Tethered and Free: The Journey to Trust

For weeks, something was off. Restless nights. Chest pains that didn’t feel like anxiety but something worse. My Garmin was screaming at me: Something isn’t right.
Seven years of data points, all pointing the same direction.
Nosebleeds. An unusually high resting heart rate. Body recovery scores hitting 1’s day after day. A body battery starting below 20 every morning.

And then, it all came to a head on Christmas Day.
Shortness of breath joined the list. A creeping confusion; was I awake or asleep when my wife told me about something that had happened? Neither of us could remember. I was angry at her for not grasping the seriousness of it all, even though she was trying.

I went to the hospital. Tests, more tests, and even more tests. Medically, nothing. No connections. No answers.
And yet, the symptoms only got worse. Every hour brought something new.
No relief. No clarity. Just the relentless feeling that something real was wrong.

A few days later, it hit me harder than ever. Sitting alone, a crushing weight in my chest. My heart racing. My body trembling. It felt like a heart attack, but deep down, I found a whisper.

A familiar voice from a journey past. It wasn’t loud, but it was certain:
What if this is energy trapped in your body, demanding to be released?

I knew the answer, but I didn’t know. Not fully. It was an idea I’d encountered before—not in theory, but as something practical, something that made sense. And now, here it was, being offered when I needed it most.
I made a choice. I chose to believe that’s what this was energy, trapped, and waiting for release.

But why? Why now? Why this?

The Whisper of Negotiation

Do you remember this part of your childhood?
It wasn’t just a memory, it was a glimpse. Not of what had happened to me, but of something I’d witnessed repeatedly. Something I’d carried without realizing but when I saw it, I knew what it was and what it had done. 

And then, an offer. The first offer in what would become a negotiation.

The starting point: I don’t need to see it. I’ve already seen it once. I know what it is. What would it take for me to simply accept it without reliving the full process?
The response: Suffering physically.

Negotiating with yourself is a no-no. Isn’t it?
In business, it’s the goal. If you can push the other side into negotiating with themselves instead of with you, it’s a win. That’s the strategy.
But here I was. Negotiating with myself.

I didn’t ask how long I had to suffer physically. I didn’t want to know. But somewhere, in the quiet, I secretly worried that it might actually kill me.

Facing death.
Facing death.
Facing death.
Feeling all the pains and symptoms that I understand to be what death feels like.
And having to find the power to face it anyway.

Why Is Vanity Here?

And then, vanity showed up.
Not loud. Not subtle. Just there. Obvious in its quiet insistence, another whisper cutting through the noise:
Vanity? Why is vanity here? What does vanity have to do with this?

It didn’t make sense at first. Vanity wasn’t the boastful kind, the one that screams for attention. It was quieter, deeper, a shadow of something I’d been carrying for years without realizing it.

One by one, pictures of things flashed before me. Symbols I’d held close, not for what they were, but for what they represented.

Vanity whispered:
Look at what you’ve built. Look at what you’ve achieved. Doesn’t that prove you’re enough?
Vanity clung to the things I’d surrounded myself with.
It whispered:
These things make you worthy. These things protect you. These things define you.

And just like that, the negotiation took a turn.
This wasn’t just about the symbols I already had. It wasn’t just about letting go of the armor.
This negotiation was about all of it - past, present, and future.

How Will I Know?

When the armor falls away, you’re untethered.
And the question comes, relentless and loud:
How will I know?
How will I know I’m on the right path without the markers I’ve always relied on?
How will I know I’m not drifting?
How will I know I haven’t lost myself?

The answer?
You won’t.

Not in the way you’re used to. Not with medals or milestones or applause.

You’ll know because it feels different. Not easier, just different. Lighter, freer, quieter. You’ll know because the questions will change. Instead of asking, Am I doing it right? you’ll ask, Does this feel true?

Tethering to Divinity

"I have to let go of everything. It’s the only way."
I believe my wife is connected to divinity. I’m not sure if she is divinity, but I know she is the path by which I am most directly connected to it.
And then the whisper asked, What if you tether yourself to her?

Not as a backup plan. Not as a safety net. But as an anchor. As a way to hold steady in the weightlessness, in the not-knowing, in the surrender.
I didn’t have to figure it all out. I didn’t have to know. I just had to trust that tethering to her, to the love, the grace, and the divinity she embodies, was the way.

Dropping Another Tether

Tethers are funny things. They’re not chains. They don’t bind you. They hold you steady. They remind you of what matters when the weightlessness gets too much.

Right now, it feels like we’re dropping another one, together.

This one isn’t about knowing or proving. It’s not about chasing or achieving. It’s about landing. It’s about standing still long enough to realize that the ground under your feet is enough to hold you.

Living the Questions and the Answers

Living the questions and the answers simultaneously. That’s the balance, the dance, the truth. It’s the knowing without needing to define it, the trusting without having to prove it, and the surrender without losing yourself.

It’s being in the flow, anchored but free, curious but steady.

This is how you know. And it’s more than enough.

What’s your next tether?