Surrendering to the Unknown Pt. 2

The discomfort is not the enemy.

It is the invitation.

The teacher.

The proof that you're in motion, that something inside you is unraveling and reforming at the same time.

In the space of not knowing, you are asked to trust the journey, not just the outcome. You are asked to hold the paradox: the desire to leap and the fear of falling. You are asked to listen closely, to find clarity in the quiet, to meet yourself in the shadows of uncertainty.

I know this because I’m here too.

For the past six months, I’ve pulled the Hanged Man card in every reading—from every deck, in every setting, without fail. It’s followed me like a shadow. At first, I dismissed it. Then, I resisted it. And now, I’m learning to bow to it.

The Hanged Man is the card of surrender. Of pause. Of seeing life from a new angle—not because you chose to stop, but because something deep within you knew you couldn’t keep going the way you were. I am in that space now: suspended, still, stretched between who I was and who I’m becoming.

I am ready for change.
And I am scared.

There is a constant push and pull inside me—the ache to dive headfirst into the unknown and build something new, something more aligned with the woman I’m becoming. And yet, there's the pull of what is known. The safe comforts of a place I’ve outgrown. A life I built with love, with care, with all of me. A life I still love, deeply, but that no longer feeds my spirit in the way it once did. It takes more than it gives. The energy required to keep it going demands all of me. There’s little room left for the other dreams that are trying to be born. 

So I ask myself, again and again, Am I being selfish? Am I asking for too much? Shouldn’t I just be thankful for what I have?

Because there is so much good here. So much beauty. So many memories etched into every corner of this life. But there is also a whisper that won’t leave me alone.

What about me? It asks.
What about the dreams I’ve yet to live? The conversations I crave, the work that feels alive in my chest, the freedom I’m finally ready to claim?

And I wonder—is that possible here?
Or does something new only begin once I let the old unravel?

The unknown feels like a void and a promise all at the same time. It’s terrifying. It’s sacred. It’s honest. And walking away from something you once loved with all of your heart. Something that still holds your tenderness is one of the most excruciating and liberating choices you can make.

But maybe the real question isn’t, Can I build something new?
Maybe it’s, can I trust myself enough to try?

Because the truth is: you don’t need all the answers to take the first step. You only need enough trust to let go of what is no longer true, and enough courage to reach for what might be.

Like the Hanged Man, maybe we’re not meant to rush forward just yet. Maybe we’re meant to pause, to hang in the balance just long enough to see clearly. To let the old dissolve gently, so the new can rise without resistance.

So if you’re here too, straddling the old and the new, the safe and the soul-expanding, know that you’re not alone.
You are not behind.
You are not lost.
You are becoming.

This space is not a dead end.

It’s a beginning. 

A sacred threshold. 

And your willingness to sit in the unknown, to listen to the whispers, and to trust the unfolding… that is your becoming.