The Storm and the Softening

A reflection on change, clarity, and coming home to myself

​This is a personal reflection I almost didn’t share. It’s here quietly, for anyone who might be navigating their own season of softening, storms, and soul-awakenings. If that’s you, I hope it brings comfort.

For four days, Larry and I floated between sunlight and stillness. We swam in the pool. Drifted in the lake. Rode quietly in our little dinghy, side by side, surrounded by beauty and dreaming out loud about what’s next.
It felt like life had paused just for us. Just long enough for me to feel something stirring—a softness I hadn’t fully met before.

And then, on Tuesday, a storm rolled in.

We were out in the dinghy, heading back toward the boat when the wind suddenly picked up and dark clouds swallowed the sky. The lake turned restless. We sped up. Rain began to sting our skin. I felt the familiar swell of fear in my chest. And instinctively, I started to pray—to my grandma, to my spirit guides—to keep us safe.
And they did.

We reached the boat just in time. The wind howled. The rain whipped sideways. And we waited.

I didn’t know it then, but that storm wasn’t just weather. I believe it was symbolic. It now feels like it was me, releasing years of fear, shame, and old stories that no longer serve the woman I’m becoming. The winds were of change. Fierce. Cleansing. Unapologetic.

Today, two days later, I feel different.

Softer. Clearer. Like I finally turned toward something I’d been circling for years.

The word that keeps coming to me is softening—in how I see myself, in the way I move, in the way I create.

I’m saying goodbye to harsh eyeliner and leaning into the elegance of my graying hair. I’m starting to see beauty where I used to see battle. And I’m realizing that everything—everything—I’ve been dreaming of is beginning to take shape. My Soul Snapshots are coming to life. A vision I held in my heart for so long is beginning to unfurl with grace.

And it’s no coincidence that this is all happening at age 55—the same age my grandma was when she passed from pancreatic cancer. It feels like I’m picking up her thread and stitching it gently into my own. Carrying her light forward through beauty, ritual, and story.
​
I hear the whisper over and over again:
It’s time.
And this time… I believe it.