For the last few weeks, I’ve been wrestling with something that surprised me.
Not doubt.
Not anger.
Not even confusion.
But silence.
I’ve felt stuck when it comes to creating—especially on YouTube—and that’s been deeply frustrating. One of my intentions going into last year was to relaunch my channel and post consistently, week after week. And yet, weeks passed without a new video. The momentum I thought I had built felt like it quietly slipped away.
At first, I chalked it up to discipline. Or busyness. Or lack of focus.
But after journaling, reflection, and a recent coaching conversation, I realized something deeper was going on.
This wasn’t about procrastination.
It was about transition.
Deconstruction Was a Season… and It Served Its Purpose
When I first launched this channel, I was neck-deep in deconstruction.
I had spent decades immersed in Christianity—studying Jesus, the Bible, theology, church history, and doctrine. So when I began to pull those structures apart, it was easy to talk about. Familiar territory, just inverted.
Deconstruction gave me language.
It gave me clarity around what no longer fit.
It gave me permission to ask questions I had suppressed for years.
And for a time, it was necessary.
But deconstruction, by design, is not meant to be a permanent home.
It is a clearing.
A dismantling.
A necessary tearing down so that something truer can eventually be built.
At some point, though, if all you do is tear down, you’re no longer healing—you’re just circling the ruins.
The Quiet Problem No One Talks About
Here’s the part I didn’t expect.
I realized I had moved past deconstruction internally… but I hadn’t yet found my footing in reconstruction.
I’m no longer driven by critique.
I’m no longer energized by dismantling belief systems.
But I’m also not fully embodied in what comes next.
That in-between space—the gap between learning and living—can be surprisingly disorienting.
Especially for someone like me, who values integrity and authenticity above almost everything else.
Why I Stopped Creating (Without Realizing It)
Over the last several months, I’ve devoured books across spirituality, consciousness, embodiment, nervous system regulation, and inner transformation. I read widely, intentionally, and with curiosity.
But here’s the tension I ran into:
I can’t teach what I haven’t lived.
I can’t tell someone, “Do this—this works,” if I haven’t actually integrated it into my own life.
That was true when I was deeply embedded in Christianity. Anything I taught came from lived practice, not just intellectual understanding.
And that value hasn’t changed.
What has changed is that I’ve been in a prolonged learning phase—absorbing ideas, frameworks, and perspectives—but not yet fully embodying them.
So instead of sharing, I paused.
Instead of creating, I kept studying.
Not because I was lazy or unmotivated—but because something in me refused to perform certainty I hadn’t earned.
Learning Without Embodiment Creates Friction
This is something I don’t hear talked about enough.
Learning can become a hiding place.
Not because learning is bad—but because it can delay action indefinitely if embodiment never follows.
“I’ll integrate this later.”
“I’ll come back to that.”
“This will be useful someday.”
And maybe that’s true.
But when that becomes the dominant mode, life starts to feel theoretical. Disconnected. Slightly hollow.
That friction eventually showed up in my creative life.
I didn’t want to create content about transformation while standing outside of it.
I didn’t want to replace one set of answers with another.
And I certainly didn’t want to become a guide who talks about the path instead of walking it.
Reconstruction Isn’t a Formula
One insight that helped me loosen my grip came from reflecting on a simple truth:
There is no single path of awakening.
My path is not your path.
Your path is not mine.
And that means something important for how I show up here.
I’m not interested in telling you, “Follow these steps and you’ll arrive where I arrived.”
That’s not how this works.
What I can do is share my lived experience—what I’m testing, integrating, struggling with, and learning—so you can discern what resonates for you.
Reconstruction isn’t about replacing old certainties with new ones.
It’s about learning to trust your own inner guidance again.
Slowly. Carefully. Honestly.
Naming the Season I’m In
What finally broke the stuckness wasn’t a new plan or content strategy.
It was honesty.
I’m in a rebuilding phase.
Not a polished one.
Not a confident one.
A real one.
I’m learning how to embody what I’ve spent months studying. I’m experimenting. Paying attention. Running small, lived “experiments” instead of adopting entire systems wholesale.
And that means the content going forward won’t always sound like conclusions.
Sometimes it will sound like process.
Sometimes it will sound unfinished.
And I’m learning to be okay with that.
What This Means for This Space Going Forward
This channel—and this blog—aren’t about performance.
They’re not about proving how much I know.
They’re not about having answers on demand.
They’re about presence.
About sharing from the middle, not the mountaintop.
About modeling what it looks like to move from deconstruction into reconstruction without rushing the process or pretending clarity that hasn’t yet settled.
If you’re in a similar season—where old structures no longer fit, but new ones haven’t fully formed yet—I want you to know this:
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re not doing it wrong.
You’re between phases.
And that space, as uncomfortable as it can be, is often where the most honest growth happens.
A Final Word
I don’t know exactly what this rebuilding will look like yet.
But I do know this: I’m done forcing clarity before it’s ready.
I’m done withholding my voice until everything feels resolved.
And I’m committed to sharing from a place of integrity—even when that means admitting I’m still becoming.
If that kind of journey resonates with you, you’re welcome here.
Grace and peace.