Two Words That Changed My Whole Day
Last night I went to sleep in love with my life.
Last night I went to sleep in love with my life.
Not the performative kind. The real kind. The kind where your body isn’t braced, you’re not arguing with the past, and you feel genuinely safe inside your own skin.
And still — there was this quiet question sitting next to me in the dark like a cat on the bed who has opinions.
What on earth do I talk about Monday night?
You see, Substack just rolled out a new feature — shared screen. My face appears in a little bubble in the corner while whatever I’m teaching scrolls across the viewer’s screen. Like a real live show. I was beside myself with excitement. A Cajun woman with a captive audience and a shared screen is a dangerous and delightful thing.
Only problem: I had absolutely nothing prepared.
Not a crisis. Not even dramatic. Just the particular kind of wide-awake that comes when you love your life and you’re ready to move — but you haven’t quite figured out which direction yet.
Now what?
As I was awakening my soul did that thing it does.
It nudged. Not with a lecture. Not with a color-coded ten-step plan. Just two words, delivered quietly, like a grandmother sliding a biscuit across the table without making a fuss about it.
“ Monica, look at what you GET TO DO! “
I GET to. Totally replacing HAVE to.
I get to make my bed. I get to put my feet on the floor. I get to make coffee — good coffee, in my own kitchen, in my own home, wearing whatever I please. I get to open my laptop. I get to write. I get to live.
And once I started, I could not stop.
All day long, every ordinary little thing turned into a doorway.
I get to make a sandwich. I get to check the mail. I get to wash a dish. I get to step outside and feel actual air on my actual face. I get to rest. I get to begin again.
Here’s what surprised me.
Nothing about my day changed. The weather didn’t cooperate. My schedule didn’t suddenly get glamorous. The world did not become more reasonable — bless its heart, it tried.
But my energy changed. Fast.
Because those two words, “ I have to” tightens the body. It turns your life into a burden you drag behind you like an overpacked suitcase with a broken wheel.
And I get to opens the body. Same exact moment. Completely different experience.
Not because I talked myself into happiness.
Because it’s simply, quietly true.
There are people who did not wake up today. There are people who woke up sick, scared, or so deep in dread they couldn’t find the bottom of it. And I woke up in my own home, with breath in my lungs and a working mind and the absolute freedom to choose what I do next.
That is not nothing.
That is everything.
Real gratitude — not the Hallmark card kind, not the list three things you’re thankful for kind — is a frequency. It softens the nervous system. It widens your vision. It reminds you that you are not, in fact, trapped inside your own life.
And when gratitude shows up, joy is usually right behind her — carrying her little purse, wearing fabulous shoes, saying hey honey, I heard you were finally home.
So that’s what I talked about Monday night.
I opened the shared screen. Got my little bubble in the corner. Felt extremely professional for approximately four minutes until Substack decided to test my spiritual maturity with a spinning wheel of death.
I recorded it twice.
I handled it with grace. Mostly.
But here’s the thing — the tech glitch wasn’t the story. The story was that I had just lived an entire day inside two words, and I couldn’t wait to share them with my people.
Because that’s what this community is. My people. The ones who show up on Monday nights to do the real work, not the performed kind.
I get to do this.
I don’t ever want to forget that.
Try it for yourself,today. . First thing. Before the coffee, before the phone, before the news gets its hands on you.
Just two words.
I get to.
See what opens.
You can hear me explain in this 2 minute audio clip
With love, Monica
Tuesday nights belong to my annual subscribers.
We gather. We go deeper. We do the work that doesn’t fit in a newsletter — and frankly shouldn’t, because some things need a room and real women in it.
If you’re annual — see you tongiht.
If you’re not — the upgrade link is right here, and I promise it’s worth every penny.
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