Hey Reader,
In the name of vulnerability, I've got something to admit —
I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere.
Not in the churches I grew up in.
Not in the music world.
Not even in EMS.
And for a while, I thought firefighting might finally be it.
The so-called “brotherhood.” The camaraderie. The identity.
But even there… I was still on the outside looking in.
Too outspoken. Too different. Too unconventional.
And yet — walking away still felt like losing a part of myself.
Because even if you never belonged somewhere, you can still grieve what it represented.
But grief is a curious thing.
We think it only belongs to funerals and heartbreaks — but it shows up anytime a version of you dies.
You don’t have to lose a person to feel grief.
I used to feel guilty for being sad or depressed in these times of "undefined grief". But I've come to learn it's...just that. A different form of grief.
You can lose a title. A dream. A place that once made you feel important.
And even if you know it’s right to move on, you can still ache for it.
When I left the fire service, I knew it was the healthiest thing I could do.
My nervous system was cooked.
My energy was gone.
But I still found myself grieving — not just for the job I worked so hard for, but also for the identity I thought I was supposed to have.
The firefighter. The tough one. The one who finally “belonged.”
I missed the version of me who believed that belonging was THE goal.
Even though she was exhausted, she was trying.
And I honor her for that.
The Performer
Then there was the other side — The musician.
The entertainer. The forced extrovert who could sing and smile her way through anything. Sometimes with a little more liquid courage...
My friends used to call me Hannah Montana — firefighter by day, musician by night. Because I had the "Best of Both Worlds".
Both identities required performance.
One demanded stoicism, the other demanded showmanship.
And somewhere between sirens and spotlights, I started losing the voice that wasn’t performing at all.
Becoming Something I Never Imagined
Now I’m in another season — The CEO, entrepreneur, businesswoman.
Words I never imagined would describe me.
And honestly? They still feel foreign.
But maybe this is the first time I’m not chasing belonging.
Maybe this is about building something that finally feels like mine.
Because the courage that got me through chaos is the same courage that’s helping me lead this company.
The difference is, I’m not performing anymore.
A Different Kind of Reset
Usually in these newsletters, I give you practical tips to help you regulate —
things to ground your body, mitigate anxiety, or help your nervous system find balance so you can stay clear-headed and decisive.
But this week… I just want to give you permission.
Permission to give yourself grace.
There’s enough pressure on us in this world — to perform, to belong, to hold it all together.
And as we head into the holidays, that pressure only increases.
So this week, instead of trying to fix or optimize anything,
take a breath.
Find your baseline.
And start November by giving yourself the grace you’ve been withholding.
You don’t have to earn rest.
You just have to allow it.
💡 A Quick Heads-Up
As we approach the holiday season and our bank accounts start to “leak,”
I’ll be hosting The Energy Audit Workshop — a live event to help you uncover where your energy (and capacity) are really going and how to rebuild it from the inside out. Here’s the link if you’d like more information. — The Energy Audit Workshop: How to Manage Burnout, Build Boundaries, and Take Control of Your Energy
And if you can’t make it live, no worries, because the replay is good for life! -
And if you’re curious what an “energy audit” actually is,
Thursday’s new YouTube video will break it all down.
Subscribe to my YouTube channel HERE so that you’ll get the note for when the new video drops.
⚡ The Wayward Takeaway
You don’t have to hate what you’re leaving to grieve it.
You don’t have to have “fit in” to feel the loss of it.
Grief doesn’t always mean something was bad.
It just means it mattered.
It meant something to the version of you who needed it at the time.
So if you’re in a season of shedding old roles —
the good girl, the overachiever, the rescuer, the one who held it all together —
let yourself grieve her.
You don’t owe anyone a polished rebrand.
You just owe yourself the space to become who you actually are underneath all the uniforms.
See you next Wednesday - and as always, if you liked this, forward it to a friend so they can join the fam too.
- Renae