A client sent me this text recently:
"Rose Quartz Mediumship is a giant ass pill that not everyone can swallow. I'm grateful I can because I know there's a reason."
I laughed when I read it.
Not because she was wrong.
But because there are so many versions of me that would have received those words very differently.
There are versions of me who would have immediately wondered:
Am I too much?
Should I soften my message?
Should I make my work more palatable?
Should I explain myself better?
Should I tone it down?
Should I become smaller so that more people can understand me?
Those versions of me would have energetically pulled away from the comment.
They would have made her words mean something about me.
About my worth.
About my work.
About whether I belonged.
But this version of me?
This version of me met her words with groundedness.
With openness.
With peace.
And perhaps most importantly, with truth.
Because the truth is…
Rose Quartz Mediumship is a giant ass pill.
The work that I do asks people to look at themselves honestly.
It asks people to question the stories they have built their lives around.
It asks people to stop abandoning themselves.
To take radical responsibility.
To become aware of the ways they have made themselves smaller.
To feel emotions they have spent years avoiding.
To let go of identities that no longer fit.
To remember who they are.
That is not easy work.
Transformation rarely is.
And the truth is, not everyone wants that.
Not everyone is ready for that.
Not everyone is supposed to resonate with it.
And for the first time in my life, that realization doesn't feel threatening.
It feels liberating.
Because Fully Expressed changed something in me.
I had moved through the content before creating the program.
And then I moved through it again while leading it.
I watched myself practice the very things I was teaching.
I watched myself meet my own edges.
I watched myself stay with myself.
And somewhere in that process, something shifted.
I stopped needing everyone to understand me.
I stopped needing everyone to resonate with my work.
I stopped needing my message to fit neatly into everyone's comfort zone.
I stopped making other people's reactions mean something about my value.
And what I found on the other side was freedom.
Because the truth is, being fully expressed doesn't mean everyone likes you.
It doesn't mean everyone understands you.
It doesn't mean your work suddenly becomes easy to digest.
Sometimes it means the exact opposite.
Sometimes being fully expressed means becoming willing to be a giant ass pill.
Becoming willing to be deeply resonant for some people and completely uninteresting to others.
Becoming willing to trust that your work isn't for everyone.
And becoming willing to stop abandoning yourself in an effort to make yourself more consumable.
I think so many of us have learned to shape ourselves around being understood.
Being accepted.
Being easy to receive.
Being palatable.
But what if our work isn't meant to be palatable?
What if our work is meant to be transformative?
What if our work is meant to disrupt?
What if our work is meant to invite people into places they would never go on their own?
What if our work is meant to call people into deeper truth?
That kind of work has never been for everyone.
And it doesn't need to be.
Reading her text, I didn't feel myself contract.
I didn't feel myself become smaller.
I didn't feel the urge to explain myself or soften my edges.
Instead, I felt grateful.
Grateful that she sees the depth of the work.
Grateful that she has the willingness to meet it.
And grateful that I now have the capacity to stand in the truth of what I offer without needing it to be for everyone.
Because perhaps one of the most beautiful things about becoming fully expressed is this:
You stop asking,
"How can I make myself easier to swallow?"
And you start asking,
"How can I be more fully myself?"
The people who are meant for your work will feel it.
The people who are ready for it will find it.
And the people who aren't?
That's okay too.
You were never meant to be everyone's medicine.
You were simply meant to be true to your own.