19: Patience is action

This episode came from a voice note I left for a friend walking through a similar, but different, season in her marriage.

And what came through was this:

⚡️ Patience is action.

Not collapsed patience. Not abandoning yourself. But awake patience — the kind that watches, listens, gathers, and waits until the next right action has roots.

EXPLORE:

• Why patience can be a deeply active choice
• The difference between collapsed patience and awake patience
• How urgency can be the nervous system asking for relief
• Why the feminine path often moves in spirals, phases, and moonlight
• Why relationships are not linear agreements or business plans
• Why your partner cannot be your entire emotional ecosystem
• How to discern what is a phase, what is a pattern, and what is worth patiently waiting for

This is an episode for the woman in the in-between.

The woman who is watching.
The woman who is learning timing.
The woman who wants to move from truth, not panic.
The woman learning that sometimes patience is the move.

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:03

This episode came from two different conversations I had today. One was a voice note I left for a friend, which is what I'm going to be focusing on mostly here. And then the other one, the topic presented itself again in my Sent Priestess program when we were having our sister circle. The voice note was one where you think you're just having a conversation with a person, and then halfway through it you realize, oh, there is something more here, something larger than the two of us, something that belongs in the room with other women. She and I are walking through similar and different seasons in our marriages, which is wild because the details are different, our homes are different, our men are different, the history is different, and still there is this shared underworld, this shared initiation, this place where the old way of measuring strength does not quite work anymore. And what came through in that voice note was this patience is action. And I know it might sound too simple and even cliche. I hear myself say it out loud and I get it. And it may be super annoying if you are also in the thick of it, because when something is uncertain in your marriage, in your family, in your finances, your body, your future, patience can feel like the thing people tell you to have when you do not know what else to say. Like, just be patient, give it time, let it unfold. And sometimes that lands beautifully when it's said by the right person. Other times it feels like someone handed you a linen napkin when your house is on fire. So we're gonna slow it down here because I'm speaking about a very specific kind of patience. A patience that is awake, that has eyes, that is gathering information, a patience that has her hand on her own heart and her feet on the floor. This is the patience of a woman who is watching reality reveal itself. She is listening, she is feeling, she is deciding what is hers to carry and what belongs to someone else. She is allowing the right action to become more clear instead of forcing herself into a move just to relieve the discomfort of waiting. That is the kind of patience I am here today with. And that is action. Our culture loves the visible move, the text sent, the meeting scheduled, the decision made, paperwork filed, boundary spoken, the plan, the proof, the clean before and after. That is all very linear. And when I speak about masculine and feminine energy, I'm not speaking about men and women as fixed little categories. I am speaking about expansive energies, patterns, ways of moving. Men and women both embody masculine and feminine qualities. The masculine, at its highest expression, gives structure, direction, protection, clarity. It can say, here is the plan, here is the container, here is where we are going. And thank God for that. We need structure, we need provision, we need decisions, we need the line drawn, we need the calendar, and the movement. But in our overtly patriarchal culture, masculine energy can become flattened into productivity, control, performance, achievement, and measurable growth. It starts to sound like a business plan. What is the goal? What is the timeline? What's the ROI? How about this metric? Are we growing? Are we succeeding? Are we failing? And this is where relationships can get so misunderstood because an intimate partnership is not a business. It has agreements, yes. It has responsibilities, yes. It has finances and logistics, perhaps children, homes, calendars, and very earthly things that need tending. But the relationship itself is alive. It is not a quarterly report. It's not always in an up into the right growth pattern. There is the growth of one person, the growth of another, and the evolution of the relationship as its own living field. And often those three things are not happening at the same pace at all. Sometimes one person is in a deep underworld while the other is holding the surface of daily life. Sometimes one is waking up to something they've avoided for years. Sometimes one person is grieving and one person is expanding. Sometimes one is ready to speak and the other is still learning how to listen. And sometimes one person is in the spiral while the other one keeps looking