​I’ve never been a writer. I’ve always gravitated toward systems, steps, and systematic approaches—essentially, a binary world. Living in a place of 0’s and 1’s just feels simpler. Yes or no. Right or wrong. Black or white. I never felt comfortable operating in the gray. The gray is uncertain, situational, and forces you to rely on your own confidence—your beliefs, your sense of right and wrong, your perspective.

But what were my beliefs, really?

I never realized how much I cared about what other people thought. How much insecurity shaped my choices, until recently.

I cared too much. It held me back from chasing what I’m passionate about, from asking for help, from sharing what lights me up.

There was always the fear of judgment, the fear of being shut down. I didn’t want to hear it, so I kept things quiet. Honestly, I’m impressed it took me this long to see it.

I started this journey as a desperate attempt to bring in some income.
“Become an influencer”—how hard could it be, right?

I’ve never been a social media person. Honestly, I’m still not. But something shifted when I started using it with intention instead of just scrolling. I went from passive observer to active participant—and that shift surprised me.

But what really pushed me out of my comfort zone wasn’t just showing up online—it was formalizing my thoughts here, on this blog, and sharing them with you. Putting my thoughts into words has forced me to get clear about what I actually believe, to act with intention, and to let go of caring about how many people see or “like” what I post.

Every time I look back at what I’ve written, I realize it’s real. It’s me. And most importantly, it’s helping me move forward—clarifying my thoughts, helping me grow, and slowly redefining my “why” that got lost along the way.

Writing has been a total game changer for me. If you’ve never tried it, I encourage you to give it a shot—even if you never share a word with anyone else. For next month, I’ll be offering free digital access to the Noticing Moments Journal. You don’t have to put yourself out there for the world—just share it with yourself. Write it down. Revisit it. Reflect. Grow.

I’d love to hear about your own “in between” moments—the messy, uncertain, or surprising stretches where growth happens quietly. What have you noticed about yourself lately? Where have you felt the most shift? If you feel comfortable, share your story in the comments, send me a DM or email, or just keep it for yourself. Whatever feels right.

Either way, we’re in this together.

Let’s notice and grow—one moment at a time.

True listening means letting the message land before you rush to respond, fix, or move on.

If jumping to respond, fix, or move on were an Olympic sport, I’d have at least a few gold medals by now. I used to think that was a good thing — being able to act quickly, move forward, get things done. I mean, who has time to sit around and not do something?

But here’s what I’ve realized: action has never been my issue. I do. I handle. I solve.

It’s the why behind the doing that’s been a little fuzzy.

Intentional action? That’s where I’ve had to slow down and get honest.

Hence the race I never signed up for.
Hence the misalignment.

This time, I’m trying to let the message land before I leap.
(Okay… maybe not all the time. But I’m working on it.)

The Message
So what was the message, exactly?

A few months ago, two things happened — both unexpected, both kind of life-altering.

First, we found out we were having another baby. (Shocked — but good news!)

Second, I found myself in the middle of a professional shake-up I didn’t see coming. A shift that made me pause — and not the good, reflective kind of pause. The what is even happening right now kind.

I didn’t choose it right away.
I waited. I hoped. I held on — probably longer than I should have.
And then the door closed. Fully. Loudly.

That’s when I realized I had a choice — not in the outcome, but in the response.
I could resist it, or I could let it redirect me.

And slowly, I started to see that maybe… this pause wasn’t the end of something.
Maybe it was the beginning of something better aligned.

So I stepped back.
Not because I couldn’t do it all — but because I didn’t want to anymore.

And even though it felt right, it still hit hard.
Because stepping away from something you’ve poured yourself into — even when it makes sense — still kind of stings.

The Spiral
I wish I could say I handled all of this with grace and perspective. That I eased into this transition with mindful reflection and deep breathing.

But… no.

At first, I just froze. Like a deer in headlights. This version of my life didn’t fit the plan — and I love a good plan.

Then came the overthinking spiral. The late-night what-ifs.
The “Let me fix this before I feel it” energy.

And because I’m wired for motion, I immediately kicked into fix-it mode.

I started doing, researching, scheduling, planning — trying to stay three steps ahead of whatever might come next. I told myself I was being proactive, but really, I was just panicking in a productive-looking way.

Eventually, I hit a wall.
The noise got too loud. I ran out of energy. And when I finally stopped trying to outpace it all, I just… sat with it.

Not comfortably. But still.

And somewhere in that stillness, the questions changed.
Not How do I fix this? but What is this really about?
Not What’s next? but What matters right now?

That’s when the message started to land.

The Noise
It wasn’t until everything got quiet — painfully quiet — that I realized just how loud things had been.

Not on the outside.
On the inside.

The noise wasn’t just reminders and responsibilities. It was everything underneath them — the pressure, the stories, the self-imposed expectations. Things I’d gotten so used to carrying, I didn’t even know they were heavy anymore.

But once I slowed down, I started to hear it all. And it was... a lot.

The Mental Noise
The endless to-do list running on a loop.
The voice that whispers you have to do this and what’s next?
The scenarios you play out in your head — the off button I’ve never been able to find.

The Emotional Noise
The I’m not okay — but that’s not an option.
The must keep going even though I have nothing else to give.
The I don’t even know what my needs are, never mind putting them first.

Not loud like a siren — just a steady hum that you can’t quite shake.

The External Noise
The inbox.
The group chats.
The social scroll.
The opinions, the comparisons, the subtle suggestions of what should be done.

Most of it isn’t even malicious. It’s just... constant.

