My friend, have you ever undergone such a radical shift in perception that the world as you once knew it felt far, far away?

Perhaps dear friends or loved ones have begun to feel like strangers?

Or the routines, jobs, and roles you played that once cradled you in safety now feel stale, confining, and entrapping?

I’ve noticed this a lot in client conversations since the pandemic.

We have changed… and the lives, relationships, jobs, and patterns we once operated from no longer fit.

If this is you, you’re right on time.

Below is a short poem I wrote while processing this experience myself. Please do reply and let me know if you relate.

🤍
It hasn’t been easy to know what to say— not that many have asked.
A life-altering, identity-shifting disillusionment is as taboo as a death. Spiraling into madness, only to emerge someone new.
Here I am again.
Here I Am, possibly for the first time.
Here I Am, and no one knows me anymore.
I’m not who I was, and I don’t know how to be with you anymore.
I’m not who I was, and I don’t know what to say here anymore.
I’m not who I was, and I don’t even know if I want this anymore.
Not that anyone has asked, but it’s lonely after disillusionment.
Lonely between stories.
When the skins have been shed,
the grief felt,
the hard places in your heart, softened.
Who are you now?
Now that you can feel it all—
no buffer to diffuse your pretending?
Who are you now, when you’re no longer confused?
When you’re no longer pliable -
bending to the shape of others’ wishes?
Who are you when you can surrender the roles once you played in another’s game?
(My love, you were never going to win anyway).
Who are you when you don’t want to belong to these spaces,
the ones you once clung and climbed your way into?
Not that anyone has asked, but I like it better here.
I have space to think.
Space to feel.
Space to be.
Space to see.
It’s late winter and the brush has been cleared—
the new growth is not yet lush like they want me to flaunt on the Internet.
I don’t have anything to say.
Yet entire worlds are slowly bursting forth from within.
Nature has done what nature does-
everything in its right season.
There’s room in this fertile ground.
I composted my disappointments,
let my grief rot and decay.
I can dream again.
This is the stage of protection.
Of gestation.
Of nurturance.
Of patience.
Of pulling the weeds and clearing what’s now dead.
I can see the fresh green emerging.
There is still much to burn away.
The space between worlds is lonely, and I think I like it better this way.
Not that anyone has asked, but I’m doing just fine.
Wonderful really, considering.
I’ve contended with my history. (It was worse than I remember).
I’ve taken responsibility for my part. (I didn’t trust what I knew).
I’ve grieved my harms and offered forgiveness. (It was me who I needed to forgive, ultimately).
I’ve cleared a way inside for all this new life, and what’s left within is finally all mine.
Much to my surprise, no, I don’t want to tell you about it.
No, I don’t want to optimize this.
No, I don’t want your eyes on it.
Too fresh, too beautiful, too sacred— this is all for me.
Not that anyone asked, but I’d prefer you didn’t.
I’m not taking questions.
I’m not offering explanations.
I am what I Am— and the Lucky Few will meet me here.
🤍

Friend, I have found that this season of loneliness often comes after significant transitions– like a death, or a divorce (or a global pandemic).

It can happen after leaving an abusive relationship or a toxic religion. It can happen in receiving a diagnosis, or reclaiming your sexuality, or coming out. It can even happen in transitioning jobs, a profound spiritual experience or simply pursuing a life more aligned.

Through the disillusionment of old identities, stories, and ways of being in the world, loneliness becomes a sacred companion. And it must.

It must so you can feel yourself– know yourself, maybe for the first time. It must so you learn the true shape of your edges, and the textures of your yeses and your no’s. It must, because this loneliness is part of the alchemical process of revealing your True Identity, and sharing your Sacred Heart.

It must so that when you return, (and you will return) you are stable in your knowing.

Secure in your ways. Solid in your center.

Allow this loneliness to pickle you in the brine of Grace.

I think Hafiz says it best:

“Don't surrender your loneliness so quickly. Let it cut you more deep. Let it ferment and season you as few humans and even divine ingredients can. Something missing in my heart tonight has made my eyes so soft, my voice so tender, my need for God absolutely clear.”

Here’s to you– The one willing. The one leaping to freedom. The lonely one. The scared one. The one misunderstood. The one ready to show their Sacred Heart to the world.

May the lucky few meet you there.

xo,

Madison

P.S. I am now taking applications for The Sacred Heart Coven– an intimate 4-month group coaching cohort.

You can expect 12 weeks of shame-eradicating, heart-expanding, integrity-bolstering, group coaching that will finally allow you to show up as your True Self, say what you mean to say, and do what you’re here to do.

We begin the first week of April, and seats are very limited.