My Raw Unscripted Life

I’m at Blue’s house.
Why am I here?

He texted a few days ago, just checking in. He caught me at a moment when his warm, familiar concern felt like exactly what I needed. I was lonely, craving softness, craving something known. So I responded. One message turned into a conversation, and somehow that conversation carried me right back to his doorstep.

There are two versions of me moving through this moment.

There is the woman who is consciously preparing for expansion, imagining a life of “more.”
And there is the woman who is scared of it.

Expansion sounds beautiful, but it asks so much of me.
It asks for trust, trust in myself, trust in the unknown, trust in the Divine.
It asks me to walk away from the status quo and follow my heart even when nothing around me feels familiar or safe.

And when the doubts start echoing through the chambers of my mind, my nervous system slips into fight or flight. Expansion feels dangerous to the part of me that only knows survival. So the question becomes: how do I teach my body that uncertainty is not a threat, but an opening?

Sometimes, when the ideas of worthiness feel too big,
when believing I cannot fail feels too foreign,
I reach for comfort in the ways I always have: intimacy, familiarity, the illusion of safety.

In my mind, a life of ease sounded simple.
But unlearning, unprogramming, and remembering who I am is no small feat. Old beliefs feel like warm blankets. Old patterns feel like home. They’re familiar. They’re predictable. They feel safe, or at least they used to.

So here I am, sitting inside an old comfort I no longer want to call home, trying to understand what part of me led me back here… and what part of me is finally ready to walk forward.

This inner conflict is not failure.
It’s the friction of me outgrowing a life I haven’t yet fully stepped out of.

My mind says, I want expansion. I want more. I want ease.
My body says, This feels dangerous. This feels uncertain. Let’s retreat.

My nervous system remembers old patterns:
the people I’ve protected,
the roles I’ve played,
the ways I’ve survived.

My expansion is not just spiritual, it’s physical. My body needs time to learn that the unknown isn’t a threat. It’s possibility.

So how do I train my nervous system for success?

By noticing my thoughts without judgment.
By recognizing the moments when my body is protecting me from things I no longer need protection from.
By reaching a little further each time, just one gentle step beyond where I stopped before.
And most importantly, by offering myself grace while I learn.

Because expansion isn’t a straight line.
It’s a dance between who I’ve been and who I’m becoming.
And today, even here at Blue’s house, even inside this old comfort, I can feel the new version of me stirring, stretching, reminding me softly that she’s ready.