Thresholds Archives - Love Letter Creative

The Other Side of the Threshold: What Nobody Talks About After You Cross It

eveeh — Tue, 12 May 2026 13:00:00 +0000

I took a leap last week and then felt strangely, unexpectedly awful. Here’s what I learned.

People talk a lot about thresholds — what it takes to reach them, what it takes to cross them. The courage required. The fear to move through. The moment everything changes.

I’ve talked about thresholds too. I probably will again.

But something happened after I launched Love Letter Creative last week that I haven’t seen talked about very much, and I think it needs to be said.

Because if you’ve ever done something big — really big, the kind of thing you’ve been building toward for a long time — and found yourself feeling strangely worse on the other side, I want you to know: that’s not a sign something went wrong. That might be exactly what expansion feels like.

The Launch

Launching Love Letter Creative was one of the most momentous occasions of my life.

Not because of the website or the offerings or the emails going out into the world — though all of that mattered. But because of what it represented. How far I’ve come. How much love I now hold for myself. How much trust I carry in what I’m capable of.

I expected to feel the continuation of that on the other side. The joy. The energy. The relief of finally sharing something so deeply mine with the world.

Instead, the last couple of days I’ve felt off balance. Uncomfortable. Vaguely unnerved.

I wasn’t expecting that.

What’s Actually Happening

I’ve been sitting with these feelings rather than running from them. Trying to understand what they’re communicating. Working — consciously, intentionally — not to numb out or reach for old patterns.

And what I’ve come to understand is this: this is what expansion feels like from the inside.

I’ve never launched a business the way I launched Love Letter Creative. I’ve never shared this much of myself with the world. I’ve never believed in myself enough to trust the flow of my own life quite like this.

I’m in a moment in time I’ve never experienced before.

My system is coming down off of the emotional high of the launch — a literal jumping off a cliff. And now I’m falling through the sky, not yet knowing when my wings are going to open. Moving forward on nothing but faith in myself.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s a little bit scary. There’s a small voice asking holy shit, what was I thinking?

And I’m learning to love that voice, too.

The Part Nobody Talks About

In the process of trying to understand what it takes to do things that scare us, we’ve begun to romanticize the threshold.

We talk about the courage it takes to leap. The transformation waiting on the other side. The beautiful, hard work of becoming.

What we don’t talk about as much is the in-between — the space after the leap and before the landing. The place where you’re no longer on solid ground and not yet flying. Where the high has faded and the new normal hasn’t settled in yet.

I used to think the threshold was the scariest part.

But falling through the sky after feeling so deeply connected to what I was building? That’s a different kind of scary. It’s the kind of scary that asks you to hold on to yourself when there’s nothing external to hold onto.

And that’s exactly the invitation.

What I’m Choosing Instead

When the discomfort showed up, I had a choice. Reach for the old patterns or hold on to what I know to be true:

That Love Letter Creative is what I’m meant to be doing.
That everything always works out in my favor.
That I love myself and am strong enough to handle anything.
That I trust myself to build the life I imagine.

Not the old patterns. Not the cycles that were never mine to begin with. Not the parts of me that learned to shrink and called it safety.

So I chose to take small steps each day to reaffirm the direction I’m moving in — even through what felt like an almost depressed fog.

I went on Pinterest and found t-shirt designs that inspired me for the shop I’m building. I listened to a Pura Rasa manifestation affirmation video while I slept. I pulled cards from my tarot and oracle decks. I held one of my favorite crystals. I went for a walk and focused on hearing the birds sing and the butterflies fluttering. I made the last of my diamond painting galaxy coasters.

Small things. Creative things. Things that kept me in the flow of creation no matter how small.

This used to be a pattern I gave up easily when emotions overwhelmed me — I’d let myself drown in them until weeks or months had gone by.

This time was different. I was able to be a partner to those emotions rather than adding to them. I held space and love for those parts of me. I didn’t shame myself into action or push through with force. I chose it because I genuinely wanted to — because these things felt good and supportive and true.

Are You in a Similar Place?

If you’re in your own free-fall right now — after a launch, a leap, a decision, a change — I want to say something directly to you:

The discomfort you feel is not a sign that you made a mistake.

