Missing on Purpose

As an introvert, I recharge in isolation.

I have to disappear sometimes—
go missing from the noise,
disconnect from the world
just long enough to reconnect.

I retreat into the quiet—
into prayer, reflection, meditation,
where silence becomes medicine
and stillness becomes strategy.

My restoration can’t be rushed.
It has to be intentional, sacred, uninterrupted.

A full reset of mind, body, and spirit.

And now, standing

at the midpoint of the year,
the timing feels divine.

I’m ready to slow down

long enough to hear myself again.

Ready to sleep in without guilt,
press my feet into warm sand,
tilt my face toward the sun,
and let nature remind me
that healing doesn’t always arrive loudly.

After spending the first quarter
filtering life through hurt,

disappointment, and survival mode,
I’m ready for a different lens.

I’m ready to release what exhausted me.
Ready to stop romanticizing routines
that kept me small.
Ready to challenge what’s familiar,
walk away from emotional safety nets,
and create new waves where fear once lived.

I’m ready to bet on myself—fully.

To stop shrinking dreams
to fit inside comfort zones.

To take risks that honor the life I pray for.

To shoot my shot at abundance,

peace, and possibility.

I’m ready to stretch beyond old limitations,
lace up my sneakers,
and make bold, faith-filled moves

with God beside me.

As the guru of leadership John Maxwell said,
“Growth doesn’t just happen;

you have to plan for it.”

And because life is happening in real time—
not later, not someday,

not when everything feels safer—
I want to be fully present for it all.

I want to inhale deeply
without bracing for disaster.

Without waiting for the bottom to fall out.
Without treating joy like something temporary.

I want to exhale freely while:

loving without fear,
learning without limits,
and living so fully
that my life blooms from the inside out.

Because I’ve spent too much of my life
surviving moments

I was supposed to experience.

Too much time mourning versions of myself
that were only created to endure pain.

Too much energy carrying emotional weight
that was never mine to keep.

But healing has taught me this:
peace is not passive.
Joy is not weakness.
Rest is not laziness.
And choosing myself is not selfish—
it’s necessary.

So this next season of my life
will not be built on fear, scarcity,

or self-abandonment.

It will be built on faith.
On intention.
On courage.
On becoming.

And if I have to disappear for a while
to become who God has been calling me to be,
then let the silence do its sacred work.

Because when I return,
I don’t want to come back merely rested.

I want to come back transformed.

“Give growing your best so you can become yout best.” —John C .Maxwell

Comments

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