I got the opportunity to sit down with Cat Dean of Hype Girl Podcast to actually dig in to the bullshit we’ve all internalized about purpose and branding.
And how our lived experience already has the answers.
The “brand” that people want from you — the one that makes you successful in any given moment — the one that showcases your greatest genius…
That’s in your best friendships. That’s in your past successes. That’s even in your failures.
No moment of our life is wasted.
Over the past decade, I’ve worked with hundreds of people — everyone from CEOs of huge corporations and influencers to emerging artists and entrepreneurs. And I can tell you with certainty that the formula for success and purpose for every single one of them was just waiting to be mapped in their experiences.
Purpose isn’t something we aspire to. It’s not something we achieve. It’s who we are. What we’re *sensitive* to.
And that’s a powerful goddamn brand.
Have a listen to this episode:
Cat and I get loud. We’re yelling. We’re laughing. And we have a lot of fun.
Check it out if you feel like it. And, remember, you never have to try to be yourself. If you’re trying, it means you’re being somebody else.
It was before I married Garrett. Before I lived in this home. Before I started this business. Because I knew my purpose. Because I really loved myself.
I started this blog because I wanted to discover my voice. I wanted to know who I was when I had something to say. But, more importantly, when I didn’t.
So I wrote every weekday. Eventually, I’d run out of pre-packaged things to say. And write when I didn’t have the perfectly crafted thoughts. When my ideas didn’t fit with my conditioned image.
I wanted to dig layers beneath. Beneath all of the praise and shame to the undiscovered part of me that was begging to be seen. To be heard. To be understood.
I hardly felt completely heard by anyone. So I started writing my own story.
Earlier this week, I started reading what I’ve written over those seven years.
My good friend and former colleague Kate is helping to pitch me to some podcasts. And, as part of it, we decided to take a look at what my web presence is like.
I found old articles I’ve written. Old versions of our website. Old podcast interviews. Different (and disjointed) iterations of messaging. Forums about me, my writing, and—strangely enough—my body.
And, finally, of course, my blog.
So I read my blog posts. Nearly 2,000 of them. I watched my own journey unfold before my eyes.
It’s a rare thing to have seven years of your life meticulously documented.
I read through every major event in my life. My first niece being born. My uncle passing away. My first speaking engagement. My book deal. My dogs’ adoptions. My proposal to Garrett. My wedding.
I watched heartache and pain alongside wonder and miracles.
I watched my relationship evolve. My business clarify. My friendships blossom. My appearance change. My embodiment grow.
I watched as I clumsily worked through integrating each of my Brand Energies more: Aligned, Zany, Free, Unmistakable, Successful, and Vulnerable.
Who can forget the book I wrote about Success? Or when I started running Successful VIP days? Or what about the Zany dance videos I plastered across the internet?
Or any of the really Vulnerable stories I shared about my life and my relationship? Or my teenage angst phases where I insisted that I’m not just a “basic coach” – I’m artsy and smart and Unmistakable.
Or my deep dives into Alignment with the most “out there” esoteric spiritual and psychic concepts? Or my obsession with Freeing myself from old stories and conditioning and shame?
I laughed a little. And cringed a lot. And mostly just felt a lot of compassion and respect for my journey. Because being all of those things at once feels so much easier now. And smoother. And less forceful. And just—settled.
Life seems a lot smoother and more connected in retrospect. Like we somehow just can’t see the bigger patterns when we’re too close.
At the end of those nearly 2,000 blog posts and articles, I realized that a lot has changed over the past seven years. But what’s changed the most is how seen and heard and understood I feel now.
Between weekly therapy, multiple hours-long conversations with colleagues each week, and a whole bunch of close friends who get me fully, I don’t need this space like I used to.
It’s not the same space it was seven years ago. It needs to evolve.
And I think I knew that—long before COVID. I knew that. I haven’t written much in all of 2020.
If I’m honest, mostly because this blog isn’t about me anymore. Not in the same way.
It’s about you.
It’s about the work.
The work’s what transformed me over the past seven years. Mapping my sensitivities. Discovering my purpose. Turning away from misaligned temptations—even when they promised me the validation and success I’d been so desperately seeking.
I’ll be transparent. I don’t know what that means for me in this space. Or what that looks like. It’s something I’m exploring for myself.
And I can’t promise it’ll be graceful at first. Or that I’ll know how to share myself here in ways that offer the greatest support I can.
But I know with certainty that a chapter is closing. And I’m so, so grateful for that chapter. And for anyone who followed me for the majority of that journey.
And a new chapter is beginning. One where I hope my lived experience serves as a catalyst for you to dive deeper into your own. And discover your own sensitivities, your own gifts, your own undiscovered parts of yourself.
The stuff that is begging to be heard. And seen. And understood.
That wants to be nourished. And in community with others who just get it.
Today, on August 27, 2020—almost exactly seven years to the day since I started this blog—we walk through a threshold. We close one door. And open another.
Let this moment be marked in time.
To a prayer seven years in the making.
And, while we’re at, what intentions or prayers or hopes do you have for yourself in the future? What are you choosing to step into? What will we all be celebrating in another seven years from today?
Life is both fast and slow. Bumpy and smooth. Nonsensical and perfectly aligned.
We just need a map to see the bigger picture. The invisible lines that connect the dots.