It’s a sign that you did something real. Something that mattered enough to move you. Something your whole system is now reorganizing around.

The new chapter requires a new version of you, and that reorganization takes time. It’s allowed to be uncomfortable. It’s allowed to feel like too much. It’s allowed to be messy and unclear and a little bit terrifying.

You’re not doing it wrong.

You’re doing it for real.

How I’m Moving Through It

I’m not waiting for the discomfort to pass before I show up. I’m throwing my hands in the air and screaming WEEEEEEE as I figure it out.

Because that’s the only way through — not around, not back, not waiting until everything feels settled and certain. But through, with full presence, with trust in yourself, with the willingness to feel it all.

There’s no abandoning yourself just because it’s uncomfortable. That’s the whole point of the leap.

I’m very much looking forward to flying.

And if you’re in the fall right now — I hope you’ll join me.

The post The Other Side of the Threshold: What Nobody Talks About After You Cross It appeared first on Love Letter Creative.

Out in the World: A Love Letter on Launch Day

eveeh — Tue, 05 May 2026 21:23:53 +0000

Today is a day I will remember for the rest of my life. And I didn’t want to let it pass without writing you a love letter about it.

The Day Everything Became Real

Today is the day. Love Letter Creative has officially launched and is out in the world. I am out in the world. In what feels like truly the first time as my full, authentic, unapologetic self. Embodying what I now know was always mine: self-love at a pure and sacred level that feels destined.

I’ve been sitting with this moment all morning. Trying to find the right words for what it feels like to finally, fully arrive somewhere you’ve been walking toward for a very long time. And what I keep coming back to is this: it doesn’t feel like an ending. It doesn’t feel like a finish line I’ve crossed. It feels like a beginning I’ve been brave enough to choose.

Building Love Letter Creative has been the truest form of love I have ever shown myself. Because it was built when I didn’t have all the answers. When the path wasn’t clear. When fear was louder than certainty. And I trusted myself anyway.

What It Actually Took to Get Here

I want to be honest with you about something, because honesty is the foundation everything here is built on.

This did not come easy.

Figuring out what services I wanted to offer took almost a Herculean effort — not because I didn’t know what I was good at, but because there was fear wrapped around every single one of them. Offering tarot and oracle readings is terrifying. I’ve kept my spiritual journey rather hidden for most of my life, never put it in the spotlight, and taking this step brought up quite a few moments of inner panic and doubt.

The kind of doubt that loops.

What if people think I’m crazy?
What if I don’t have strong enough gifts and I don’t help anyone?
What if I’m called a fraud and a trickster?
What if people won’t see the value in my pricing?

These questions would circle around my mind as I was building the site. Sometimes quietly, in the background. Sometimes loudly, at 2am, when the doubt felt biggest and the vision felt furthest away. And each and every time, I’d hold space for those fears — really let them be heard — and then respond with one simple question:

So what?

So what if some people think I’m crazy? I’d rather be crazy believing in miracles and the magic within this world than shrink myself again, falling back into old patterns and giving away my power.

So what if I’m called a trickster or fraud, or they don’t like my pricing? I’m not forcing anyone to pay for my services and I’m not meant to be for everyone.

I know that the right people will feel connected to me, to my offerings, and I know my gifts will help — because they already have. I just didn’t acknowledge they were gifts. I didn’t acknowledge there was value within them.

That acknowledgment? That was its own kind of revolution.

Why Love Letter Creative Exists

Love Letter Creative exists because I believe devotion is a practice. Not a destination. Not something you earn when you’ve finally got it all figured out. It’s a choice you make — again and again — in the moments when everything feels uncertain and the path forward isn’t clear.

I created this because I wanted a space where strategy and soul aren’t in opposition. Where you don’t have to choose between practical action and deep inner knowing. Where the planning and the unfolding can coexist.

Because here’s what I’ve learned: the people who are ready to create something meaningful — a life, a business, a creative body of work, a new version of themselves — they don’t just need a plan. They need someone who believes in what they’re building before they can fully believe in it themselves. Someone who will hold the vision steady when theirs gets blurry.

That’s what I’m here for.

