There is a particular kind of stuck that doesn’t come from confusion, but from knowing – knowing roughly what the problem is, knowing that something needs to change, knowing that a decision is overdue; and still… not moving.

 

I have been here more than once. In fact, I can name at least three moments in my life where I knew exactly what needed attention but couldn’t bring myself to confront the answer. The first was a relationship I already knew had no future. Another was a situation where I realised I would have to be the bigger person…to offer forgiveness I might never receive in return. Then the third – quieter but just as unsettling: an identity question, a sense of being untethered and of needing direction, but not knowing which version of myself to trust anymore.

Different problems. Same paralysis. What made it harder was that everyone had an opinion. I talked. I consulted. I listened. I gathered advice the way people do when they are hoping someone else will say the thing they want to hear. The result was noise. Mixed reviews, no average sticking, no peace. So eventually, I turned inward, not because I had suddenly become brave, but because I had run out of distractions.

 

I thought prayer (or intuition or whatever the place where honesty is harder to hide is called) might help. When it came time to actually sit with myself, I realised something uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to ask for. Asking meant admitting what I wanted, and admitting what I wanted meant facing what it might cost.

 

I wasn’t avoiding the answer because I didn’t believe one existed. I was avoiding it because I suspected it would ask something of me. That’s the part we don’t talk about enough. Sometimes we say we want clarity, when what we really want is reassurance. Sometimes we say we are praying for guidance, when we are actually hoping the decision will be made for us — without requiring courage, accountability, or loss.

 

Being stuck, I have learned, is often less about confusion and more about fear – fear of hurting someone, fear of being alone, fear of choosing wrong, fear of becoming the villain in someone else’s story, fear of letting go of a version of life we have already mourned in advance. So instead, we hover. We complain quietly. We circle the same conversations. We rehearse explanations we have not yet needed to give.

 

We sit at the red light of our own lives, convincing ourselves we’re waiting for a sign, when really, we are waiting to feel ready. The truth is, readiness rarely arrives first.

What eventually shifted for me wasn’t a lightning bolt moment. It was exhaustion.

The kind that comes from carrying a decision unmade for too long.

 

I stopped trying to force an answer and settled into a different posture altogether — one that felt less controlling, less performative, and more honest. I let go of needing to know how everything would turn out. Whether you call it prayer, intuition, or simply listening more closely to yourself, I reached a place where the only thing I could genuinely say was: let what needs to happen, happen — even if I don’t yet understand it. It was neither resignation nor passivity, but a willingness to stop arguing with the truth.

 

And slowly, things became clearer — not because the situations changed overnight, but because I did. I stopped pretending the relationship could be something it wasn’t. I stopped waiting for validation before offering forgiveness. I stopped forcing myself into identities that no longer fit. None of it was neat. None of it came without grief. However, something loosened.

 

Clarity doesn’t always feel like relief at first. Sometimes it feels like loss. Sometimes it feels like standing alone with a decision you wish someone else would make for you.

But there is a strange peace that comes when you stop avoiding the answer you already know.

So if you’re stuck right now, I don’t think you need more advice, another conversation, or a better vision board. I think you need to ask yourself one honest question: If I stopped asking everyone else… what do I already know?

 

The #Unshakable truth is this:

Most answers don’t arrive loudly. They surface quietly, when you are finally willing to hear them, even if they change everything.

 

See you next week.

 

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