Stop Waiting to Feel Ready: Choosing Movement, Faith, and Small Courage in 2026

There’s been a soft shift happening inside me for a while now. Nothing dramatic. No fireworks. More like a whisper I’ve learned to recognize–especially when I’ve been praying, when I’m quiet, when I’m finally still enough to hear it.

stop waiting to feel ready in the morning

It feels like a snow globe being turned over. And lately, I’ve realized something simple but life-shaping.

So this year, I’m leaning into the idea: stop waiting to feel ready — move with God, even when my fear hasn’t caught up yet.

I don’t mean I’ve suddenly become fearless. I’m still me—thoughtful, sometimes overthinking, sometimes doubting my voice, sometimes wanting to crawl back under the covers and disappear into the softness of sleep. But over the winter break, I started reading The 5 Second Rule by Mel Robbins, and those small stories of courage stirred something that was already alive in me.

I’ve been practicing awareness for years now. Coming back home to myself. Untangling people-pleasing. Loosening perfectionism. And what I know is this:
When the urge rises in me—quiet, steady, insistent—that’s God. And I am not stronger than the God in me.

So lately, instead of waiting to feel confident or prepared or polished, I’ve been letting movement carry me forward. Sometimes literally counting down, 5-4-3-2-1….and stepping before fear finishes its sentence.

stop waiting to feel ready and move

Not as hype. Not as adrenaline. Just as interruption.
An interruption of paralysis. An interruption of the stories that try to keep me small. Interrupting the old belief that discipline has to feel like punishment.

Because here’s my truth: discipline feels different now. It feels like devotion.
Not devotion to perfection. Not devotion to performing. But devotion to God and to the part of me He placed here on purpose. The part that longs to create, write, mother, love, teach, heal, speak, move—and still rest. The part that understands I am made in God’s image, and there is a humble power in remembering that.

It’s not ego. It is alignment.
And from that place, movement becomes worship.

Like the mornings I have to 5-4-3-2-1 myself out of bed when the covers beg me to stay. Or on New Year’s Day when I pressed “Go Live” on Facebook, heart racing ,voice unsure, guiding a live yin yoga session to maybe three viewers—one of them my mom. And still…celebrating it like the milestone it was.

Like the hard conversations I walked into, even when every part of me wanted to avoid discomfort.
Each moment looked small on the outside. But inside? It was courage. Soft courage. Daily courage.

And then there are the moments where I just watch—like seeing Arrington wake up early and head out to rake leaves and clean yards with his friends, building a little business of their own. Watching him earn, save, talk about money, and feel proud of himself. This has led to conversations with him—and with Aliah—about diligence, budgeting, joy, purpose, and integrity…they matter. They are seeds.

I can’t say whether 5-4-3-2-1 is shaping him directly. But I know he is learning, like I am, that movement meets you halfway. And God meets you after the step.

stop waiting to feel ready with kids

I think many grew up with a kind of discipline that felt harsh. Punitive. Rooted in fear, control, or shame. Echoes of systems that were never meant to love us. Somewhere along the way, that gets internalized—and discipline becomes a whip instead of a compass.

But for me, now? Discipline feels like alignment. Like living rather than performing. Like devotion instead of demand. It’s still hard sometimes—that’s why rocket-launch energy is helpful. But the spirit behind it is changing. It’s less about proving I’m worthy. It’s about honoring that I already am.

Over the break, I also revisited my vision work. In 2025, I filled in the blank to one simple prompt:
“I want to have the new experience of ____________”

I wrote: “unconditional love and traveling to a new country.”

stop waiting to feel ready and fly

And wouldn’t you know—I spent 2025 falling in love with myself. Tenderly. Fully. Body, mind, and soul. I traveled to Canada for the first time. Even stepped onto islands, and sailed to Mexico again—somewhere new this time. I moved through twenty-six states—all with the family. My spiritual life stayed rooted and growing. I kept learning.

The seeds I planted showed up in real life. So here is the quiet promise I’m making to myself for 2026:
I want my writing and speaking to flourish—abundantly, beautifully, sustainably—without compromising the time and presence I give to my children, my family, and myself. I want a loving, supportive partnership that feels like home. I want to live fully, not someday, but now. And I want to keep practicing the art of letting movement lead.

Sometimes, the bravest thing I do is…rest. I even had to 5-4-3-2-1 myself into stillness recently because busy-body energy can masquerade as purpose. But this year, I am giving myself permission to be—soft, great, whole, and present.

I am intentionally walking away from the noise—the headlines built to terrify, the scroll-holes designed to numb, the narratives that tell us danger is everywhere and joy is foolish.

I will let my yes be yes. And my no be no. I will breathe on porches. I am trusting the light in my chest—even when the world feels unsafe or chaotic. That too, is resistance.

And somewhere in the middle of all this, I feel chosen. Not “chosen to be the greatest”—but chosen to be myself. Chosen to parent with intention. To write and to share. Chosen to live with humility and power at the same time.

stop waiting to feel ready look ahead

So this isn’t a recap, it’s a re-entry. A soft declaration of how I’m living now. Not waiting for confidence, for everything to line up. Not waiting to feel ready.
I’m counting down. Breathing deep. Trusting God in motion. And stepping. Because I’m not waiting to feel ready anymore.