A Letter From the Woman I Became After Unfolding

When I wrote “Unfolding: A Journey Through Surrender and Transformation” in October 2024, I believed I understood what surrender meant. I thought it was a soft moment of letting go, a gentle exhale after years of holding my breath without realizing it.

Looking back now, I can see that at the beginning of 2024 I was standing at the threshold of a doorway I did not yet know I had opened. I was only beginning to understand that surrender is not a single act or a symbolic gesture. It is the beginning of an unraveling, a sacred cracking open that makes room for what is waiting to rise.

I often return to the woman I was then. She was tender, exhausted, and quietly brave. She was trying so hard to make sense of her pain, and yet she still believed she had to hold the world together with her bare hands. She had no idea that everything she had been avoiding would soon begin to surface. She had no idea how much she would grow, or how much she would shed, or how deeply she would come to know herself in the months that followed. She only knew she was tired of running. And in that exhaustion, something ancient within her whispered: surrender.

What followed was not gentle. It was not graceful. It was not poetic at first. It was a reckoning, one that stripped away the illusions I had built to survive. My body, which had been carrying the weight of unspoken truths for so long, finally insisted on being heard. Illness, fatigue, and emotional unraveling became unlikely teachers. I once feared these things, but now I understand that my body was never punishing me. It was calling my soul back into alignment. It was asking me to stop abandoning myself.

During the last quarter of 2024, I wrote the lyrics for the song “Unfolding.” When I first released it on YouTube, the video was accidentally left unlisted, unseen by anyone but me. I remember wondering why this particular song felt invisible. Why something so personal, one of the most honest things I had written, seemed unable to find resonance. I could have sworn I had published it correctly, yet it hid quietly in the shadows.

Only now do I see that the song was not meant to be heard then. It had to wait for me to live the transformation I had only begun to write about. It had to wait for me to embody the message rather than simply understand it.

And indeed, as the months passed, I learned more about surrender than I ever expected. I learned that letting go is not passive. It requires incredible strength. It means facing your wounds instead of numbing them. It means holding your pain instead of abandoning it. It means acknowledging the ways you have carried your lineage in your bones and choosing a different path anyway. It means recognizing your patterns and toxic behaviors and breaking them, even when it hurts. And it often does hurt.

But pain, when allowed to be felt, becomes a compass. It points you toward the places within you that are ready to be healed.

The more I surrendered, the more the truth rose. I saw the fears that shaped my decisions. I saw the child in me who learned to be small to feel safe. I saw the woman in me who learned to be strong because she has never felt supported. I saw the ways I ran from myself, even as I tried to help everyone else. And slowly, with trembling hands and a soft heart, I began to choose differently.

I began to understand accountability not as blame, but as liberation. I began to understand that every moment carries weight, and that I have the power to guide my life by the energy I bring into it. I began to understand that healing does not ask for perfection. It asks for presence. It asks for honesty. It asks for willingness.

As I reflected on all of this, I found myself returning to the lyrics of “Unfolding,” as though they were written by a future version of me who already understood what I was about to learn. Lines like “I am accountable for everything I bring” and “I am forever unfolding, I cannot get it wrong” became mantras. I believe they held me through the darkest nights and reminded me that I was not breaking apart but breaking open.

I have come to see that the stories we tell ourselves, the wounds we inherit, and the fears we repeat can be rewritten, but only if we are willing to face them. Only if we are willing to sit in the discomfort without abandoning ourselves again. Only if we trust that something beautiful waits on the other side of the unraveling.

The insights that shaped the original song came from a simple drive through the countryside with my husband, but what grew from that day continued long after the conversation ended. Those reflections became seeds. And over the past year, they have blossomed into something much greater than a song. They have become a part of who I am becoming.

I felt called to re-run the lyrics. Since then, the creative software I use to bring my lyrics to life had evolved through new versions and refinements. This timing feels more than coincidental. As the tools upgraded, so had I. I realized that the words I had written in 2024 were ready to be met by the woman I had become. So I took the same lyrics and ran them through the process again, not to change their meaning, but to allow them to speak from a deeper place. What emerged felt alive in a new way. The song carried more clarity, more embodiment, more truth. It mirrored my own evolution and confirmed what I had come to understand. When we grow, the same story can be told with an entirely different resonance.

The new version of “Unfolding” is not just a musical update. It is a reflection of the woman I am now. A woman who has walked through the fire of her own truth and survived it. A woman who is softer and stronger at the same time. A woman who no longer waits for signs from the world because she trusts the guidance that rises from within. A woman who understands that becoming is not a destination but a lifelong movement toward the deepest parts of herself.

If you find yourself somewhere between the dark and the light, unsure of who you are becoming or how to let go of who you were, I hope my journey offers a small reminder. You are unfolding too. And even when it feels slow, painful, uncertain, or endless, there is beauty in the breaking opening. There is wisdom in the layers you release. There is strength in your softness, and courage in your surrender.

I am learning that life does not ask us to be perfect. It asks us to be honest. It asks us to be present. And it asks us to trust that everything we are moving through is shaping the person we are meant to be.

Thank you for witnessing my unfolding.

And wherever you are in yours, I hope you feel the quiet truth of this moment. You are becoming. You are not getting it wrong. I hope you enjoy the song.

And you are not alone.

☥