At the Threshold of a New Year: Between Who I Am and What Is Required

This morning I was listening to a podcast from the Human Design Collective — mainly about living in the moment, intuitive awareness, embodiment. Basically about how easily we mistake projection for truth.
And how often we live in formality — roles, expectations, identities — rather than in direct contact with what’s actually happening now.

I was outside walking my dog while listening. Those walks are a huge treat for me. Fresh air. Clear lungs. A pocket of solitude while my daughter is home sick.

The contrast felt sharp.

There was relief in stepping out of the house.
Out of caretaking. Out of being needed — even briefly. And I noticed how much permission that still seems to require inside me.

One of my intentions for this year is simple in language, complicated in practice:
to do less so I can feel more.
to experience more fully so I can think less.
to be present and thankful so I can feel — and share — more positivity.

I want to meet life with curiosity instead of reactivity. To soften my relationship with control and to live closer to what’s actually here in order to escape the cycle of overthinking.

And yet, as I listened to the conversation of the podcast, I could feel the familiar tightening in my chest. That quiet signal that my life is still, in many ways, paved by outer authority.

Outer authority doesn’t always arrive as rules or institutions.
Sometimes it arrives as energy.

There is the steady, directional energy of a partner deeply anchored in his work — a way of moving through life that is decisive, efficient, always in motion. Not chaotic. Not anxious. Just constantly doing.

That energy fills the space around it. And without anyone intending it, it becomes the tempo I begin to move to.

I notice how easily I synchronize. How quickly my own rhythm speeds up. How subtly my inner signals get overridden. It’s less about stress than it is about proximity to a powerful current.

There is also a child who needs a lot.
A sensitive, beautiful human being — and also someone who draws deeply from the emotional field around her. I notice how quickly I move into regulation. How easily my own presence thins.

This role of caretaker is a tricky one…
one that carries a particular kind of weight because it rarely feels like a deliberate choice. You don’t clock out of it. You don’t ask for a sabbatical or a garden leave. You can’t quit — not without unraveling the very fabric of the lives you’re responsible for.

It’s a constant, emotional responsibility.
Not necessarily heavy in dramatic ways, but ever-present.
A background gravity that shapes decisions before they’re even conscious. And this is where the feeling of being trapped quietly enters. This is where I start to believe that autonomy becomes something to negotiate instead of something to trust.

None of this is blame or accusation - it is awareness. Noticing what is.

And somewhere inside that noticing, a question keeps returning:

But how does inner authority work when you’re embedded in a family system? When your life is shaped by responsiveness, care, and constant attunement?

In the podcast, they spoke about the importance of embodiment — about how intuitive awareness isn’t something we figure out, but something we sense when we’re fully here. It’s lived, moment by moment.

I felt that land in my body.

Because so much of my life has been lived in formality —
as a mother, a partner, a stabilizing force.
Roles that are meaningful, yes — but also easy places to disappear inside.

Through the lens of Human Design, inner authority is described as something innate and reliable.
Through the lens of my lived experience, it feels much more fragile.

Autonomy has been quietly labeled unsafe in my nervous system.
Not consciously — but subtly. Choosing myself often comes with guilt.
A sense that I’m destabilizing something. That I’m stepping out of line.

And maybe that’s because inner authority threatens projection.
It disrupts the versions of us others have learned to rely on.

There is a part of me that longs for silence, simplicity, individuality.
For nature, vastness, independence. For the kind of space where intuition can speak without interruption.

And another part of me that longs for connection.
Family. Community. Belonging. The comfort of being held.

These parts don’t feel resolved.
They feel alive — and at odds.

I keep wondering whether the dissonance comes from not listening closely enough or from being afraid of what might change if I truly did.

But maybe intuition doesn’t speak in answers. Maybe it speaks in sensations.

The tightness in my chest when my autonomy is threatened.
The softening that happens when I step outside alone.
The exhaustion that follows when I override those signals for too long.

Listening to the podcast, walking with my body and dog, breathing cold air — I realized something quietly important:
maybe inner authority doesn’t ask us to escape our lives.
Maybe it asks us to stop living on autopilot. Slowly coming out of conditioning and constant projection. Out of formality.
Back into direct contact with what is actually happening inside us.

Instead of seeing this year as a fresh start, I am acknowledging that it feels much rather like standing at a threshold — between identities I’ve worn for a long time and something unnamed that wants room.

Caretaker.
Regulator.
The one who adapts.

I don’t want to discard these parts of me.
I just don’t want them to be the only ones making decisions.

So today, I’m practicing something small:
non-violence toward myself.
Staying with the question instead of forcing clarity.
Letting embodiment lead before the mind rushes in.

If inner authority is real, maybe it doesn’t demand certainty.
Maybe it asks for presence and honesty.
For the courage to feel what’s already here - actual authenticity.

If you’re reading this and feel a quiet recognition —
maybe you, too, are sensing that something wants to reorganize.

A few gentle prompts to sit with:

• Where do you feel tension in your body when you imagine choosing yourself?

• Where do you feel relief when you allow silence, space, or autonomy — even briefly?

• Which roles or identities keep you safe, but also slightly removed from yourself?

• What might change if you trusted sensation over explanation?

Perhaps inner authority doesn’t begin with action. Perhaps it begins with permission — to be here, now, as you are.

With love,

Kristin