wisdom. It’s not about fixing. It’s about remembering—a way back to the part of us that already knows, already feels, already belongs.
Science backs this up. Rituals—whether personal or collective—help regulate the nervous system, reduce anxiety, and increase our sense of agency. Research in neuroscience and behavioral psychology shows that ritualized behavior activates parts of the brain associated with safety, meaning-making, and emotional regulation. Even simple actions—lighting a candle, speaking aloud, writing something down—create a sense of rhythm and containment that allows the brain to process deeper emotional material without overwhelm.
But modern life has slowly stripped us of these spaces.
Ritual has been replaced by routine.
Ceremony replaced by checklist.
And in the absence of shared, meaningful thresholds, many of us are left crossing profound inner landscapes without a map.
This is an offering to change that.
These rituals aren’t rigid scripts—they’re templates for truth.
You’re invited to modify them, soften them, stretch or shrink them to meet you where you are.
The point is not to get it “right.”
The point is to create space where your inner voice is finally safe to speak—before you polish it, publish it, or turn it into something productive.
This is a way back—not to better control—but to deeper communion with the self that leads from alignment, not protection.
Let this be a space to land.
Let this be a threshold.
And most of all—let it be yours.
Part 1
RITUAL: Releasing the Inner Stabilizer
Theme: I trust what is forming, even before I shape it.
WHEN TO USE IT:
When you feel yourself reaching for structure before the process is complete
When you're holding it all and no one can tell
When you’ve gone deep but are rushing to make it useful
When you want to meet yourself where you are, not where you’re expected to be
WHAT YOU’LL NEED:
A quiet space (even 10–15 minutes)
A candle (or soft light)
A smooth stone or small object that feels grounding
A notebook and pen
Optional: a scarf or blanket to wrap around your shoulders (symbol of being held)
THE RITUAL
Step 1: Light & Landing
Light the candle. Sit quietly. Place the stone or object in your hands or lap.
Say aloud or silently:
“I am here.
I do not need to hold it all right now.
I can be held, even by the quiet.”
Let your body arrive. No pressure to do. Just be.
Step 2: Meet the Stabilizer
Close your eyes. Picture the part of you who stabilizes:
The one who creates structure. Who holds others. Who brings order to overwhelm.
Let her appear—not as a concept, but as a figure. What does she look like? How does she carry herself?
Now ask her gently:
“What are you protecting me from?”
“What do you need?”
“What would it look like for you to rest?”
Write down whatever she tells you.
Step 3: Speak to Her With Reverence
Place your hand over your heart. Speak this aloud:
“You have served me well.
You have protected my softness, my sanity, my soul.
But not everything needs to be shaped today.
You can rest now.
I am not in danger.
What’s forming in me is allowed to arrive slowly.”
If it feels right, imagine wrapping her in the scarf or blanket. Let her sit beside you, not in front of you. She's still here—just not steering.
Step 4: Let the Unformed Speak
Now ask the deeper part of you—the one underneath the stabilizer:
“What is emerging in me that doesn’t want to be shaped yet?”
“What does it want to feel like before it becomes anything at all?”
Write for 5–10 minutes without editing. Let it be for you. This is not content. It’s communion.
Step 5: Closing Phrase
When you’re ready to close, whisper:
“I trust what’s coming.
I trust what’s still unknown.
I trust myself, even when I’m not shaping anything.”
Blow out the candle. Place your stone somewhere visible for the rest of the day as a reminder:
You don’t have to hold it all to be whole.
PART 2
RITUAL: Meeting the Gatekeeper
Theme: I already know. I no longer wait for permission.
WHEN TO USE IT:
When you're teetering on the edge of your next level—but holding back
When you crave to express yourself more boldly, but only when it's polished
When your strategic mind has started to mask your soul’s urgency
When you're waiting for a signal, a sign, or someone else's green light
When you know what you’re here to say—but you edit anyway
WHAT YOU’LL NEED:
A mirror (handheld or full-length)
A red or black cloth (symbol of power or shadow)
A candle
A journal + pen
Optional: An object that represents truth-telling for you (e.g., stone, necklace, ring)
THE RITUAL
Step 1: Gaze Without Softening
Light the candle. Drape the cloth over your shoulders. Sit or stand before the mirror.
