I Need To Hear Myself Think

I’m stepping away to think again.

Nothing dramatic happened. I’m not trending, and I’m not at my breaking point.
My head just feels full.

Before I can fully process one thought or perspective, it’s intercepted by another. A headline. A hot take. A swipe. A sound bite pretending to be wisdom.

I used to love social media as a melting pot of belief systems, backgrounds, and lived experiences. It stretched me. It challenged me. It invited empathy. Lately, if I’m honest, it has clouded my ability to process the world and people from my own vantage point. I don’t feel informed so much as inundated.

At times, it feels like I’m being gently lulled into apathy and stagnation. Not by evil or opposition, but by ease. By algorithms that decide what deserves my attention before I ever do.

I don’t want the cause of death for my confidence, identity, or purpose to be an algorithm.

I need to find myself again. Or, more accurately, I need to create enough space to hear myself think.

When I first entered this digital space, I wasn’t trying to build anything. I was blogging to find clarity. I cleared my head by pecking away at keys. In that honesty, I found community. Not because I was loud, but because I was clear.

Somewhere along the way, engagement became louder than discernment. Output began to outpace processing. And as someone who leads, teaches, and shepherds others, I feel a responsibility to return to clarity first. I cannot engage and find myself at the same time.

That tension has been sitting with me for a while.

Scripture gives language to what I’m sensing. When Paul writes, “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus,” he is not speaking poetically. He understood that successful conversion would hinge on the mind. Not behavior management. Not public allegiance. Transformation would require an emptying.

The old ways of thinking had to be displaced for a new mentality to take root.

Sometimes in church, we talk about “the next” as another blessing, another level, another dimension of power. But the next thing I sense for myself is far quieter.

It is rest.

Resting in the fullness of who I am in God and releasing who I know I can no longer be. Resting from the pressure to comment, contextualize, or keep pace with every conversation. Resting long enough to metabolize what I believe rather than borrowing language that simply sounds right.

I don’t know how long this break will be. At first, I sensed forty days. That number carries meaning, but I’m not holding it rigidly. I trust I’ll know when it’s time to return. Not because the noise quiets down, but because what I’m carrying becomes so clear and sure that it can withstand the complexity of such a dynamic digital climate.

I’ll still be preaching. I’ll still be leading. I’ll still be writing. You may see my face and hear what God is teaching me through The Potter’s House or Woman Evolve social channels. And when it feels aligned, I’ll write here.

But for now, the stillness on my page is intentional.

Let it be a prophecy of the stillness I’m pursuing.

Clarity is worth protecting.
And I’m choosing to protect it.