Unexpected triggers

When Manifestation Feels Heavy: A Love Letter to the Weary Ones

A soul-deep reflection on why manifesting your dreams can feel exhausting when you're healing — and why you're not doing it wrong.

This morning stirred something in me —

a deeper reflection on what manifestation and healing really mean,

when you're living through them rather than just reading about them.

This morning, I found myself saying the words out loud:

“I’m open to whatever is to come.”

It felt true.

Not performative. Not forced.

Just… soft. Honest.

Lately, I’ve felt… off.

Disconnected. Flat.

Like I’m here, but not really here.

And it doesn’t quite make sense —

especially because yesterday, I had a call about a house.

A real, tangible, could-be-something house.

The exact thing that showed up in the card reading I did on Monday.

The same energy echoed by the frog that turned up in my home last night.

All signs point to something shifting.

So why do I feel dread instead of excitement?

---

The Truth Is… I’m Tired

Not just tired in the body (although that’s happening too).

But soul-tired.

The kind of weariness that comes not from doing too much —

but from feeling too much for too long.

And if I’m honest, I’m scared.

Scared to be excited in case it gets taken away.

Scared to hope, because I’m not sure I have the strength to recover from another disappointment.

Scared that if I don’t feel grateful enough, happy enough, “high-vibe” enough —

the Universe will mistake my weariness for unworthiness and retract what I’ve asked for.

Somewhere along the way, the law of attraction got tangled in guilt.

Like if I’m not vibrating at a constant 800 on the frequency scale,

I’ve somehow voided my own desires.

Like if I have a moment of doubt or fear, the Universe will snatch it all away and say,

“Well, you weren’t grateful enough.”

That’s not spirituality.

That’s fear in a velvet robe.

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And Now… Even Healing Feels Heavy

Because somewhere along the way, healing became a performance, too.

You're expected to have breakthroughs on cue.

To cry on command.

To journal daily, affirm hourly, moon-bathe on schedule,

and alchemise every ache before it dares linger.

If you’re not glowing with insight or posting your pain wrapped in poetry,

are you even healing properly?

But here’s the thing:

Healing isn’t content.

It isn’t a timeline.

It isn’t always visible.

Sometimes it looks like lying in bed wondering why everything hurts

even when the good is arriving.

Sometimes, healing is the softest survival.

A breath taken in spite of the ache.

A ‘no’ said without guilt.

A boundary held with shaking hands.

That is the breakthrough.

And maybe the most important truth of all is this:

Being human is healing.

There’s no final destination.

No certificate of completion.

We don’t finish healing —

we learn how to carry ourselves more gently through it.

---

But Joy Still Finds a Way

Here’s the beautiful part…

When you stop trying to prove your progress —

joy sneaks in.

Not as a reward.

But as a return.

A return to yourSelf.

To your softness.

To the knowing that was buried beneath the survival.

Because when you finally rewire those old wounds —

not for applause, not to rush, but for your own liberation —

a different kind of joy arrives.

Quiet. Genuine.

Like soul-laughter echoing through the body.

And you don’t need to have it all figured out to feel it.

In fact, it arrives because you stopped trying to.

---

Remember Why You Came

The way I see it… this incarnation into the matrix?

We weren’t supposed to remember everything.

Earth is the amnesia planet.

The form is dense. The emotions are heavy.

And we arrive forgetting — so we can learn to feel our way back.

Emotions are our clues.

Pain points to the portal.

Grief reveals the gold.

Even numbness whispers where we've once shut down to survive.

Becoming conscious — that’s the key on the map.

Not to escape the human…

But to understand it.

To walk the labyrinth awake.

And maybe even enjoy the view from time to time.

---

And Isn’t It Miraculous…

When you really stop to think about it —

how miraculous is it, just to be human?

In other dimensions, emotion isn’t necessarily present.

Love exists, yes — but not the kind we know here.

Not the messy, melting, heartbreakingly human kind.

Over there, peace is constant.

Stillness is the atmosphere.

Love is pure frequency —

but it isn’t the romance we’re sold,

or the chest-splitting awe of watching someone finally choose themselves.

It’s beautiful…

But if you’ve ever truly held peace — even just for a few minutes —

you’ll know what I mean when I say:

it can be a little… boring.

No direction.

No drama.

No wild joy.

Just calm.

A welcome relief, sometimes.

A soft place to land when the rapids of this world threaten to drown you.

But living only on that rock?

That’s not really living.

That’s pausing.

And maybe that’s the whole point of this place.

Maybe Earth is where we come to feel.

To experience every single heart-crushing, chest-bursting,

melting-into-contentment emotion on offer —

and learn from each one.

Maybe it’s not about escaping the storm.

Maybe it’s about remembering we were born from it —

and still chose to come back.

Because something in us knew:

this wild, emotional, breathtaking ride

is the whole reason we’re here.

---

> “I don’t need to perform joy to be worthy of peace.

I can feel afraid and still be aligned.

I trust that what’s meant for me is steady —

not because I’m perfect,

but because I’m ready to receive without the storm this time.”

— Rhianna