There are moments, messy, inconvenient, emotionally inconvenient moments where doing what’s right doesn’t feel good at all. For example, walking away from a relationship that just isn’t working, even if everyone else thinks it is. Or like saying no to plans even when your people-pleasing is shouting say yes, smile, stay likable! It isn’t easy to choose the long road when the shortcut looks so much easier… and prettier. 

And in the moments where I choose the right yet hard roads, I often wonder: Why does the right sometimes have to feel so wrong? Why does growth almost always come dressed in discomfort? 

Here’s the truth: discomfort does not always have to be a red flag. We can choose to not look at it as a cosmic “Abort mission!” signal. It’s sometimes just a sign you’re doing something new. And “new,” while exciting in theory, often arrives with sweaty palms, racing thoughts, and the kind of anxiety that makes you think that you should just go back to bed.

But maybe, just maybe, that anxiety doesn’t need to be anxiety. Maybe that feeling can be excitement in disguise! What if you didn’t have to be scared of the unknown but overwhelmed by all the ways it could go right? Because how lucky are you to be unsure of what comes next! Your options are plentiful.

Think about it. How many good things in your life started off feeling uncertain? The job you weren’t sure you’d land. The city you weren’t sure you’d love. The person you weren’t sure would call. (Spoiler: they did.) All of it once felt like a big question mark. 

So here’s my suggestion: The butterflies? The shaky voice? Let’s not treat them as just warning signs but treat them as welcome signs.

The truth is, being uncomfortable doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You can consciously make the decision to say that this is the beginning of your next one. The beautiful, aligned, couldn’t-have-planned-it-if-you-tried version of your life that’s just waiting for you to claim it.

So maybe the goal isn’t to feel good all the time.Maybe it’s to feel real and to trust that the discomfort you may be in now is simply the dress rehearsal for something worth showing up for.

And when in doubt, ask yourself: What if the unknown isn’t the thing to fear… but the thing to fall in love with?  

Trust is one of those words we toss around easily…until we’re asked to actually do it. Simple in theory. Complicated in practice. For many of us (myself included), trust feels a lot like letting go of control….and not in the “yoga class” way. More like standing at the edge of a cliff and hoping the parachute works. It can feel dangerous. Exposing. Wildly uncomfortable. But at its root, trust is actually solid. The word itself traces all the way back to the Proto-Indo-European root deru meaning “firm, solid, steadfast, strong.” Literally: trust comes from strength. From the deep inner knowing that what you lean on will hold.

And yet, trusting doesn’t always feel strong. Especially when the very thing you’re trusting (i.e a person, your intuition, the universe, your next move) isn’t offering you a guarantee. But maybe that’s the point, because the truth is, trust is not the absence of fear but learning to be courageous in that fear. If trusting feels hard, start here: what taught you not to?

Was it an inconsistency in your childhood? A betrayal from someone you loved? A moment when your intuition led you somewhere painful? We all have a trust origin story, a first moment when something broke and left us unsure if we could rely on people, the world, or even ourselves.

And while that awareness alone won’t magically heal the wound, it creates something essential: understanding. And from understanding, we can begin to rebuild.

And trust me! Rebuilding doesn’t mean blind optimism. It means intentional repair. It means recognizing when you’re projecting old stories onto new chapters. It means not punishing your present for the pain of your past.

Trust isn’t just about believing everything will go well. It’s about believing you’ll be okay even if it doesn’t. It’s saying: I trust myself to hold what’s mine. To grieve what’s gone. To pivot if needed. To receive what comes next. Even if I can’t predict it, force it, or fully understand it yet. 

If you’re holding on tightly right now, to a plan, to an old identity, to the need to control what comes next, maybe it’s time to loosen your grip. Not because you have a guarantee. But because life has already shown you that you’ve made it through everything you never thought you would. And that’s not an accident.

You can trust again. You can trust yourself. You can trust the world. Not because everything will always go right, but because even when it doesn’t, you are still here. Still standing. Still capable of rebuilding.

Money is an incredibly abundant thing, if you let it be. It can also be daunting, overwhelming, a source of arguments, painfully scary, a sore subject. It can be hated. Resented. Feared. If you let it be.

Your relationship with money (yes, it is a relationship) is no different than your relationship with food, family, or love. It is entirely shaped by your mindset around it. For some people, that’s bad news. For others, it’s incredibly freeing. Either way, where your perception lands is within your control.

Now, I’m going to make a statement that’s so obvious it almost goes unnoticed: money is involved in everything. The coffee you drank this morning involved money. The clothes you’re wearing right now involved money. Ask yourself – when was the last day you didn’t either spend or make money? And no, the “free” walk in the park doesn’t count. You paid for the gas to get there, the car itself, and the sunglasses you wore while pretending it was effortless. Money quietly powers nearly every part of our lives.

And yet, despite how constant it is, money is rarely neutral to us. You might read this and think, I love money, thank you for being there for me. Or you may feel a flicker of resentment or irritation rise up instead. But notice the common denominator in both reactions: you. Money itself doesn’t carry emotion or judgment. Your relationship with it is just a reflection of the conditioning you’ve received. If you’re aware enough, the relationship you’ve consciously chosen to cultivate with it.

This conversation can deepen quickly, often turning into something far more personal than financial. It’s a topic I explored in greater depth at my January 10th event at HACPAC! For time sake I want to introduce one idea that tends to shift things quickly: the financial thermostat.

Just like the thermostat in your home, everyone has one. Maybe 68 degrees feels comfortable or 67, if your kids won’t stop making jokes about it. In the same way you do at home, you have a financial temperature that feels “comfortable” to you. To find it, imagine increasing your monthly income. When does discomfort kick in? $10,000 a month? $15,000? $20,000? What about $50,000?

The moment your chest tightens and a voice says, That’s not realistic, you’ve found your setting. But here’s the part we don’t say out loud enough: there are people making a million dollars a month. The difference isn’t intelligence or worthiness, it’s belief. The only thing limiting you from expanding that thermostat is you.

I mentioned earlier that your relationship with money, unlike your relationship with your closet, is entirely within your control. Here are two things I highly suggest. 

First, think of an amount of cash that would make you slightly uncomfortable to carry. $500, maybe. Put it in your wallet and don’t spend it. Just let it sit there. Feel what it’s like to feel “rich,” even briefly.

Second, and this is important, when you inevitably spend it because you forgot your card or life happened, thank it. Actually, thank it. Don’t let the voice of restriction or fear take over. Gratitude softens scarcity. Appreciation expands trust.