It was a Friday afternoon.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing unusual.
Just the clock ticking while my mind tried to hold too many things at once.
I was halfway through client calls, trying to hold work in one hand and the rest of my life in the other. My brain was busy, stretched, already carrying more than it should. My husband had tried earlier to squeeze in a quick conversation about our property plans — not because he was being pushy, but because we were both juggling so much that neither of us quite knew where the right space was anymore.
Working from home makes me more “reachable,” and sometimes that blurs the lines. I wasn’t unavailable because I didn’t care; I was simply in work mode, mid-responsibility, mid-pressure. And he wasn’t being demanding — he was trying to find a moment where we could connect about the dreams we both share.
Two people with big visions.
Both stretched.
Both trying.
Meanwhile, Zeb was staring at us like, “Cool story. Is my dinner happening or not?”
And then something simple cut through the noise.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t angry.
Just honest.
It wasn’t the message itself that shifted me — it was what it exposed.
He shared that he didn’t feel fully connected to the journey. That he needed to know we were walking it together.
And I understood it.
But beneath that moment was something deeper that had already been stirring.
For weeks, I’d been trying to move something forward — a project that had come to me so easily at first. The name had flowed. The idea had felt clear, almost effortless. That felt like God.
But the momentum since then?
That felt different.
Every step forward felt heavier than it should.
Not locked. Not slammed shut.
Just… unmoving.
And that frustrated me more than I wanted to admit.
I wrestled with it quietly.
Was this resistance because I was meant to push through?
Or was it resistance because I was pushing something that wasn’t meant for now?
There’s a difference — but in the moment, it’s hard to tell.
Part of me wondered if I was being tested.
Part of me wondered if I was being redirected.
Part of me feared I was falling behind.
And if I’m honest, I felt a little alone in it too — trying to manufacture momentum in my own strength because I thought that’s what progress was supposed to look like.
But as I sat there, instead of defending my position, I paused.
Not emotionally.
Not reactively.
But intentionally.
What was actually happening here?
The truth was simple:
It wasn’t moving.
And faith doesn’t ignore reality.
It weighs it.
If God was breathing on this right now, would it feel like I was dragging it uphill alone?
I didn’t need to quit the dream.
But maybe I did need to stop dragging it forward before its time.
Because sometimes delay isn’t denial.
Sometimes it’s direction.
So I made a decision.
A clear one.
A grounded one.
I chose to stop forcing something that wasn’t moving.
And I chose something else too.
I chose us.
Not because one of us was doing more than the other — we’ve both been building, both investing, both stretching in different ways. But because I wanted to demonstrate, in a tangible way, that we are a team. That I am for him. That what we’re building is something we’re building together.
Not separate visions competing for oxygen.
But shared direction, aligned.
Not by sacrificing a dream.
But by recognising the season.
And that shift changed everything.
At our deal packaging training, the coach shared her “why” — showing the house she bought because of property. Her stepping stone. And something inside me lit up.
A country home.
My country home.
A dream I hadn’t abandoned — just quietly shelved somewhere along the way. Somewhere between striving and trying to prove I could build something on my own timeline.
And I realised something gently but deeply:
When I stopped obsessing over the door that wasn’t opening, I could see the direction right in front of me.
This doesn’t mean the other dream has vanished. It hasn’t. It came in flow for a reason. But the timing isn’t mine to force.
I can still nurture it quietly.
I can still hold it loosely.
I just don’t need to push it.
Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do
is pause long enough to recognise the difference
between resistance that requires faith
and delay that requires wisdom.
This wasn’t the end of a dream.
It was simply the moment delay clarified the direction.
We became aligned again.
The tension eased.
The pressure lifted.
And peace replaced striving.
For now,
I’m choosing clarity.
I’m choosing unity.
I’m choosing what’s moving — not what I’m trying to move.
And honestly?
It feels right.