The Old Narratives
This one wasn’t loud — it was steady. Ingrained. Automatic.

Keep moving forward.
Failure is not an option.
It will always get done — because it has to.

I didn’t question these. They weren’t mantras — they were facts.
They got me through a lot.

But they also kept me from slowing down long enough to ask:
Should it get done?
Is this still right?

Sometimes, even the most trusted inner script needs to be rewritten.

The Shift
I didn’t notice any of it until I finally stopped moving.
And even then, it took a while to realize what I was hearing.

But once you start tuning in, it’s hard to tune back out.
You realize how often you’ve been reacting instead of choosing.
How much space the noise takes up.
How long it’s been since you actually asked yourself what you need.

I haven’t figured it all out. Not even close.
But I’m starting to listen — really listen — and that feels like a good place to start.

Now, when things start to feel loud (which is often), I try to ask myself:
Is this truth, or is this just noise?

It doesn’t always give me a clear answer, but it slows me down enough to look for one.
And it reminds me that listening isn’t just something I do for other people — it’s something I owe to myself, too.

Because sometimes, the real message doesn’t show up until the noise settles.

And if life feels a little noisy for you right now… maybe give yourself a second to pause.

Not forever.
Just long enough to let the message land.

Who knows what you might hear?

​“If you don’t feel it, you don’t listen.”

I heard that once at a conference, and it stuck.
Not in the moment—but later.
Once I actually started feeling.

It speaks to a truth I’m only just beginning to understand:
We can’t fully take in the hard stuff unless we let ourselves emotionally connect to it.
And that means feeling it.

According to research, emotional intelligence—our ability to recognize, understand, and manage emotions—shapes how we listen, how we process, and how we change. Without that emotional connection, truth just... skims the surface.

And truthfully?
I’m a professional surface-skimmer.

There’s never been a time in my life when I wasn’t busy.
High school? A blur of sports and activities.
College? Working every spare minute to make it work.
Then came the career—first a teacher, then an administrator.
And somewhere in between, the family: marriage, a dog, and now—soon-to-be four kids.

It never stopped. I never stopped.
I just kept moving, chasing, achieving, stretching…
Trying to become the next version of what I thought I was supposed to be.

And when the signs showed up?
The quiet nudges. The heaviness. The sense that something was off?
I called it growing pains.
I brushed it off as temporary.
I told myself I was fine.
That I could handle it.
That I always did.

I didn’t know how to slow down.
And worse—I didn’t think I was allowed to.

So I pushed through.
Until the wall came.

It wasn’t sudden. Not really.
But when it hit, it was the first time things got quiet enough for me to actually feel what I had been running from.
And in that stillness, I finally heard what had been whispering to me all along.

Now?
Now I’m learning to sit with it.
To feel.
To listen.
To slow down—on purpose this time.

I’ve been using the Noticing the Moments in Between journal to check in with myself, to name what’s stirring beneath the surface, and to hold space for whatever shows up.
Not the noise around me.
But the quiet truth within.

And here's what I’m realizing:
That hum of misalignment?
It was there long before the crash.
I just didn’t know how to honor it.

But now I do.
And I’m beginning to believe that slowing down isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.
It’s the beginning of something new.

So if you’ve felt it too—that low hum, that subtle ache, that sense that something isn’t quite right--
Maybe the wall isn’t the end.
Maybe it’s the invitation you didn’t know you needed.

What might you hear, if you gave yourself the space to listen?

Comfort led her to believe it was just growing pains.
She didn’t listen.
She hit a wall.

The older you get, the more familiar that uncomfortable feeling becomes.
They say change happens when you step outside your comfort zone — and they’re not wrong.
Change is uncomfortable.
But there’s a difference between the discomfort that comes with growth and the kind that signals misalignment.

Growth is intentional. It stretches you.
It challenges you.
It can be uncomfortable, yes — but it comes with purpose. With clarity.
You feel like you’re evolving, moving closer to your values, your potential.

Misalignment feels different. It’s when your choices, your environment, your habits…
Don’t match who you are — or who you’re becoming.
It’s uncomfortable too, but instead of stretching you, it depletes you.
It dulls your spark.

And right now?
I am drained.

It snuck up on me — like it always does.
I was moving fast.
Checking boxes.
Doing all the things.
Until one day, even the smallest decision felt like too much.
That’s when I knew:
This isn’t growth.
This is misalignment.
And it’s time to pay attention.

But first, a little about me. I’m Jamie — mom of (soon-to-be) four, wife, educator, self-starter, aspiring change agent, and realist.
I’ve always had this inner fire to do more — to help, to act, to grow, to make a difference.
I’m a “rip the Band-Aid off” kind of girl.
I’m grateful for the lessons, the blessings, and the beautiful chaos that’s shaped my path so far.
But lately?
I’ve had to face a hard truth:
I’m out of alignment.

So I’m hitting pause.
To reflect.
To realign.
To reignite the fire — but this time, from a place of awareness… not just motion.

Maybe you’ve felt it too.
Like you’re moving through life on autopilot.
Like you’re doing everything “right” — but something still feels off.
You’re not alone.

This isn’t about dramatic change.
It’s about slowing down long enough to notice.
To check in.
To listen.
To reconnect with who we are underneath the noise.
So this time, instead of jumping straight into action, I’m going to:

• Notice
• Feel
• Reflect
• Breathe

Want to join me? Next month, I’ll be sharing the Noticing the Moments in Between Journal — a simple, gentle tool to help you tune in before you move forward.
Let’s walk this road together.
There’s no finish line here — just a little more intention, a little more grace. ♥