I know I showed up. Loudly. Boldly. I spoke my dreams into rooms and rituals. I spent money, took trainings, achieved certifications. I tried every angle.
I know I wanted it so badly to work—the hustle, the magic, the manifesting.
I know I did the vision boards and the moon circles and the candles. I did the gritty work, too—emails, contracts, networking, small business fairs, long nights, endless giving.
I know I believed in what I was doing. But it just didn’t happen the way I hoped.

I know that makes me feel silly sometimes. Small. Like I got fooled.
I know it stings that the rituals didn’t save me from the grind. That the big dreams didn’t catch fire in the way I was promised they would.
I know it hurts to stand here and say, “It didn’t work out.” I know it feels like quitting just because it got a little hard.
And yet—

I know staying because I “should” is worse.
I know staying because I “promised” is poison if my soul has moved on.
I know that sometimes, things are just hard and that they just don’t work out and that beating a dead horse is only going to make me sad and angry.
I know I don’t want to be my own cruel boss. Not anymore.

I know maybe this is the old programming still whispering: “You’re a failure if you don’t do something big, important, obituary-worthy.”
I know that voice is loud, but it isn’t the whole truth.

I know maybe the magic was never about making the hustle work—maybe the magic is that I finally know when to walk away.
I know I can choose softer. Quieter. Realer.
I know I can build small safe rooms instead of chasing big hollow stages. (Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted to do anyway? Create safe spaces?)
I know my worth isn’t measured in followers, bookings, or bright headlines.

I know I am allowed to rest now (even if that shitty programming tells me I’m wasting time or being lazy).
I know the magic is still mine—just different. Just enough.

That’s what I know right now.