Look into your own eyes—without softening, without apology.
Say aloud or silently:
“I will not look away from what I already know.”
Hold your gaze. Let discomfort rise. Let truth stir beneath the surface.
Step 2: Name the Gatekeeper
Ask yourself:
“Who is the Gatekeeper in me?”
“What has she kept me from claiming?”
Let her come forward—not as a villain, but as a guardian.
Describe her: her voice, her posture, her warnings.
What has she protected? What has she cost?
Write her name or title in your journal. Let her speak.
Step 3: Speak the Forbidden Sentence
Ask:
“What am I not letting myself say aloud?”
Let the answer rise before you censor it.
Write it. Then say it aloud—even if it shakes.
Examples:
“I don’t want to be strategic anymore.”
“I’m meant for more than this room lets me hold.”
“I’m tired of proving I’m good before I get to be powerful.”
Step 4: Burn the Mask (Symbolically)
On a piece of paper, write the persona you’ve been performing.
What roles or stories have you clung to in order to feel safe or acceptable?
Hold the paper to your heart and whisper:
“You kept me safe. But I no longer need to pretend.”
If it is safe to do so: burn it.
If not: tear it slowly, reverently. Let the old self unravel.
Step 5: Uncage the Knowing
Now write, unfiltered:
“What do I already know?”
Not what’s strategic. Not what’s smart. What’s soul-deep.
Write for 5–10 minutes. No edits. No structuring.
Let it roar. Let it whisper. Let it be unsanitized.
Step 6: Closing Phrase
Blow out the candle. Let the smoke carry your knowing into the air.
Say aloud:
“I do not wait to be ready. I do not ask for permission.
I know. And I act from that knowing.”
Let your Gatekeeper step aside. She’s not gone.
But she is no longer in the way.
The Transformative Journey—A Cycle of Becoming
This path is not linear.
It’s cyclical, sacred, and alive. Each phase deepens your alignment—not through force, but through rhythm. You may pass through it many times, each with more truth, more trust, more of you.
Here is the journey in five essential phases:
1. The Tension Before the Turn
You feel the inner dissonance. Something no longer fits.
You’re holding it all together—but beneath the surface, your soul is stirring.
This is the moment before the unraveling. The first call inward.
2. Releasing the Inner Stabilizer
You honor the part of you that’s kept things safe, clear, composed.
She has served you—but now, you ask her to rest.
Softness becomes the new foundation for emergence.
✨ Practice: Ritual – Releasing the Inner Stabilizer
3. Meeting the Gatekeeper
You face the internal guard who’s kept your deepest knowing at bay.
You name the truth you've been afraid to say.
This is the crossing—raw, powerful, and necessary.
✨ Practice: Ritual – Meeting the Gatekeeper
4. Integration and Recalibration
You resist the urge to rush forward.
Instead, you allow insight to settle and reshape you from within.
This is a time for simplification, nourishment, and quiet trust.
5. Sacred Expression
You return—not to perform, but to embody.
You create, speak, and lead from a place of deep alignment.
Your essence flows freely—unfiltered, unapologetic, and whole.
This is not a one-time journey.
It’s a living rhythm—one you’ll revisit at every new threshold.
Let it guide you. Let it change you. And most of all—let it become your own.
Your Turn
This isn’t a workbook to finish—it’s a mirror. A pause. A way back to the part of you that never needed to prove her power.
If this stirred something in you—if you felt seen, softened, or called—I’d love to hear what emerged.
What part of you has been holding it all together?
What did your Inner Stabilizer or Gatekeeper reveal?
What did you release—or reclaim?
Share in the comments, in a message, or with someone you trust.
Your voice matters. Your process matters. Your becoming matters.
We need more women leading from what’s real—not just what’s polished.
I’m in this work with you.
And I can’t wait to hear what’s rising.