There’s a moment that keeps visiting me lately—not loud, but persistent. A whisper I can’t shake.
It says: “Obedience is not just about discipline—it’s about faith.”
Faith to follow the quiet pull toward the work that moves me. The work that heals others. The work that lights something sacred within me.
Not the performative path. Not the well-lit corporate climb that looks good on paper but feels muted in purpose.
For so long, we confuse obedience with obligation. We think it means falling in line, checking the boxes, being the “good girl” in rooms that weren’t built to see us fully.
But I’m learning that obedience, real obedience, is being faith-less enough to do the work. Not faith-less in belief—but faith-less in logic. In what makes sense to others. In what keeps me boxed into someone else’s blueprint of success.
Because the work I’m doing now? It’s not just motivating—it’s moving. It’s growing revenue and reach in real time, not just for clients, but for communities. It’s having conversations that shift self-perception, that challenge generational norms, that create sacred space in the in-between of identity, ambition, and healing.
We say we want to be brave. We repost the quotes. We hype the girlboss ethos. But then the options show up. The real ones. The offers pending. The secure path calling. The safe role. The familiar rhythm of salaries, systems, and standard benefits.
Do you take what’s secure? Or do you leap into what’s aligned?
That’s where I am.
And yes—it is a blessing to have a choice. I honor that fully. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the tug of comfort. The temptation of predictability.
But what is bravery if I cave to comfort?
What do I tell my daughters if I don’t live it? If I speak of dreams and detours and divine purpose, but choose predictability when purpose feels inconvenient?
No—this doesn’t mean I choose recklessness. I move wisely. Strategically. I honor quality of life, security, and sustainability. But I refuse to worship comfort. Because life isn’t lived on autopilot. Legacy isn’t built in the lull of routine.
It’s shaped in the moments we say yes to the unfamiliar. To the road that asks more of us—but offers everything we never knew we were missing.
This season, obedience looks like trusting that alignment is more valuable than applause. That the work that calls me is bigger than the title I left behind. That the daughter watching me doesn’t need a mother who’s perfect—she needs one who’s present, honest, and unapologetically alive.
So I’m choosing the work that may not make the most sense to others—but makes the most impact.
Because what is life, if only lived in comfort?