At a threshold moment
The courageous choice to build a home within.
Hello darling,
Lately, I’ve been sitting with a realization. A shift. A knowing that has been forming for a while now—but that has recently come into a new light of clarity.
Over the past several years, I’ve slowly and tenderly gotten to know the many different inner parts of myself more clearly. There is the inspired, fiery, intuitive little one who dreams without hesitation. She runs wild and barefoot, dark curls tangling in the wind. The cautious protector who holds fear and doubt, determined to keep us safe no matter the cost. And then there is the queen—the one who is steady, discerning, grounded, intuitive, compassionate, an ocean of gently held space.
The little one inside me is alive with ideas, eager to step fully into the life I’m building—to claim space, to create generative and generous abundance from a foundation of my own values. She is amazed and delighted by the life we have built, by the woman we’ve become, and she’s eager to be set free in the present of possibility.
But alongside her lives the protector who unwittingly dampens any fire of excitement. The one who speaks in caution, who tries to keep me realistic, who insists on protecting me from disappointment. She sits in a dark room with no windows, surrounded by stacks of unmarked books—each one telling me I must learn more, prepare more, do better, be better, before I even begin. It’s a space filled with old beliefs that were never mine to begin with—ones that declare that I am incapable. They say I will have to sacrifice. That I can’t have both a thriving business and take care of my body, I can’t create abundance and live by my values, I can’t be an emotional human and be successful. That I must work harder, give up more, push through. That I will always have to choose, and no matter what, it will be hard.
But then, there is the queen within me.
She is strong, but not forceful. Steady, discerning, grounded. She is powerful and wise, deeply compassionate and patient. She is not seeking, not striving, not waiting for permission. She is as much her throne as it is her, so deeply rooted in herself that she and the foundation beneath her are one.
The fiery little one—full of dreams and inspiration—rests within her, protected, held, free to create without fear. And beside her, at arm’s length, is a lantern—always there to illuminate the next right step. She does not rush. She does not need to prove anything. She is simply there to be fully herself.
At the beginning of the year, I found myself at a threshold, a doorway between two worlds, past and future—the dark, confining room of doubt and a vast, open field of possibility—I saw what I needed to leave behind: the old books filled with other people’s beliefs, the idea that I must struggle now to be free later, the notion that my worth is tied to sacrifice. The voice that tells me I can’t, I’m not enough and never will be. As I stood at this threshold, the light of this new space poured in, and the darkroom began to dissolve. The old beliefs that once made up the foundation, were no longer strong enough to withstand who I’d become.
Standing there, on the edge of something new, I felt the grief of letting those stories go. They were familiar. They had shaped me. For so long, they felt like protection. Answers to questions I hadn’t known how to answer for myself. But when I turned back toward the queen, she was simply waiting—not rushing, not forcing—just holding the most patient, loving presence. Like the softness of light filtering through the trees.
And I realized: I am ready.
I don’t need to live like no one else now in order to live like no one else later.1 I don’t have to trade my well-being in the present for success in some unguaranteed future. I don’t have to sacrifice my joy, my rest, my softness in order to build what I am here to build. I already am the person I am becoming. The queen is not something to reach for—she is already within me.
As the dark room dissolved in this new light of awareness, the outdated beliefs and the voices telling me I wasn’t enough turned to ash, and the ash composted into the soil of this new, wide-open space. A space that had been waiting for me all along. A space where I get to build and create—not from sacrifice or depletion or scarcity, but from fullness. From devotion. From trust. From connection. From hope and abundant generosity.
The queen does not build for the sake of building. She does not create for the sake of having. She does not chase after wealth or accumulation. She is here to live fully, to be present in the details, to embrace all of it—the joy, the grief, the expansion, the unknown.
And so, as I step forward, I let the old stories fall away. I create space. I clear the metaphorical and physical shelves.
I anchor into the safety of the home I have been building within me—my inner sanctuary. And I trust in what I know from the deep place within me.
With love,
Raina
Finding Stillness
P.S. In the coming weeks, I’ll share more about what it means to build a home within—and how this inner foundation has changed the way I move through the world and care for myself. But for now, I’m simply honoring this threshold. The leaving behind. And the gentle courage it takes to return to ourselves.
(Very excited to bring some tarot wisdom back into this space!)
A READING FOR THE WEEK AHEAD:
As we enter the week, the Nine of Swords reversed brings a softening of the mind—a gentle shift away from fear, worry, or self-blame. This card signals the beginning of a release, an opening to meet our thoughts with compassion instead of critique. We may notice where grief is loosening its grip, where clarity begins to return, and where a new kind of gentleness is becoming possible.
We’re moving toward the lush invitation of The Empress, who calls us to expand our capacity for receiving, pleasure, and self-worth. She reminds us that rest, joy, and care are not indulgences—they are birthrights. At the same time, we’re letting go of The Fool reversed, shedding the fear that’s kept us from saying yes to the unknown. The week invites us to meet our inner hesitation with tenderness and step forward anyway, rooted in trust and ready to receive.
If you’ve made it this far, I wanted to say hello from this month’s solo retreat…
I’m looking out at the Columbia River as I write to you. The sky is gray and darkening by the minute. My window is open, and I can smell the rain on the horizon and hear two bald eagles calling to one another from atop a radio tower. My candle is lit, and this song is playing.
Yesterday, I took a nap. A long walk. Many deep breaths. I watched the sky open over the ocean and let myself twirl in a circle on the sand, arms outstretched.
I felt scared to leave on Friday—scared to step away from my life, family, work, and into the stillness of being alone, where I can finally listen to what’s been quietly asking to be heard. But as soon as I placed my feet on the sand and looked out at the ocean, the fear melted away. I felt like myself again.
And I was reminded—yet again—that even though it’s scary, even though the same voices show up each time I do this (How could you be so selfish? What gives you the right to take this time? Who do you think you are? You’ll pay for this later.), every single time I turn toward myself with the kindness of giving myself what I most need… I am met by the deep, expansive embrace of connection, freedom, aliveness.
I locate myself again. And with that, the spell of inner judgment breaks, the heart opens, the earth cradles, the wind whispers, the water nourishes.
And somewhere out there, a thread of light connects us through it all. And we remember that we are not ever truly alone. And thank goodness for that.
INVITATIONS / OFFERINGS:
Creative Support: We are booking projects ready to begin in May! If you know of anyone looking for creative support, branding, design, copywriting, etc. please share the Finding Stillness Studio with them.
Integrative Coaching: A new offering coming soon!
Stille Shop: A wellspring of support for tending to the inner tides.
Did you think of someone while reading this letter? Feel free to pass it along to them ♡
A note on imperfection & typos — Being blessed with the gift of dyslexia means typos often sneak in, sometimes comically. As I continue disentangling from perfectionism and sharing more freely, I’m spending less time editing and trusting it’s okay to show up just as I am. Please know that any typos you spot reflect my imperfect human nature, not a lack of care or devotion. (I know this needs no explanation, but openly acknowledging this part of myself is deeply healing, so thank you for witnessing.)
Thank you, but no thank you, Dave Ramsey.
Love you so much thank you for the morning blessings <3
Wow, yes. My sweet kindred! I love reading your words and find myself in them. Beautiful musings. The world needs us!