Golden Pulse of Becoming
It’s my half birthday today. That alone feels like a portal. A soft, steady drumbeat calling me to pause, look around, and remember. The air feels different—charged, like it’s waiting for me to speak something into existence. I don’t need a reason to make today sacred. I am the reason.
Before I even get out of bed, I feel the warmth of the Sun creeping in through the blinds. My body knows. My spirit knows. There’s something about this exact point in time—a mirror between who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. A sweet, fiery checkpoint in my journey.
I move slow this morning. Every gesture is intentional. I wrap myself in my favorite robe. I glide to the kitchen and pour water like I’m pouring truth into my body. A small, simple ritual. But it’s alive with meaning. I catch my reflection in the glass—eyes still a little tired but holding galaxies of power.
I’ve been through so much. The kind of lessons no one claps for. The invisible battles. The emotional heavy-lifting. The rebuilding. The letting go. The choosing again and again to trust my own rhythm, even when the world around me wants me to hustle, to shrink, to forget.
Nah. I don’t forget. I remember.
I remember who I am before I know how strong I could be. I remember the quiet, wild version of me who dares to dream even when the ground trembles beneath her. I remember the way I protect my light, even when I don’t know how to explain it. I remember how I keep choosing love, choosing softness, choosing truth—even when it is inconvenient or misunderstood.
And now? Now I’m here. Rooted in the moment, pulsing with fire of the season. Not the kind of fire that burns everything down, but the kind that warms the soil, stirs the seeds, and reminds the fruit it’s time to ripen. I feel it in my chest. A lion-hearted rhythm. It’s not loud, but it’s powerful.
There’s a deep pulse in my life right now—a demand for honesty, accountability, a pressure to move with more care, more clarity. It’s not asking for performance. It’s asking for presence. The kind of presence that requires me to see myself fully.
So I sit. I breathe. I let the thoughts come through like waves.
Where have I been?
I’ve been in the undercurrents. In the quiet chambers of my own becoming. I walked through confusion, doubt, and grief cloaked in silence. I held space for my own unraveling, even when it feels like I’m disappearing. I’ve been in survival and sacred stillness. In days where just waking up is a victory. In nights where I pray without words, only breath and tears. I loved people who couldn’t see me, and I left people I never thought I would walk away from. I carried what wasn’t mine until I learn how to put it down. I danced in the fire and let it burn away my pretending. I’ve been fierce in my healing, even when no one else knew what I was battling. I remember who I was before I knew how strong I could be. And I honor her. She is still in me.
Where am I now?
I’m standing in a clearing I carved with my own hands. I’m softer and sharper. I peeled back the layers, over and over, and what’s left is the realest version of me I’ve ever known. I’m not finished. I’m not flawless. But I’m free in ways I’ve never been. I move with more trust, not because life got easier, but because I stopped betraying myself. I know what peace feels like in my body now. I know how to protect my energy without explaining myself. I know what alignment costs—and I pay it gladly. I don’t perform for validation. I don’t beg to be understood. I rest when I need to. I create when I’m called. I listen to what’s alive inside me, not what’s expected of me. I am the calm in the storm and the storm itself when needed. I’m here. Awake. Rooted. Glowing.
Where am I going?
I’m walking toward more. More pleasure. More resonance. More expression. More of me. I’m moving into timelines where I don’t just survive—I thrive and stretch and soar. I’m headed into spaces that honor the full spectrum of who I am. Where my voice is not just heard, but felt. Where my wisdom is not just welcomed, but celebrated. I’m calling in connections that meet me where I am and rise with me. I’m building what doesn’t yet exist and trusting what I feel more than what I see. I’m shaping a life that reflects my spirit’s true size. I don’t need it all to make sense right now. I choose to keep showing up as the truth. I am becoming what I once thought I had to chase. And where I’m going? It’s not a destination. It’s a frequency. And I’m already humming with it.
Today, I touch every version of myself with reverence. The one who is lost. The one who fakes confidence to survive. The one who burns bridges just to stay warm. The one who sees truth in people before they can see it in themselves. The one who holds the vision even when her hands are trembling.
I am creating. I am evolving.
There is something ancient in me waking up again. A knowing that can’t be taught. A voice that rises from the depths of my belly and says: This is who we are now.
I put my hand over my heart and feel the beat. Strong. Sure. Steady. I whisper: Thank you.
Thank you for the detours that teach me discernment.
Thank you for the friction that sharpens my truth.
Thank you for the fire that doesn’t destroy me but refines me.
Thank you for the quiet seasons that teach me to hear myself.
I offer today to the future me. The me who already knows how the story turns out. I feel her smile. I feel her joy. I feel her power ripple back to me in this moment, whispering: Keep going. You’re doing it. You are it.
So I rise. Not with urgency. Not with fear. But with sovereign confidence. I’m honoring the pulse of my becoming. And I’m right on time.
Thank you, Spirit. Àṣẹ.