I Sat in Silence

THE MOMENT I CHOSE MYSELF

I’m not known for doing crazy things.
But when I decide, I decide.
That’s how I ended up running for office in 2014 — and it’s how I found myself sitting on my couch for seven hours in total silence this past April.

It was an ebb.
Luteal phase. Nearly 45.
The kind of day where getting out of bed felt like dragging a wet coat behind me. I managed to make it to the kitchen for hot water with lemon, pretending I didn’t have a 10am call or a train to catch.

Forget the office. I was being laid off anyway.

Not a shock — just the end of a six-year chapter spent building with community. I was already interviewing. Already plotting the next move. Survival mode, like always. But that day, the voice inside me — the one I’ve gotten better at listening to — asked louder questions:

What are you doing next?
Why?
And who do you want to be now that this work is over?

The truth? I never got to go full wingspan in that last role. The vision they hired me for was always just a little too big, a little too bold. Too bright to blend in. And I wasn’t going to shrink again for a title that asks for a visionary, only to muzzle the vision once it’s in the room.

So I fasted.
No breakfast.
Just hot water, and stillness.

I sat in the same spot for seven hours — watching walls, scribbling notes, letting the silence speak. My friend had just returned from six weeks in Europe, glowing and rested. She told me to take time off between jobs. I laughed. Maybe two, three weeks, I said.

But something in me was curious.
What would it feel like to be… joyful?
To be free — not as a performance, but in my bones?

I’m not the world-traveling type.

The farthest I’d ever been was Canada and Jamaica. Grand plans for Greece or Italy had always lingered in the background — but they never materialized. The truth is, I had never made myself a priority.

I was always prioritizing something else. Someone else.
Every cause but my own.
And when your system is out of whack — when fatigue has taken root — you think you’re functioning, but you’re really just surviving.

Survival runs fast.
It doesn’t pause for vision boards or spiritual clarity. It just moves.
Get it done.
Get home.
Get something to eat.
Get in bed.

No time to feel. No time to want.

Those weight loss goals? Drowned in stress.
That therapy breakthrough? Muted by the next calendar alert.
Healing takes time — and time doesn’t always belong to us in a world built on extraction.

But on that couch, I started to notice something creeping in:
Exhaustion.

Not the dramatic kind. Not collapse.
This was quieter. More dangerous.

This was residual burnout — not the acute crisis that lands you in the hospital (I’ve been there before). This was like those background apps on your phone that drain the battery without you even noticing.

That’s how so many of us live.
Especially Black women.
Always needing a recharge because we’re constantly being depleted by invisible demands.

But that day — I was finally still enough to hear something different.

I heard: Travel.

My logical self pulled out the laptop and Googled Greece — it had always been on the list.
But that still voice, the one I’ve learned to trust, said:
Thailand.

Now listen — I had never seen The White Lotus.
Thailand wasn’t even on my radar.

But I Googled it. I saw the photos. I felt a tug.

Then I heard:
Singapore.
Bali.

I blinked. Bali?

Sure, I’d heard the stories — people going there to find themselves.
But it always felt like a dream for someone else.
It was too far, too much, not now.

And yet... here it was. Whispering.
Calling.

I had no idea how any of it was going to work.
But I was listening.

When I downloaded all the countries — Thailand, Singapore, Bali — I felt something unexpected: peace.
Not logic. Not certainty.
Just a deep calm that said, this is for you, even if I didn’t know why yet.

And then, one more directive surfaced:
Go on a personal retreat.

Change the energy around you.
Get quiet somewhere new.
Keep listening.

It was 5pm.
I had no passport stamps.
But I knew — I was leaving the country.
For now? I was going to Rhode Island.

That weekend, I packed an overnight bag, booked a random hotel, and took the train.
And once I got there, I did absolutely nothing — except listen.

I soaked in a bathhouse. Sat in ice water. Wrote and wrote and wrote.

Ideas for travel.
Visions for my next chapter.
Downloads that were bold, beautiful — and honestly, overwhelming.
Why was all this coming to me? And how on earth was I going to carry it out?

And then came another word:
Freedom.
Over and over, it echoed.

I saw myself running.
And then I saw Harriet Tubman.

I understood: this next chapter was about freedom. Not the kind we perform, but the kind that lives in the body, the bones.
The kind that starts with trusting the highest version of myself — listening to her voice over fear’s.

Freedom begins in the mind.
And my mind had to believe it was possible before it could become real.

Harriet has shown up in my life before — I consider her one of my ancestral omens.
She listened. She led.
And so must I.

I’ve long taken refuge in water.
Spa therapy, ice baths — these practices have taught me how to hear again.
So I went back to the local spa and soaked, letting more downloads come through.

Later, back in the hotel room, I turned on the TV for background noise while I journaled — and paused when I saw a tropical scene. Then Natasha Rothwell appeared on screen.

Wait… what is this?
It was The White Lotus.
And they were in Thailand.

I had never seen the show. Never even known what it was about.
But there it was — confirmation. A wink. A North Star.

Like in The Alchemist — except I wasn’t looking for treasure.
I already knew it was inside me.
Maybe I was just… returning.

There were so many signs that weekend.
So much truth on that couch.

And I followed it.

I packed up my apartment.
Put my life in storage.
And opened my arms to what was calling:

Freedom.
Rest.
Reclamation.
Creation.

I don’t know where this leads.
Maybe it takes me back to the U.S.
Maybe to another job.

But I know this:

All roads lead to the only destination that matters —
Destination: Self.

Because it’s in me —
as it is in you —
that the world begins to change.

Broken people build broken systems.
Healed people heal systems.
And build new ones.

Live. like you’re already free
Give. yourself permission to follow the call
Trust. what shows up when you listen
Be. led by your highest self
Honor. the unfolding of your own return