Facing the Edge with Courage and Surrender

Questioning everything that's left

The Forbidden Dream

These past weeks, illness has left me face to face with questions I never wanted to ask. Who am I when I can no longer do what once defined me? What is left when the roles and rhythms fall away?

I don’t have answers yet. Some days I barely have strength. What I have is the practice of listening. My body whispers for rest. My spirit whispers: don’t force, don’t rush. Ceremony is coming soon, and I feel it will ask me to lay down even more.

This feels terrifying at times. And yet, beneath the fear, I sense something waiting to be born. When I paint, I glimpse it. Each brushstroke feels like a conversation with a part of me I haven’t met fully yet. A new language is emerging — one of surrender, of presence, of becoming.

I’ve also begun to feel the presence of archetypal energies stirring in me. The Warrior who no longer needs armor. The Priestess who carries quiet truth instead of control. The Mother whose resilience threads through me from generations back. I can feel them walking me toward ceremony, reminding me that this path is not only mine, but part of a much larger story.

It’s unsettling, yes — but also strangely hopeful. Because every time I’ve been brought to my knees before, something new has eventually emerged. Collapse, I am learning, is never the final word.

👉 If you are standing in your own season of unraveling, questioning everything that’s left, please know this: you don’t have to have it figured out. Sometimes the most courageous act is to wait, to listen, and to let the next step reveal itself in its own time.

With love to you all,

Debra

P.S. I haven’t said much yet, but a book I’ve been weaving for years is almost ready to share. Remembering Myself-A Journey Through the Threads of Time is the story of my mother line, of silence, survival, and the threads that shaped me. I’ll tell you more soon.