The Most Important Thing I’ll Create This Month Is My Life

I’ve decided to take a 30-day break from social media.

Over the past couple of years, since becoming a mother, I’ve done my best to continue showing up on these public platforms while simultaneously learning how to orient my personal life around the calling that matters most. My attention has been divided between serving a community I love and nurturing the small family God entrusted to me. More often than not, the deepest work I’ve been doing hasn’t been visible. It’s been happening in my home, in my relationships, in my body, in my faith, and in the intentional decisions that have divinely reshaped my entire life.

For a long time, I felt pressure to remain consistently visible, I felt the energetic pull of what my consistent presence means to so many people. But wholeheartedly embracing motherhood has taught me that life moves in seasons….. There are seasons where we’re called to pour ourselves out in service, and there are equally sacred seasons where we’re called inward to reflect, restore and replenish. I no longer see those periods of introspection as interruptions to my purpose. I see them as the very thing that makes authentic service possible….

That’s why I’m choosing to step away from social media for the next thirty days.

As I prepare to relocate to New York and begin an entirely nu chapter, I want to give this transition the reverence it deserves. I want to be fully present for it. I want to build a home before I work on more content. I want to establish rhythms that nourish my spirit before returning to the work of nourishing others.

I’ll be spending this month working through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, a book that feels perfectly timed for where I find myself. Creativity isn’t something I need to produce more of; it’s something I want to protect. I’m interested in rediscovering what emerges when my attention isn’t fragmented by algorithms, expectations, or the pressure to constantly share. I always want to create from overflow instead of obligation.

I’ve come to believe that every meaningful life is built on a rhythm of expansion and retreat, expression and contemplation, service and solitude. We can’t continuously pour from ourselves without making time to return to the source. Every artist, every healer, every parent, every teacher eventually gets to a point where the most productive thing they can do is pause and listen to the voice within.

This move to New York feels like more than a relocation. It feels like a return to myself. And before I arrive, I want to spend these next thirty days becoming deeply acquainted with the woman who’s making the journey.

I’ve noticed that every significant chapter in my life has required a period of intentional withdrawal. Before expansion, there has always been solitude. Before clarity, there has always been silence. I’ve learned not to fear those seasons anymore. They’re often where God introduces me to the next version of myself.

One of the things I’m already realizing is how much of life conditions us to consume before we create. We wake up and immediately absorb everyone else’s opinions, aesthetics, achievements, anxieties, and expectations before we’ve had a chance to hear our own thoughts. We scroll before we pray. We react before we reflect. We document before we’ve fully experienced the moment ourselves.

I’m curious about what my imagination sounds like when it isn’t competing with the algorithm.

I’m curious about the ideas that emerge when simply become devoted to the practice of creating.

The wiser I get, the more I overstand that creativity is a spiritual discipline. It isn’t reserved for artists, musicians, or writers. Creativity is the way we approach our lives. It’s how we solve problems, raise children, cultivate friendships, build businesses, and respond to suffering. Every day we’re creating something……either consciously or unconsciously.

So this month, I’m giving myself permission to disappear.

Not from my purpose.

Not from my community.

Just from the constant demand to be perceived.

I’m looking forward to slow mornings with tea and my journal. Reading without interruption. Long walks through neighborhoods that will soon feel like home. Exploring museums, bookstores, and parks. Writing pages that no one may ever read. Letting ideas remain unfinished until they’re fully formed. Learning a nu city by instinct instead of GPS. Allowing myself to be a student again.

I don’t believe every sacred thing needs immediate visibility.

I’ve shared so much of my life publicly over the years, and I’m deeply grateful for this community. You’ve watched me celebrate births, mourn losses, rebuild after heartbreak, question long-held beliefs, deepen my relationship with God, and continually choose growth over comfort. Thank you for giving me the grace to evolve in public.

But I also believe every teacher needs seasons where they become the student again.

Every prophet needs seasons where they simply listen.

Every artist needs seasons where they refill the well instead of drawing from it.

That’s what these next thirty days are for.

When I return, I don’t want to come back with more content.

I want to come back with more life.

Because I’ve learned that the deepest work we ever create isn’t something we publish.

It’s the person we become while no one is watching.