When Life Speaks in Symbols: Learning to Listen, Learning to Lead Myself

Lately, life has been speaking to me in ways that aren’t always loud—but always clear.

The other day, an ambulance passed directly in front of me as I drove. Its sirens didn’t just cut through the streets; they cut through something inside me too. That moment, like so many others lately, reminded me that life is layered. It doesn’t always present itself in clean lines or easy explanations. Sometimes, it speaks through the noise. Other times, it whispers when we’re still enough to hear.

I’ve been in a season of release, clarity, and refinement. Not just of circumstances, but of self. There’s something disorienting about stepping away from everything that no longer aligns. At first, it felt like solitude. But now, it feels like space—sacred space I didn’t know I needed.

It’s in this space that I’m learning to observe myself. I’ve begun noticing when I want to react versus when I choose to respond. The pause between those two has become a powerful teacher. That pause is where my leadership lives. Not in what I say, but in how I hold myself through the discomfort.

There’s a quiet transformation unfolding. It’s not flashy or for show. It doesn’t need applause or external confirmation. But it’s real. And I feel it.

I’ve noticed how often I used to reach for certainty. Plans. Control. Familiar rhythms. But now I’m learning to walk in a kind of knowing that doesn’t always come with proof. It’s intuitive. It’s rooted. It’s internal. I no longer need every step mapped out in front of me. I just need to be present in the step I’m on.

I’ve seen patterns in my life try to repeat—tests dressed up in new faces or moments. But I don’t react the same. I don’t carry the same questions. I no longer negotiate with what I’ve already healed from. And that, to me, is evidence of progress. Not perfection. Just progress.

Even in this stretch—between what was and what is becoming—I know I’m not lost. I’m being shaped. That’s what this is. A shaping.

I’ve begun paying attention to what arises when I’m quiet. What songs come to mind. What images return. What dreams I can’t shake. I don’t just dismiss them anymore. I explore them. I listen. I learn.

And when I do that—when I honor what I feel without needing to explain it to anyone else—I become more myself. Fully. Authentically. Honestly.

This isn’t about achieving a destination. It’s not about crossing some final line and shouting, “I’ve arrived.” It’s about learning to arrive in each moment, with all of myself, and say: I’m here. I’m listening. I trust me now.

That trust is the foundation. That’s what carries me when plans shift, when finances fluctuate, when the world asks for more than I feel I have to give. It’s that inner voice, not yelling, but steady—saying: “You’ve been through more than this. You’re built for what’s next.”

If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this:

Growth doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes, it shows up as a single moment of stillness. A thought you don’t run from. A truth you finally let be true.

And in those moments, I realize I’m not becoming someone new. I’m simply returning to who I’ve always been.