for the spreadsheet. And I say this with all the tenderness because I understand the desire for the spreadsheet. I understand wanting the clear plan, the clean answer, the timeline, the proof that something is moving. But relationships, real relationships, especially long relationships, are full of phases. A hard season does not always mean the whole thing is broken. A quiet season does not always mean love is gone. A winter does not always equal death. And sometimes winter is just winter. Sometimes the roots are doing something we cannot see yet. This is where the feminine spiral matters. The feminine at her highest expression understands phases. She understands descent and return. She understands winter. She understands that something can look quiet on the outside and still be changing underneath. She understands that healing is rarely efficient, and this is hard in a culture that wants everything to be efficient. But relationships aren't efficient. They are intimate. They are even inconvenient. They ask us to mature in places we did not even know we were immature. They ask us to stay in relationship when the fantasy burns off and the real human being is standing in front of us. They ask us to learn timing, to learn repair, to learn how to come back. Doctors John and Julie Gottman, they talk about bids for connection, these small moments where one person reaches for the other. Maybe it's a comment, a question, a touch, a look, a little come here, be with me in this. And the health of relationship is built in a large part through the pattern of how we respond to those bids. Do we turn toward or away? Or do we miss it completely because we are so defended, so busy, so flooded, so alone inside of ourselves? That all matters. Because the health of a relationship is not only whether both people are constantly improving as individuals. It is whether they can be in relationship to one another while they are changing. Can I turn toward you when you are having a hard time? Can you turn toward me when I am tender? Can we listen before fixing? Can we make repairs after rupture? Can we learn each other again? Can we allow this relationship to have seasons without calling every winter a death? That is a much more mature understanding of growth. It is not only growth as achievement, it is growth as capacity, capacity to stay, capacity to tell the truth, capacity to listen, capacity to repair, capacity to hold your own nervous system without making your partner the only source of your peace. Capacity to witness someone else's growth without trying to control the exact shape and speed of it. And men need support in this too, deep support, more than many of them have. There's a lot of conversation about women being lonely, and that is very real. And also, more men are more lonely than any of us realize. Many men do not have places to go with the truth of their lives. They may have business partners, golf friends, gym friends, group chats, professional networks, but that's not always the same as having men who can sit with the complexity of relationships. They can sit in complexity of marriage, the complexities of shame, fear, desire, failure, repair, fatherhood, and emotional growth. That is a real ache in our culture. And when men do not have other grounded men and elder men to process with, the marriage can become the only place their inner life lands. And that's too much for a wife to hold alone. And it is also too little for a man to receive. Because a wife can love him deeply, she can witness him, she can call him forward, she can hold space in certain seasons, but she cannot be his entire emotional ecosystem, just like he can't be hers. This is where spiritual practice becomes essential. Every human needs an anchor that is larger than the relationship, a place to bring the ache, a place to bring the fear, a place to bring the question, what is mine to do? Because we cannot rely on our partner to regulate us 24 hours a day, and we cannot make our partner the only doorway to peace. That will crush the relationship. We need practices that help us feel guided and protected on our own walk while we are still in relationship with the other person. This is where peace is cultivated. And maybe for you it's through one of these or a few of these ways prayer, meditation, walking, journaling, being in nature, lighting a candle, sitting at an altar, reading sacred or ancient texts, harnessing your breath, the practice of yoga, men's circles, women's circles, a consistent practice where you remember I have a soul, I have a body, I have a path, and I am being asked to listen. Because we are both. We are spirit and earth. We have souls and we also have mortgages, we have intuition and we also have calendars. We have vows and we also have nervous systems. We have spiritual lessons and we have text messages, school pickups, bills, bodies, histories, wounds, and children watching how we love. There is a constant communication between the soul and the earthly life, a constant reconciliation. What matters here? What is worth tending to? What is worth waiting for? What is asking for patience? What is asking for movement? What is a phase? What is a pattern? What is sacred? And what is no longer aligned? And this is why patience is such a profound practice, because