Spring Cleaning for the Soul, Part Three:

Making Room Without Knowing What’s Next

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I don’t know what’s next.

There. I said it.

I’ve been writing this Spring Cleaning series about clutter, releasing old selves, clearing space. And today I sat down at my desk, cold, slightly irritated, and completely unclear about what comes after you clear something out.

Because that’s the part nobody romanticizes.

We love the purge.
We love the brave exit.
We love the declaration.

But making room?

Making room is blank.

The Specific Moment

Yesterday’s article hit hard. Strong engagement. New subscribers. Clear momentum.

And this afternoon I could feel the subtle pressure building.

Now you have to follow that.
Now you have to deliver again.
Now you have to prove it wasn’t a fluke.

The pressure didn’t sit in my chest or my shoulders.

It sent me to the kitchen.

I wasn’t hungry. I was uncomfortable.

I grabbed a snack and stood at the window staring out at nothing, trying to fill the open space that felt too empty, too quiet.

And that’s when I noticed it.

The Blank Space Feels Like This

Empty. No creative spark. Just quiet.

My ego was loud.

Get to work.
You have momentum.
Don’t waste this.

My soul?

Silent.

And that unnerved me.

Because we say we want clarity, but what we usually want is direction.

Clarity sometimes just says, “Not that anymore.”

It doesn’t immediately say, “This instead.”

That’s the uncomfortable middle.

The space between the old self leaving and the new one arriving.

Most of us can’t stand it.

The Temptation to Decorate the Empty Room

Of course I have ideas.

I want to build a massive framework on a blank wall and hang six-foot canvases. Paint landscapes and florals that take up entire rooms. I can feel how alive that would be.

I want a new desk. Solid wood. Something beautiful.

I could scroll political news. Listen to a podcast. Do anything other than sit in the quiet.

But here’s the truth.

I’m still clearing.

It’s too soon to decorate the empty room.

And I can feel myself wanting to skip ahead.

What I Did Instead

Usually, I regulate before I write. I breathe. I let my attention land. I sit with my soul.

Today I chose sun instead.

And now I was out of sync. Cold. Slightly grumpy. Spinning.

There’s a difference between letting your attention land and just sitting there doing nothing.

When my attention lands, ideas come. I feel the smile before the sentence even forms.

When anxiety is running the show, I spin. I question. I reach for a snack.

Today, anxiety was loud. My soul was quiet.

And that’s okay.

The Practice

Spring cleaning for the soul isn’t about replacing one identity with a shinier one.

It’s about learning to tolerate not knowing.

You release an old self.
You clear the closet.
You stop performing a role.

And then what?

You sit in the echo.

You let your nervous system adjust to not gripping something.

You practice not filling silence with noise.
Not filling uncertainty with premature decisions.
Not stuffing the room just because it feels empty.

Most of us clutter our lives because open space feels vulnerable.

But open space is also where the soul speaks the clearest.

Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just cleanly.

The Honest Truth

I’m writing this from the middle of the blank space.

I don’t have the next big idea yet.

I’m cold. Slightly annoyed. No fireworks.

And I’m not fixing it.

I’m letting the room stay empty.

Because the empty room is not a problem.

It’s a threshold.

When my soul is ready to speak, it won’t be frantic. It won’t beg. It will arrive clean.

And I’ll recognize it immediately.

And oh, by the way, this decluttering of my soul and my studio is not about aesthetics. It’s part of my core mission.

I am here to help women reclaim their dreams, reignite their lives, or reinvent themselves right where they are — in the fourth quarter of a four-quarter life.

I’m not trying to achieve minimalism in my physical space.

I am intentionally making room for my soul to expand.

What this series is really about is not decluttering for the sake of minimalism. It’s about reclaiming the parts of you that went quiet while you were surviving.

You cannot build a new life on top of old identities.

You cannot reignite desire while your energy is buried under noise.

Making room, even when you don’t yet know what’s next, is the beginning of reinvention.

It’s how you create the conditions for the life you actually want to emerge.

An Invitation

If this piece resonates, if you recognize yourself in that blank space between the old and the not-yet, I want to invite you a little deeper into Monirose Soul.

This space isn’t about hustle.
It isn’t about constant output.
It’s about building a real relationship with your own soul and living from that place.

When you choose an annual subscription, you receive:

• 20 percent off the annual rate
• My Breakthrough Guide, completely free
• An open door to the weekly Breakthrough Workshops every Tuesday evening at 7 PM Eastern
• The deeper essays and conversations that anchor this work

No urgency. No pressure.

Just a steady rhythm of support, reflection, and practice.

If you’re ready to strengthen the quality of the relationship between you and your soul, I would love to have you join us as an annual member.

This work is simple.
The relationship is what changes everything.

Warmly,
Monica

P.S.
This morning I received a message from a woman who has been intentionally working through the Breakthrough Guide and practicing the breathing rhythm. She told me how one lesson shifted something real in her life. It brought me to tears.

This work works because it’s practiced.

When you become part of Monirose Soul, you’re not just reading essays. You’re building a relationship with your own clarity, alongside women who are doing the same.

Maybe you’ll be the one writing me that message next.