Letting Go of 'Should' to Make Room for Soul

I was finally feeling free—until comparison crept in

After yesterday’s Zoom circle (which lit me up, by the way), I settled into my space—this big, open, echoing living room—and felt good. No furniture. No noise. Just me, my art on the floor, and the hum of something new unfolding.

But today I woke up… stuck.

Maybe it was too much coffee. Maybe it was the dreams. Maybe it was that damn white shelving unit sitting out in the hallway—waiting to take up 75% of my wall.

It’s beautiful. Handmade. Generously offered.
And yet… I’m sitting here thinking:

Maybe I don’t want it.

Because you know what I do want?
Space.
Breath.
Blank walls that feel like an art gallery.
Room to become someone new.

And isn’t that the point of all this? Tossing out the old? Making room for a life that actually fits?

I didn’t expect this feeling. So I did what I sometimes do when I can’t name it—I compared. My apartment. My choices. My style. To other apartments in this high-rise. (Lord help me.) And of course, it felt awful. Because comparison always does.

It doesn’t just dim the joy—it makes me question what I know deep down is right for me.

But last night, I sat on a Zoom call with two women who’ve been walking this breakthrough path with me. And when I looked at myself through their eyes? Poof. The comparison vanished. And I remembered:

No one else has my soul.
No one else has my dreams, or desires, or the specific kind of peace I’m building here.

So why would I let someone else’s taste—or my own sense of “should”—dictate what gets to stay in my home?

I’ve started trusting something simple:
The buzz.
That little zing of knowing. The spark in my gut that tells me—yep, this is right.

I buzz when I sit in my new pink plush barrel chairs, doing absolutely nothing.

Oblivious to my dilemma, my cat Pablo sleeps.

I buzz when I see my own paintings lined up along the wall, anticipating hanging them.
I don’t buzz when I try to figure out where that big white shelf should go. I actually feel tight in my chest when I try to figure out exactly where this big cabinet should be placed.

And maybe that’s all I need to know.

Maybe I say thank you… and no thank you.
Maybe I keep the space open.
Maybe I don’t clutter it up with books and tchotchkes.

Maybe I live with less.

With more breath.
With more me.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

This is the real work of breakthrough.
Not just the dramatic life changes, but the subtle, sacred moments when we choose ourselves over old patterns. When we notice the urge to compare, to shrink, to accept something that doesn’t light us up—and we say, “Not this time.”
Breakthrough doesn’t always come with fanfare.
Sometimes, it looks like leaving a shelf in the hallway.

If this speaks to you—if you’re in that in-between place where clarity is rising but the old pull is still loud—I made something to help.

It’s called the BREAKTHROUGH guidebook, and it’s not about fixing yourself.
It’s about remembering who you are, and creating a life that finally feels like home.

Grab your copy here: BREAKTHROUGH

You are free to choose to use it at your own pace, but certainly welcomed to join us to discuss our revelations each Wednesday evening on The PORCH.

As always I invite you to subscribe and join the other porch gals who are seeking their own breakthroughs and continue to pursue their own dreams.