Voices from the Inside: The Truth Teller

* This is the fifth and final part of a series of letters written from the inside 'Notes to Self' — each one reflecting a familiar way women move through life, especially in moments of change.
If you’ve explored the archetypes, you may recognise this state straight away. If not, simply read it as a note you might have written to yourself.I already know.

Dear Me.

Sometimes it’s quiet — an awareness I can carry alongside everything else.
Other times it gets loud. Insistent. Hard to ignore.

I notice it when I make a decision that looks right on paper, but doesn’t settle in my body.
When I tell myself this is fine — and then find myself circling back to the same thought again and again.
When something keeps pulling at me, even after I’ve tried to move on.

I’ve learned that I can delay this knowing for a long time.
Weeks. Months. Sometimes years.

I explain it away.
I make adjustments instead of changes.
I choose the option that causes the least disruption — the one that keeps things familiar.

And for a while, it works.

But this part of me never really goes away.

Even when it’s quiet, it’s still there — steady, patient, waiting.
And when it gets loud, it’s usually because I’ve gone too far from myself to ignore it anymore.

This knowing shows up before big changes.
Before something ends.
Before something begins.
Before I admit that a role, a relationship, a way of working, or a way of living no longer fits who I am now.

It’s not dramatic.
It’s not impulsive.
It’s just true.

What keeps me stuck isn’t lack of clarity — it’s the stories I tell myself about why I shouldn’t act.
That it’s not the right time.
That other people would be disappointed.
That wanting something different means I’m ungrateful or selfish.
That I should be able to make this work.

So I live with the tension.

And then — eventually — I stop negotiating with myself.

The decision doesn’t feel exciting.
It doesn’t feel brave.
It feels inevitable.

And afterward, there it is.

The exhale.

My shoulders drop.
My breath deepens.
My body settles in a way it hasn’t for a long time.

That’s how I know I’ve honoured it.

This part of me doesn’t need urgency.
She doesn’t need reassurance.
She doesn’t need permission from anyone else.

She just needs me to stop turning away from what I already know.

That’s the truth.