Feeling Pulled in Two Different Directions?

Part of Me Wanted Freedom. Part of Me Wanted Certainty.

The Exhaustion of Standing in Two Places at Once

What Happened When I Stopped Negotiating with What I Already Knew

Have you ever known something deep down and spent months—or even years—trying to talk yourself out of it?

I have.

In fact, one of the hardest periods of my life began after I had already heard the call to something more.

Deep down, I knew there was another path. The challenge wasn't hearing the call. The challenge was trusting it.

I wanted freedom and certainty. Adventure and security. A life aligned with my heart and a guarantee it would all work out.

That tension wasn't theoretical. It was showing up in my life every single day.

Years earlier, I had left a successful accounting career to follow my heart into a wellness business where I was coaching, mentoring, and helping people create healthier, more abundant lives. 

For the first time in my life, I consciously chose my heart over the rules. I chose possibility over predictability. At least, I thought I had.

Five years later, I still wasn't earning an income. I had learned, grown, and become a different woman. Yet I still measured my success by one thing:

Was I making money or not?

The answer was no.

So I did what many of us do when possibility starts feeling too uncertain. I reached for predictability. 

For me, that meant returning to accounting—a career I had promised myself I would never return to.

Honestly, it seemed like the right thing to do.

I was contributing financially. I was facing some fears. I was extending an olive branch. From the outside, it looked like I was on track.

Inside, something very different was happening. What I couldn't see at the time was that I was moving further away from myself.

Further away from what my heart already knew.

And my body knew it before my mind did.

I started feeling hopeless. The kind of hopelessness that makes you wonder:

Will this ever change? What am I even living for?

What made it so confusing was that I couldn't point to a reason. Nothing terrible had happened. My life wasn't falling apart. In many ways, things looked better than before. 

Yet underneath all of that, I felt increasingly disconnected from myself.

And my body was letting me know I couldn't keep living this way.

I was playing a game I couldn't win. I felt physical pain all day, every day.

The closest thing I can compare it to is a dog pressing against one of those invisible electric fences. Not enough to knock you down. Just enough to remind you that something isn't right. Every minute of the day.

At the time, I didn't understand it. Today, I do.

I had already said yes to my soul, and I wasn't fully living my yes.

I was trying to hold on to safety while longing for freedom. Trying to follow my heart while demanding certainty. And it was exhausting me.

I often describe that period with a simple image.

One foot on the dock.

One foot on the boat.

The dock represented safety. Security. Being a good girl.

The boat represented trust. Freedom. Joy.

My soul was calling me forward. My fear was asking me to stay where it felt safe.

And the longer I held on to both, the more exhausted I became.

Maybe you've been there too.

Maybe your dock looks different than mine.

Maybe it's a relationship you've outgrown. A habit that no longer serves you. A belief you've carried for years. Or a version of yourself you've worked hard to maintain.

Maybe deep down you already know something needs to change. That was true for me.

What finally changed wasn't clarity. I already had clarity. What changed was willingness.

I became willing to tell the truth. The truth about how hopeless I felt. The truth about how exhausted I had become. The truth about how much energy I was spending holding on to safety and freedom at the same time.

And perhaps most importantly, the truth about how unwilling I had been to fully trust what I already knew.

That honesty—with myself and with a trusted mentor—opened a door. 

And once the door opened, I could take one step. Then another. And another.

Trust wasn't something I found.

It was something I practiced. 

One choice. One conversation. One act of honesty at a time. Until being me and being trustworthy became the same thing.

Looking back, I can see I wasn't confused. I wasn't lacking guidance. And I wasn't waiting for the right answer. I was trying to make two opposing truths coexist.

I wanted freedom, and I wanted guarantees.

I wanted to follow my heart, and I wanted certainty that it would work out.

I wanted to sail—with the wind in my hair. I just wouldn't leave the dock.

The problem was that life was asking me to choose, and I wouldn't.

That was the game I couldn't win. 

I wanted the rewards that came from following my heart while organizing my life around safety. Eventually, something had to give.

Maybe that's why this story matters to me so much.

Because I see women doing the same thing every day.

Not because they're broken, incapable, or don’t know what they desire. 

Because they're trying to protect themselves from disappointment, uncertainty, loss, rejection, failure, or getting it wrong.

So they wait. 

They gather more information, look for a sign, and ask one more person what they think. 

Meanwhile, the quiet knowing inside them keeps whispering the same truth. The truth they've known all along.

The shift for me wasn't getting a better answer.

The shift was becoming willing to choose.