Through the Love Letter Journey, the Possibility Session, Your Creatrix Code, the Breakthrough Session, Love Letter Collective, and the intuitive guidance woven through all of it — my work is to co-create with you. To bring both the structure and the spaciousness. The strategy and the soul. To sit with you in the fog and help you find your way through — not by rushing you past it, but by trusting that the fog has something to teach you too.

What I Know About Thresholds

This unfolding of LLC has been the most beautiful chapter I’ve written yet. I’ve been able to witness how far I’ve come, how much I’ve healed, the different choices I’ve made — choices that once would have felt impossible.

I’ve experienced moments throughout this journey that would have sent me into a downward tailspin so quickly I’d have smacked into the ground before I knew what happened. Unable and unwilling to pull myself up, choosing to sink into the pain and the anger and the self-defeating thoughts.

And yet, when those moments came, I chose something different. I chose to believe that at the exact same time the problem was created, so was the solution. And I was going to find it. I took action when I would have numbed and escaped before.

Every time I chose that new way of being with hard things, magic happened. The solution always presented itself when I was still enough to hear what it was.

That stillness — that’s devotion. Devotion to yourself looks like staying present when everything in you wants to run. It looks like asking “So what?” when the fear loops start. It looks like building the thing anyway, even when you can’t yet see how it will land.

I chose devotion to myself. Time and time again on this journey.

I Am What I’m Here to Help You Become

I am so proud that I am the living, breathing embodiment of what I am here to help others do. I have firsthand experience in the doubt, the blocks, the old patterns winning, and not being able to cross the threshold. I know what it feels like to stand at the edge of something and freeze. To want something so badly and simultaneously do everything in your power to stay safe from it.

I have gone so deep into the darkness and the uncomfortable parts of myself that it became comfortable. And Love Letter Creative is the rising of myself out of those depths — stronger, wiser, and more powerful than I ever could have imagined.

Because in the darkness, I found myself. And I learned that I was always the light I was seeking. I just needed to love myself devotedly enough to shine.

That’s what I want for you. Not a version of yourself that’s finally fixed or finally finished or finally worthy enough. You already are. This work is simply about returning to that truth — again and again, in whatever season you find yourself in.

An Invitation

If you’ve made it to the end of this post, something in you was meant to be here. Maybe you’re in the middle of building something. Maybe you’re standing at a threshold, not quite ready to cross it. Maybe you’ve been sitting with a dream so long it’s started to feel like it belongs to someone else.

It doesn’t.

It belongs to you. And you are worthy of every single bit of support it takes to bring it to life.
I’m so glad Love Letter Creative exists. I’m so glad you’re here.

Thank you for being along on this adventure with me. I hope something you find here inspires you to live your life as a love letter to yourself.

Because you are worthy of it.

The post Out in the World: A Love Letter on Launch Day appeared first on Love Letter Creative.

When Joy Feels Like Chaos: Learning to Become the Eye of the Storm

eveeh — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 14:00:00 +0000

What if the thing keeping you from what’s coming isn’t fear of failure — but fear of what it feels like when things actually start working?

There’s a pattern I’ve noticed in myself and in so many people doing the quiet, courageous work of building something meaningful.

Things start to shift. Dreams begin to feel more possible. The momentum is real. And then — right at the edge of it — something contracts. Something pulls back. And before long, the opening closes, the energy dissipates, and we find ourselves back at the beginning wondering what happened.

We usually blame doubt. Or fear of failure. Or not being ready.

But I’ve come to believe something different is often happening. Something more subtle, and somehow more important to understand.

Your nervous system doesn’t always know the difference between joy and threat.

When good things start arriving — when a dream begins to materialize, when life starts to match the vision we’ve been holding — it can feel chaotic. Destabilizing, even. Not because something is wrong, but because our bodies aren’t yet practiced at receiving at that level.

We’ve been trained, often for years, to associate calm with smallness and movement with danger. So when things finally start to open up, the nervous system sounds an alarm. And we listen to it. We shrink back down to the size that has always felt safe.

We cut off the very frequency that was drawing good things in.

What looks like self-sabotage is often the body trying to protect you from the unfamiliar feeling of things actually going well.

