A Letter to the Mother who is learning to trust herself again

Dear beautiful woman,

There comes a moment — quiet but unmistakable — when the noise of the world no longer drowns out the truth inside you. That moment might feel like a whisper. Or a full-body ache. Or just a tiredness you can no longer ignore.

And maybe, right now, you are standing in that moment. You have done the giving. You have held the pieces. You have carried the bags, both visible and invisible. And still, something in you says:

“There is more. Not out there. In here.”

Let me tell you something tender and true:

The most powerful thing you will ever do is trust your inner voice.

Not once. Not just when it's easy. But every damn day.

This is not magic. This is practice.

It is a discipline of love.

A muscle you strengthen.

A fire you tend to.

A remembering.

And you, mother — you were born with this knowing.

You have simply been taught to outsource it. To hand it over.

To look to others, to experts, to systems that were never built to reflect your truth back to you.

So if you are standing here now, asking, “Where do I start?”

Know this: You already have.

You begin by deciding that your inner voice is worth listening to. And then, you follow that decision with gentle devotion.

You sit with yourself in stillness — not to escape, but to return.

Thirteen minutes a day. Eyes closed. No fixing. Just presence. Your breath becomes your anchor. Your body becomes your oracle. You stop waiting for intuition to strike like lightning —and you begin to live from it in every small, ordinary choice.

You meet your emotions with reverence, not resistance. Because as Dr. Ricci-Jane Adams teaches,

“You cannot be intuitive if you are emotionally reactive.”

So when anger rises, or fear, or shame, You ask: What is this here to teach me?

And in doing so, you alchemise pain into wisdom.

You remember that spiritual leadership begins at home — inside yourself. And from there, everything shifts: your mothering, your choices, your presence.

You stop giving your power away. You stop asking the world to validate what you already know. You stop abandoning yourself — especially when the world gets loud.

And you say, each day if you must:

“I am the authority in my life.” Because you are.

This is how we remember. Not by waiting to be saved. But by returning — again and again — to the voice we’ve silenced. To the voice that never left.

You don’t need to do this perfectly. You only need to do it devotedly.

And if no one has told you today: You are doing it. You are listening. And that changes everything.

With love and fierce trust in you,

Another woman walking herself home...