Something’s Stirring
What this season is teaching me about slowing down and showing up.
Over the past several months, I’ve been living inside what I can only describe as an inner winter.
Not just a little downtime or a couple of quiet weeks, but a real, proper season. A descent. A slow, strange pause in the aftermath of my corporate redundancy — one that wasn’t dramatic or loud, but felt like a soft collapse of identity. Who was I now, without the role, the regular paycheck, the structure of a Monday-to-Friday certainty?
Honestly, I thought I’d bounce back faster.
I thought I’d spring into action, come up with a plan, find the next “thing.” But what I actually needed was stillness. I needed space. I needed to let the dust settle and admit, in the quiet moments I usually tried to avoid, that I was tired. And not just “need a nap” tired, but soul tired. Tired from years of pushing. Tired from performing roles that weren’t a true fit. Tired from being so damn capable for everyone else and not quite sure what it meant to choose myself, fully and unapologetically.
So I gave myself permission to go slower than I wanted to.
I kept writing property listings for my beloved real estate client — a steady thread of familiarity and creative flow that gently anchored me through the fog. I started working casually in a circular fashion boutique that nourishes me in more ways than one. Because let me tell you, there’s something strangely soothing about steaming dresses on crisp mornings and helping people find clothes that feel like home on their bodies. It’s fed something in me that had been starved for a while: softness, simplicity, and being of service.
And also (in the art of full transparency)…
I applied for over 40 different jobs and didn’t get a single one. Each rejection chipped away at my resolve, not because I wanted those jobs so badly, but because I wanted one to say yes. To confirm I was still talented. Still capable. Still relevant. Still worthy — eww. At first, I took it personally. Then, I took it as a sign. Maybe those doors weren’t opening because I wasn’t meant to walk through them. Maybe the plan wasn’t to find another job to fit into — maybe it was to redesign the map entirely.
So that’s what I’ve been doing.
Quietly, gently, I started to ask new questions. What does my work look like when I stop contorting it to fit someone else’s version of success? What do I want to be known for? What could I create if I stopped playing small — not in a shouty, performative way, but in a true, anchored, this-is-who-I-am kind of way?
That’s when Project Radiance returned.
At first, it was just a whisper — a nudge to revisit something I’d previously created for myself, during another chapter of evolution. But the more I leaned in, the louder the nudge became. So I followed it. I didn’t have a six-week fandangled marketing funnel. I didn’t have paid ads or grandiose testimonials or a bells-and-whistles launch strategy. I had words. A story. A message I believed in. And I gave myself a single week of energy to get it out into the world (because that’s all I had the capacity for).
And 11 extraordinary women said yes.
I can’t even begin to do justice to the feeling of each of those yeses. Every single one has felt like a gift magically appearing under the Christmas tree. I remember each one coming in, my phone lighting up with the notification, my heart racing with every new sign-up. Within this group, I have close friends, past clients, and women who are stepping into one of my experiences for the very first time. I didn’t just launch something — I was returning to myself. And it has felt like a mix of electric excitement and deeply embodied homecoming.
We’re now two weeks into the seven-week experience, and I mean this with my whole heart: I have never felt more aligned, more fulfilled, or more certain that I am doing the work I’m meant to be doing. Not because it’s perfect. Not because it’s polished. But because it’s real. It’s connective. It’s true. It’s alive.
This past week, I also stood in front of over 100 salon owners and gave my first proper talk on self-leadership — what it takes to not only build a business, but to become the kind of person who can hold the vision, energy, and growth that comes with it. I told my story. I wove together my tough adolescence, being a late bloomer, career shifts, confidence rebuilds, creative pivots, and personal truth. And the conversations that followed were raw, honest, and deeper than I ever could’ve predicted. It wasn’t just a presentation. It was a mirror — for them, and for me.
That experience and Project Radiance have unlocked something.
They’ve reminded me that I know how to hold space. That I don’t need to be the flashiest or fanciest person in the room to have something worth saying or offering. That I don’t have to wait until I feel 100% ready — because ready isn’t just a feeling, it’s a decision.
And I finally feel ready to make that decision.
And do the work that follows.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m finally done with the part of me that keeps trying to shrink back into spaces I’ve already outgrown.
I’ve been thinking lately about what it means to stop staying small.
And I don’t mean that in a cliché, “step into your power” Instagram quote kind of way. I mean the real cost of holding yourself back. The opportunities you don’t pursue because you’re scared they might actually say yes. The words you edit down because you don’t want to sound too confident. The price you lower because you’re afraid no one will buy. The brilliance you dim — subtly, without even noticing — just so no one calls you too much.
It all adds up.
It costs us ourselves.
And I’m done paying that price.
I said to someone recently that if you were to find me on a map of my work, I’d be at the intersection of personal transformation and creative expression. Helping people remember who they are. Helping them express that fully, without shame. Helping them create what they truly want for themselves — whether that’s a business, a creative outlet, or a life that finally fits.
If I were in a bookstore, I’d be shelved somewhere between Gabby Bernstein and Rebecca Campbell. Not because I’m trying to be them, but because their work changed how I saw myself. And I want to do that for others, in any way that I can.
I know there’s more coming.
Two new offerings are already taking shape. One of them arrived as a whisper during a deeply personal journaling session. The other dropped back into my orbit like a lightning bolt and hasn’t left me alone since. I’ll tell you about them in time. Because together with Project Radiance, they feel like the start of the body of work I want to be known for from this point forward (the work I’ve always wanted to be known for, truth be very honestly told). A trio of soul-led experiences, built from truth, beauty, and the deep desire to help people come home to themselves.
It’s still the middle of winter here in Australia. But in me, I can feel spring. Not bursting through just yet — but stirring. Stretching. Deepening its roots. Preparing for the inevitable bloom.
There’s a fire building in me again, but it’s not the frantic blaze of burnout or performance. It’s the quiet, steady kind — the kind that clears a path and lights the way forward.
Because, as the wise poet, LL Cool J, once rapped:
“Don’t call it a comeback. I've been here for years.”
This isn’t a rebrand.
It’s a re-rooting.
An ‘own your magic, you brilliant bitch’ moment.
And I’m finally ready to acknowledge it.
Because the cost of staying small is too high.
And I’ve got too much soul to squeeze into something that doesn’t fit.
And small is most definitely not my size anymore.
So, if you’ve been quietly shrinking too — I see you. And if you need it, this is your permission slip to go up a size, as much as it is mine.
— Until the next,
♡ Sonia. x
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