patience gives us time to listen across both worlds. The spiritual and the practical, the soul and the body, the marriage and the individual, the wound and the wisdom, the phase and the truth. Patience says, I am willing to let the deeper answer arrive. And when that deeper answer comes, then action has roots. The linear mind wants a straight line. Are we together? Are we ending? Are we repairing? Is this working? Is he in? Am I in? What's the timeline? What's the answer? Where is this going? And of course we want to know, the primitive mind loves certainty. The nervous system loves predictability. The mind loves a map it can read in daylight. But some seasons do not move by daylight. Some move by moonlight. They move in phases, they move in spirals, they move through dreams, sensations, conversations, quiet moments at the kitchen sink, the thing your body feels before your mind has language for it. The feminine path often moves like the moon. Sometimes full and bright and obvious, sometimes a thin silver crescent, sometimes hidden in darkness. But hidden does not mean absent. She's still moving. She's still there. Just because the movement is invisible does not mean nothing is happening. Sometimes you are metabolizing. Sometimes you're watching patterns. Sometimes you're letting someone reveal themselves. Sometimes you're letting your own body come back online before you decide what is true. And sometimes you are choosing the dignity of the pause. And I think that is where so many of us can misunderstand our own selves. Because the old programming says, if I'm not doing something obvious, I must be doing nothing. But what if your restraint is a form of action? What if your pause is a form of leadership? What if your ability to wait until the words are clean is one of the most loving things you can offer yourself, your partner, your marriage, your children, your future? This does not mean silence forever. This does not mean tolerating what harms you. This does not mean making patience prettier than truth. It means you are learning timing. You are learning the difference between urgency and intuition. You are learning the difference between a wound that wants relief and a knowing that is ready to speak. That distinction is everything because urgency has a charge. It feels hot, it is fast, it feels like I have to do this right now or I will lose my shit. And sometimes that's true, sometimes the body knows. But many times, especially in relational rupture, urgency is the nervous system asking for relief. It wants the text sent so the tension ends. It wants the decision made so the uncertainty ends. It wants the conversation forced so the ache has somewhere to go. It wants movement because stillness feels unbearable. And I say this as a woman who can write a beautifully worded, emotionally intelligent, very persuasive text from a completely activated body. I can make it sound wise, grounded, like my truth. And sometimes, if I am honest, it is adrenaline wearing lipstick. So patience gives me a doorway, a little space, a breath between the wave and the response. Patience lets me ask, is this my truth? Or is this my fear trying to get relief? Is this my intuition? Or is this the abandoned part of me reaching for control? Is this a boundary or is this punishment dressed up as clarity? Is this the time to speak, or is this the time to let the next layer show itself? That pause is full of intelligence. It may not feel peaceful. Sometimes the pause shows up as pacing the kitchen. Sometimes it's writing the message in your notes app and letting it sit there overnight. Sometimes it's crying in the shower or picking up your phone, putting it down, picking it up again, and finally placing it across the room like it's a small wild animal. And other times it's calling the one friend who can hold the fullness of you without feeding the most activated part of you. This is patience in real life. It is earthly, it is embodied, it is a woman learning to stay with herself. And I think that matters because a lot of us have been trained to overfunction, especially mothers, especially wives, especially women who have carried the emotional weather of a family for years. We anticipate, we soften, we explain, we fill the silence, we smooth the edges, we keep the home moving, we keep the children steady, we make the invisible labor look like air. So when we pause, when we stop rushing in to carry the whole thing, it can feel strange. It can feel uncomfortable. It can feel like something is wrong. But maybe the pause is where the truth finally has room. Maybe this is where another person gets to meet their own reflection. Maybe the pause is where you stop interrupting reality. Maybe the pause is where you finally hear yourself say, I am here too. And this came up so strongly in the voice note to my friend, she said something like, There's nothing I can do. And I had this immediate, whole body response. I thought, actually, I feel the exact opposite for you. Because sometimes when a woman says there's nothing I can do, what she really means is there's no linear move that will make this less painful right now. And that is so different because she may have tremendous power. Her power may simply look different than what the outside world recognizes. Her power may