Allowing the Pause

I’ve been holding a lot of duality and contrast lately.

The excitement, celebration and expansion of launching RB Journal—while also moving through something deeply personal I didn’t share at the time: a reconnection that stirred something tender and ancient in me. One that invited me to open my heart, speak truths I hadn’t voiced before and feel deeply. Where he made it safe for me to show up in that way. And in doing so, awakened both joy and ache—desire, grief, beauty and a reckoning with parts of myself I’d long left untouched.

Truthfully, being in that reconnection—and everything I had to sit with after—overshadowed the Journal’s launch. A project that had lived only in concept for so long and was finally being brought to life should have been met with joy, celebration, recognition… even if only by me.

But instead, I moved into contraction.

The outward expansion—launching, opening, being seen and vulnerable—naturally pulled me back inward. I’m familiar with this rhythm now. The way my body and nervous system ebb and flow. I now know not to fight it.

Both were expansive—each in their own way.

And what I’ve had to sit with, move through and now integrate… is no small thing.

I’ve also passed through a period of sickness that feels more like a shedding.
A deep integration.

As I’ve come to learn, when the nervous system expands, it also needs space to contract.

So that’s what I’ve been doing—contracting.

What I’ve been wrestling with in this pause is the story of “keeping up momentum.”
Of being consistent.
Of showing up.
Of keeping up appearances.

I wonder what it looks like to you—my beautiful readers.

I wonder how it lands when you’ve seen failed attempts in the past.

Times when I’ve said, “I’m doing this,” only to fall away…
Because of fear. Because of resistance.

You’ve seen the big push—the frenzied creative outburst—and then… nothing.

Crickets.

And I’ve sat with the fear that this might look like another failed attempt.
Another piece of evidence that I’m not ready. That I can’t do it.
That I can’t meet expectations—mine or anyone else’s.

But this time is different.

The truth is:
I’m not a consistent being.

I’m a Manifestor in Human Design.

Consistency is not in our wheelhouse.

That big push—that burst of energy and creative outpouring—followed by stillness, rest and nothingness… that is our rhythm.

It’s how I’m wired.
It’s how my creative flow moves.
It’s how my body lives.

Privately, I honour the shit out of that part of myself.

But as I let myself be seen more publicly, I’ve wanted to hide it.

Afraid to be seen in that inconsistency.

Because our culture praises productivity and rewards predictability.

And I’ve feared what it might mean about me…
To be different.
To be out of step.
To not promise sameness.

But I need to let myself off the hook.

I need to allow my body its natural rhythms—and feel safe being seen in that.

To make this my most authentic expression.

To show what it looks like to rebel against the belief that consistency and constant productivity are the only measures of success or worth.

So I’m listening.

Allowing myself space and time when my body say:
Pause. Rest.

Because on the other side of this integration is a new version of me.

Waiting to land.
To settle.
To be expressed in a whole new way.

While I rest, integrate, and marinate on what’s next—how to share what’s transpired in this short but potent portal—I want to do it in a way that feels authentic and safe.

Something that won’t overwhelm or flood your inbox with chaos, but instead, lands gently. With intention.

So I’m returning to the very foundations of self-care.

A stripped-back season.

Where nourishment is the priority.
Where it’s the job.

I’ve been journaling.
Taking long showers by candlelight.
Wearing my warmest, softest clothes.
Tapping (EFT)—to release what no longer serves, and to rewire new beliefs and neural pathways to support who I’m becoming.

I’ve been reading:
Throttled by Lauren Asher
Blush (Book 1) by Helen Hardt
Bloom (Book 2) by Helen Hardt

Yes—there’s an erotic theme.
I’ll talk more about that when I reemerge.

I’m also deeply thankful for the masculine structures a past version of me created:
Our weekly rhythm—the same things on the same days.
Our seasonal meal planning—the same meals for a whole season.

I know what’s for dinner on Monday night.
I know what goes on the shopping list.

My brain doesn’t need to be constantly “on.”
I don’t need to anticipate what’s next—because she already did.

She set the rhythm.
She gave me structure.

Now, my feminine gets to fall into it.
To soften into it.
To feel held by it.

This is where I am right now.

And I’m giving myself full permission to simply be.

To be here without shame.
Without pressure.
Without judgment.

Until next time,
Rhian xx