I’ve lived this cycle. I’ve watched it play out in my own life more times than I can count: the work, the shift, the opening, the contraction. The return to square one. And for a long time, I interpreted that contraction as evidence that I wasn’t ready, or that I wanted the wrong things, or that good things simply weren’t meant for me.

Now I understand it differently. The contraction wasn’t truth. It was a habit. A very old, very understandable habit of keeping myself safe.

Becoming the eye of the storm

I was on a walk recently when something I heard stopped me mid-step. The message was this:

You don’t have to stop the storm. You just have to find your center and stay there.

The eye of a storm is not the absence of chaos. It’s a point of stillness within it. And that’s the invitation — not to fight what’s swirling, not to wait until things calm down before you trust yourself, but to become the calm at the center. Grounded. Open. Unwilling to be swept into the narrative that chaos means something is wrong.

Because sometimes chaos is the shape a new level takes on its way in.

The threshold moments of our lives are rarely peaceful. They’re loud and uncertain and they ask us to hold steady in a way we haven’t had to before. And the ones who get through aren’t the ones who feel no fear — they’re the ones who feel it and stay open anyway.

What staying open actually looks like

It doesn’t look like pretending everything is fine. It doesn’t look like forcing optimism or bypassing the hard feelings.

It looks like letting the emotions move through without letting them make decisions. It looks like honoring what’s arising – the grief, the fear, the overwhelm, and then returning, again and again, to the thing you’re devoted to.

It looks like trusting that the difficulty you’re moving through is not a detour. It’s the path.

And it looks like refusing, every single day if necessary, to abandon yourself at the moment things are about to change.

The miracle is already in motion. Your job is to stay open long enough to receive it.

If you’re in a season that feels like too much right now. If the chaos feels like evidence that something is broken. I want to offer you a different interpretation.

What if you’re not falling apart? What if you’re on the threshold?

Find your center. Stay there. Let what’s coming, come. And know you are worthy of the joy you’re about to receive.

The post When Joy Feels Like Chaos: Learning to Become the Eye of the Storm appeared first on Love Letter Creative.

The Difference Between Waiting and Unfolding

eveeh — Tue, 07 Apr 2026 14:00:00 +0000

Not every pause is avoidance. Not every season of stillness means you’re stuck. But it does matter that you know which one you’re in, so you can tend to it with intention.

There’s a question I come back to often, both in my own life and in the work I do with others.

Am I in a season of genuine unfolding — or am I waiting because I’m afraid?

It sounds simple. But it’s one of the harder pieces of discernment I know, because both can feel very similar from the inside. Both involve stillness. Both involve not quite knowing what’s next.

Both can look, from the outside, like nothing is happening.

But underneath, they’re completely different.

What waiting feels like

Waiting — the kind that’s really fear in a quieter costume — has a particular texture.

It feels like holding your breath. Like standing at the edge of something and finding reason after reason to stay where you are. Like a low, persistent restlessness beneath the surface, a sense that something should be moving but isn’t.

Waiting tends to involve a lot of mental activity with very little peace. You’re not resting — you’re circling. The same questions loop through again and again. The same fears surface and resurface. You’re not gathering strength for what’s next; you’re using up energy trying to stay comfortable where you are.

And there’s often a quiet guilt that comes with it. A sense that you should be moving, even as you find reasons not to.

What unfolding feels like

Unfolding is different.

It has a quality of settledness to it — not certainty about what’s coming, but a sense of being okay with not knowing yet. It feels like a breath held gently, not tightly. Like something composting underground before it becomes something new.

True unfolding often involves a lot less mental chatter about why aren’t I moving yet. There’s trust underneath it — not naive trust, not the pretense of having no doubts, but a genuine sense that this pause has a purpose, even if that purpose isn’t fully visible.

Unfolding can look like rest. It can look like time spent on things that aren’t directly productive.

It can look like a season of reading, of walking, of tending to relationships and small pleasures and the quiet business of being alive. Not because you’re avoiding what’s next, but because that’s what’s actually nourishing you for it.

Both are allowed

Here’s what I want you to know, no matter where you land with that question:

Both are allowed. Both are part of the path.

