The Difference Between Survival Mode and Soul Mode (A True Story)
This is the story of how I learned the difference between hope and faith — and why I'll never confuse survival mode with soul mode again.
The Difference Between Survival Mode and Soul Mode (A True Story)
Last December ( 2024( should have been one of my best months.
If you’re a painter, December is when things usually move. People buy art. Gifts happen. Momentum builds. And instead of leaning into that, I gave it all up.
I agreed to run a six‑week fine art market for twenty‑six other artists.
I believed in it. I believed in them. I believed that if we created visibility, if we showed up, if we marketed hard enough, it would work. The building owner gave us the storefront for free, and my income was supposed to come from a percentage of sales.
We did everything right on paper.
Great social media. Two packed grand openings. People coming through the door.
But sales lagged.
And I found myself working retail five days a week, sometimes six, doing everything short of cartwheels online to get people to come in. And when they did come in, most of them weren’t buyers.
They were other artists.
Artists who wanted wall space. Artists who wanted exposure. Artists who wanted me to fix what wasn’t selling.
I was exhausted.
By the end of those six weeks, I was cooked. Not just physically tired, but spiritually drained. And then came the part that really hurt.
Some of the artists wrote me afterward.
Not to thank me. Not to acknowledge the work. But to tell me everything I did wrong. To tell me they should have sold more. To make their disappointment my responsibility.
Mind you, the ones who complained had sold. Just not enough.
That’s when it became painfully clear.
I had been operating in survival mode.
Survival mode doesn’t always look like panic or chaos. Sometimes it looks like over‑functioning. Like saying yes when your body says no. Like sacrificing your own work to hold space for everyone else. Like believing that hope will carry you through without actually trusting yourself.
At that point in my life, I didn’t have the kind of faith I have now.
I had hope.
And I’ve learned something about hope.
Hope carries doubt inside it.
And in my nervous system, doubt always beats hope.
Every time.
Faith is different. Faith isn’t wishing. Faith is relationship. Faith is listening. Faith is being in constant conversation with your soul.
I didn’t have that then.
If I had, my soul would have never agreed to that setup. Never agreed to that schedule. Never agreed to me giving up my own art in December to keep a storefront warm , when nobody is walking the streets looking to buy anything.
People asked us to keep it open. Artists wanted a place to show their work. Offers were made for me to paint in the window.
But the truth was simple.
I don’t live by clocks. I don’t live by calendars. I don’t live by schedules.
I live by listening.
And at that point, I wasn’t listening.
When it ended, everything stopped at once.
The store. My art sales. My income momentum.
I went straight back into survival mode.
And then I lost my best friend.
In our very last conversation, she said one thing to me.
“Monica, you love to write. You should look at Substack.”
That was the last thing she ever said to me.
How did I survive those weeks when rent felt terrifying?
Toe tapping. Facebook posts. Selling a few pieces here and there. Doing just enough to keep the lights on.
Not elegant. Not inspired. But enough.
And then, on January 11th, I wrote my first post.
But here’s the distinction I want you to hear.
Running that art market was survival mode. Writing now is soul mode.
Survival mode is when you override yourself. Soul mode is when you trust what you hear.
Survival mode is loud, busy, exhausting. Soul mode is quiet, clear, and oddly efficient.
So how did I shift?
Not all at once. Not with some breakthrough moment or perfect plan.
I started with my breath.
In for four counts. Hold for four. Release for six.
One minute at a time. That’s all I could manage at first. Just sixty seconds of regulating my nervous system so I could hear something other than panic.
Now I do five minutes at a time, at least twice a day.
Because here’s what I learned: You can’t hear your soul when your body is in survival mode. Your nervous system has to feel safe enough to let you listen.
So I breathed. And then I started asking my soul before I moved. Before I said yes. Before I made decisions based on hope instead of faith.
I stopped treating my inner voice like background noise and started treating her like the most credible advisor in the room — because she is.
I stopped hoping things would work out and started having faith that if I listened, I’d know what to do next.
That’s it. That’s the whole practice.
Regulate your nervous system. Listen. Trust what you hear. Move from there.
There's a little more to it, but that is exactly where I began. With this simple breath practice.
I don’t confuse the two anymore.
And when I feel myself slipping back into survival mode, I know exactly where I am. Not because I judge it. Because I’ve lived it. Because I know the way back.
And maybe, if you’re reading this, you recognize it too.
Maybe you’re standing right at that edge — the one between hoping it works out and trusting what your soul already knows.
If that’s where you are, you’re not alone.
If this landed:
The 20% discount on paid subscriptions ends December 31st.
Soul mode doesn’t require you to have it all figured out. It just requires you to start listening.
And sometimes, the best place to practice listening is in community with women who get it.
P.S. A new kind of compass is coming in January.
Not the kind that tells you where to go — but the kind that helps you listen deeper, question everything, and reframe the stories that have been running your life. It’s not about finding direction. It’s about remembering you already have one. Stay close. And get read to MAXIMIZE YOUR LIFE!
I think it's awful those artists wrote you to tell you "everything you did wrong." That must have hurt.