Sometimes, the smallest acts of rebellion change everything.

There’s a moment I return to often—not because it was dramatic or life-altering in an obvious way, but because it drew a quiet line between who I was and who I was becoming.

It happened during what I now call my hurricane season. You know those stretches of life when everything feels urgent, heartbreaking, and spinning completely beyond your control? That was me.

My dad was fighting illness. My son had just been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. I was caregiving around the clock, surviving on fragments of sleep, making medical decisions that felt too big for one person to carry. All while managing my own autoimmune conditions that flared with each new wave of stress.

And through it all, my phone never stopped. Buzzing. Pinging. Demanding.

Notifications became the soundtrack of my survival. Text messages, emails, appointment reminders, work requests, family updates, medical alerts—a constant stream of other people's needs flowing directly into my already overwhelmed nervous system.

The pinging became so normal I didn't even notice it was slowly breaking me apart.

Until one afternoon, I did.

The Quiet Revolution of One Small Choice

Without ceremony or overthinking, I walked into my phone settings and turned off every single notification—except two: my family and my son's critical medical alerts.

It wasn't dramatic. There was no grand speech or moment of revelation. But it was radical.

Because what I was really turning off wasn't just the noise. It was the unconscious belief that I had to be constantly available to be valuable. That my worth was measured by how quickly I responded, how much I could handle, how little I needed for myself.

That simple act—silence in place of pinging—revealed something I didn't have words for at the time: the profound difference between ego pain and soul pain.

Two Different Kinds of Aching

Ego pain is the ache of disappointing expectations.

It's the guilt that floods your chest when you think you're letting people down. The fear that whispers you'll be forgotten, unloved, or replaced if you stop performing. It's the voice that says: "If I don't respond immediately, what will they think of me? What if they stop needing me? What if I'm not as important as I thought?"

Ego pain drives us to prove, produce, and perform. It keeps us saying yes when our body is screaming no. It convinces us that our value lies in our availability, our productivity, our ability to be everything to everyone.

Soul pain, on the other hand, is the ache of self-abandonment.

It's the quiet depletion that builds when we consistently ignore our inner knowing. The sadness that grows when we trade our peace for performance, our boundaries for belonging. It's the grief we feel when we realize we've been betraying our own needs for so long we've forgotten what they even are.

Soul pain doesn't shout. It whispers. It shows up as chronic exhaustion that sleep can't touch, as resentment toward the very people we love, as a hollow feeling that no amount of external validation can fill.

When Silence Becomes Sacred

Turning off those notifications didn't solve everything. My dad was still sick. My son still needed careful monitoring. My own health still required attention.

But it interrupted something crucial: the pattern of force I was living in.

It reminded me that I didn't have to be everything to everyone to be enough. That my nervous system deserved moments of quiet. That my soul wasn't asking for much—just space to breathe, permission to rest, the radical act of putting my own oxygen mask on first.

This brings me back to the words of Caroline Myss that have become a compass for my healing: "The will to heal is the ability to approach one's life prepared to change and/or let go of all that is not contributing to one's inner well-being."

Letting go of constant availability was one of those changes for me. Not because I stopped caring about others, but because I finally started caring about myself with the same fierce tenderness I'd always reserved for everyone else.

The Questions Your Soul Is Asking

So I want to ask you something, and I want you to feel into your body as you consider it:

Where in your life are you holding on out of ego pain? Where are you trying to be good, stay needed, meet everyone else's expectations at the cost of your own well-being?

What would it look like to follow your soul instead? What small act of rebellion might your inner knowing be asking for?

Maybe it's:

• Setting boundaries around your time and energy
  
  
• Saying no without explaining yourself into exhaustion
  
  
• Choosing rest when productivity culture says you should be doing more
  
  
• Prioritizing your healing over other people's comfort with your choices
  
  
• Turning off the notifications—literal or metaphorical—that keep you in reactive mode
  
  

When Healing Requires Softness, Not Force

Here's what I've learned: Letting in the light doesn't always look like a joyful morning ritual. Sometimes it looks like finally turning off the noise. Choosing stillness when chaos feels more familiar. Creating boundaries that feel uncomfortable but necessary. Choosing yourself—again and again and again.

And if your soul is asking for something deeper—something quieter, something that honors the sacred work of healing—then perhaps it's time to explore what energy work can offer.

An Invitation to Receive

Reiki isn't a quick fix—it's an opening.

An opening to feel what you've been avoiding. An opening to breathe deeply for the first time in months. An opening to reconnect with the part of yourself that's been buried under responsibility, exhaustion, and the endless noise of other people's needs.

It's gentle energy work that helps clear what's stuck, soften your nervous system, and restore the conversation between your body and spirit that gets lost when we're in survival mode.

If you're ready to stop forcing and start receiving—if you want to experience what it feels like to be truly tended to, held, and energetically realigned—I would be honored to hold that space for you.

Book Your Reiki Session Here

Because here's what I know now that I wish I'd known then: Healing doesn't happen through force. It happens through softness, through stillness, through the revolutionary act of opening.

And when you're ready to choose your soul over your ego, to choose peace over performance, to choose yourself—I'll be here, holding space for that beautiful unfolding.

Your soul has been waiting patiently. It's time to listen.