Some seasons are for movement. Some are for composting. Some are for crossing thresholds, and some are for sitting at the threshold long enough to know which side you actually belong on. There is no version of a meaningful life that is nothing but forward motion — that would be exhausting, and it would leave no room for the depth that only comes in the still spaces.

But it does matter that you know which season you’re in. Not so you can judge yourself for being in the wrong one, but so you can tend to it with intention. So you can let a season of unfolding be genuinely restful, without the undercurrent of guilt. Or let a season of movement be genuinely courageous, without waiting for readiness that isn’t coming.

You’re allowed to not know yet.

You’re allowed to ask the question and sit with it.

And when you’re ready to start looking honestly at where you are, the answers usually find their way to you.

The post The Difference Between Waiting and Unfolding appeared first on Love Letter Creative.

You Don’t Have to Have It All Figured Out to Begin

eveeh — Tue, 31 Mar 2026 14:00:00 +0000

You’re waiting for the version of beginning where the fog has lifted and you finally feel ready. Here’s what’s actually true: that feeling doesn’t come before you begin. It comes from beginning.

There’s a version of beginning that most of us are waiting for.

It’s the version where you wake up and the fog has lifted and you know — really know — what you want and how to get there. Where the doubt has quieted and the path is clear and you finally feel ready enough to take the first step.

I want to tell you something gently, but honestly: that version doesn’t usually come before you begin. It comes from beginning.

And the cost of waiting for it — the days and months and sometimes years spent on the other side of a threshold you kept deciding wasn’t quite the right time to cross — that cost is real, even when we can’t name it.

The readiness myth

We have this idea that readiness is a state you arrive at. A place you stand once you’ve done enough preparing, gathered enough information, resolved enough of your uncertainty.

But readiness, for most things that actually matter, doesn’t work that way.

You don’t feel ready before your first honest conversation. You feel ready after.

You don’t feel ready before you make the decision. You feel ready once you’ve made it and discovered you didn’t fall apart.

You don’t feel ready to pursue the thing that’s been calling you. You feel ready — more accurately, you feel capable — somewhere in the middle of pursuing it.

The readiness we’re waiting for is a feeling that follows action, not precedes it. And if we make it a prerequisite, we end up waiting for something that can only come from the other side of the very door we’re refusing to walk through.

What clarity actually is

I want to name something about clarity, because it’s one of the things my clients most often say they’re waiting for. That I used to say.

When I have more clarity, I’ll start. I just need to get clearer first. Once I figure out exactly what I want, then I’ll move forward.

Here’s what I’ve learned: clarity is rarely a gift you receive before you begin. It’s something you build — through small, imperfect actions, through trying things and noticing what lights you up and what drains you, through the act of moving your feet even when you’re not sure where they’re taking you.

Clarity is a byproduct of motion. Not perfect motion. Just honest motion.

So if you’re waiting for it before you start, you’re waiting for the thing that can only come from starting. That’s the loop. And the only way out of it is to begin — just a little, just today — before you feel ready.

What “not figured out” actually looks like

Not having it figured out doesn’t look dramatic. It doesn’t usually look like paralysis or obvious confusion. It looks like a perfectly ordinary life with a persistent feeling underneath it, a quiet pull toward something you keep almost pursuing.

It looks like the business idea you’ve been thinking about for three years. The creative project you start and stop. The version of yourself you can almost see but can’t quite get your hands on.

It looks like waiting for a sign. Waiting for someone to tell you you’re ready. Waiting, without quite realizing you’re doing it, for permission.

You are the permission.

Not because you have it all figured out. Not because you’re certain or prepared or ready in any tidy way. But because you’re the only one who can decide that the thing calling you forward is worth beginning — even before you know how it ends.

What beginning actually requires

Not clarity. Not certainty. Not readiness.

Just a willingness to take one honest step toward something that matters to you, without having to know in advance that it will work.

That’s it. That’s all beginning requires.

Everything else — the plan, the confidence, the clarity — comes after. It builds around you as you go. And it only comes if you start.

You don’t need to have it figured out. You just need to begin. Because you are worthy of taking that step.

The post You Don’t Have to Have It All Figured Out to Begin appeared first on Love Letter Creative.