What Is Your Life in Service Of?

A friend reached out to me recently after reading one of our blogs. Her message wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t even full of anguish. It was quieter than that. But I heard it. The whisper beneath her words. The pause between her sentences. The ache that so many of us carry.

She wanted to talk. Not just about the blog, but about her life. About how she’s been feeling. About the way things are moving, or not moving. About the undercurrent of exhaustion that can live in the bones of a woman who’s been holding it all together for too long.

We spoke, heart to heart. And in that space, something opened.

We began to talk about how most of us are living lives not by design, but by default. Default settings handed down by culture, family, expectation. Auto-pilot living. Calendar-driven days. Tasks checked off like proof that we are still alive. And yet, beneath all of it… a question.

What is my life in service of right now? And how do I feel about that?

These questions hang in the air like sacred bells, soft and undeniable. They call us back—not to shame, but to remembrance.

Because here’s the thing we came to in our conversation:

Humans were never meant to do life alone.

We weren’t designed for the kind of separation so many of us experience. The silence of apartment walls. The isolation masked by Instagram scrolls. The self-sufficiency so deeply worshipped that asking for help feels like failure.

We were meant for fire circles. For bread breaking. For shared tears and belly laughs. For someone to knock at the door just because they felt something in their gut said, “She needs company today.”

But we’ve built something else.

A society that prizes productivity over connection.

A system that rewards us for burning out quietly.

A culture that treats suffering as private property.

And it’s hurting us. Emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually.

We are lonely, anxious, inflamed, disembodied.

We are exhausted and overstimulated and somehow still… bored.

And under it all, we are longing to feel something real.

So I ask you now, with no judgment—just love:

What is your life in service of right now?

The hustle? The image? The old script?

Or something else entirely?

And how do you feel about that?

These questions aren’t here to shame us.

They’re invitations.

To pause.

To listen.

To choose again.

Because you don’t have to do life the way it was handed to you.

You are allowed to rewrite the terms.

You are allowed to stop surviving and start remembering.

And you are not alone.

Not now.

Not ever.