look like not escalating. Her power may look like not using the children as leverage. Her power may look like holding the financial center with integrity. Her power may look like letting a man experience the consequences of his own choices without managing them for him. Her power may look like saying, I am available for repair, and I'm also watching for real movement. Her power may look like loving someone without doing their side of the work. Her power may look like staying soft enough to hear the truth and strong enough to honor what the truth requires. That is sovereignty. That is a woman standing inside herself. Now, there are people who will misunderstand your patience. They may call it weakness. They may think you are waiting around. They may project their own story onto your relationship, your choices, your timeline. They may want you to make the kind of decision that makes them feel more comfortable. But your life is not a performance for someone else's nervous system. Your partnership, your family, your body, your timing, these are intimate places. You can absolutely receive counsel, receive support. You can have people around you who tell you the truth with love. But the final discernment has to come back into your own body. Maybe asking yourself, what do I know today? What do I need more time to see? What is mine to do now? What is mine to stop caring? What is asking for my voice? What is asking for my restraint? These questions are action-oriented. And this is where the feminine is so powerful. She does not only move in straight lines, she weaves, she listens, she circles back, she tracks the pattern, she notices what repeats. She allows the truth to ripen. Think of a tapestry. You do not just yank one thread and call it complete. You watch how the threads interact. You see what is creating the image. You notice which colors keep returning. You allow the pattern to reveal itself. Then, when the time comes, you know where to place your hand. That is feminine action. It may be quieter. It may be slower than the normal activity you are used to. It may seem less impressive to the outside world, but it is deeply alive. And when the action finally comes from that place, it feels different. It has less static. It has less desperation. It has less proving. It may still shake. You may still cry. Your voice may still tremble, but underneath it there is a clean line of truth. You can feel it. This is mine to say. This is mine to do. This is the next right step. That is the kind of action patience makes possible. Patience does not erase the boundary. It helps the boundary come from the right place. Patience does not delay your truth. It helps your truth arrive with integrity. Patience does not ask you to disappear. It asks you to stay close enough to yourself that your next move actually belongs to you. And that to me is the radical work of the feminine. It is the work of the moon. It is the work of the mother. It is the work of the woman who can hold grief and love in the same body. The woman who can desire repair and still honor reality. The woman who can say I am open and also I am watching. The woman who can say I love you and also this requires movement. The woman who can say I do not have the full answer today, but I trust myself to know when the answer comes. There is so much strength in that. So if you are in a season where patience feels like the only thing available, I want you to check in with the quality of it. Is it collapsed patience or is it awake patience? Collapsed patience feels like abandoning yourself. Awake patience feels like staying with yourself. Collapse keeps making excuses. Awake keeps telling the truth. Collapse avoids what is painful. Awake looks directly at what is here. Collapse waits for someone else to choose your life. Awake lets timing, truth, and your own body inform your next move. That is the distinction, and it is everything. So maybe today the action is smaller than the world expects. Maybe the action is eating something warm, maybe taking a walk before you respond. Maybe the action is saying, I need to sleep on this. Maybe the action is writing down what happened so you stop gaslighting yourself. Maybe it's calling the friend who can hold nuance. Maybe it's sitting in the dark and letting the moon be enough. Maybe the action is speaking the sentence you have been swallowing. And maybe it's asking a direct question. Maybe the action is placing one hand on your heart, the other on your womb, and saying, I am allowed to move at the pace of truth. Because patience is not waiting for life to happen to you. Patience is participating with timing. It is listening for right action. It is refusing to be bullied by urgency. It is allowing your body to become a trustworthy place again. It is saying, I can wait when waiting is true. I can act when action is true. I can hold the in-between without giving myself away. I can love another person without making them my only anchor. I can honor the relationship without abandoning my walk with God, goddess, spirit, my soul, my body, my inner knowing. I can recognize a phase without ignoring a pattern. I can recognize a pattern without rushing the whole story to its ending. And I can trust that the next right move will come. That is patience. And patience is action.