Safe Enough to Exhale

Did you ever want something so badly that you prayed for it? Not the casual kind of prayer but the kind that rises from somewhere deep inside you. The kind where you're convinced you know exactly what is needed and exactly how the story should unfold. 

A word of caution from an old Yiddish proverb: “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." 

I remember a season of my life when there was a room that I desperately wanted to be in. It was a room filled with leaders that I respected from afar. I imagined meaningful conversations, collaboration, and the opportunity to contribute. I thought, If I could just get in that room...

Eventually, I did.

But it wasn't what I expected, nor what I was dreaming of when I fervently prayed my prayers. Week after week, I found myself speaking a little less. Sometimes my ideas were met with resistance, while other times, it wasn't what was said at all. It was the silence that followed. I would leave wondering if I had imagined it, only to have someone quietly acknowledge later that they had noticed it too. I'd like to tell you I kept showing up exactly the same, but I didn't.

I shrunk.

Every time I had a thought, I found myself asking a question before I ever opened my mouth: If I say this... will I be criticized? Embarrassed? Discounted. Hurt?

Eventually, I stopped taking the risk. I began to listen more than I spoke, which is not always a bad thing. But as I observed more than I contributed, I found that making myself smaller felt safer than making myself visible. At the time, I didn't even realize what was happening. 

My husband, Jim, has a way of saying things that often stay with me. One time he said, "You absolutely have to trust your intuition.”

Simple words that are harder to live than they sound. As children, we're curious. We trust what we feel. If something feels wrong, we pull away. If something delights us, we lean in. If we're excited, we shout it without rehearsing the words first.

Then life happens. Someone laughs at our idea or tells us we're too sensitive. Someone questions what we know to be true or breaks our trust. We’re met with criticism, or disappointment, or even betrayal. People or situations cause us to question ourselves. Little by little, we stop trusting the voice that we were born listening to. Maybe that's why learning to trust ourselves again feels like such sacred work.

Years ago, Garth Brooks sang that "some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers." I used to think that song was only about relationships. Lately, I've come to believe that it also applies to opportunities, promotions, invitations, and the doors we push so hard to open. Maybe unanswered prayers aren't punishment but protection. Or perhaps they're simply God's gentle reminder that He can see farther down the road than we can.

I'm still learning that. I’m still learning that forcing a door open isn't the same as finding where I belong. I’m also learning that not every room deserves my energy. And that's okay.

This season has become one of observation more than striving. I'm paying attention not to who approves of me or who disagrees with me, but to something much quieter. I'm noticing the places where my shoulders soften without me realizing it. I’m recognizing the conversations where I don't rehearse every sentence before I speak. I'm spending more time with the people who make me feel more like myself. I’m feeling the moments where I can simply exhale.

This isn't a story I've finished telling. I'm still living it, still learning from it, and still paying attention. I haven't figured it all out yet. 

But I'm beginning to notice something. The more I stop forcing my way into places that don't fit, the more I recognize the places that do. It’s in the conversations that leave me lighter, the people who draw out the best in me, and the opportunities that bring a sense of peace instead of pressure.

Maybe that's what unanswered prayers have been trying to teach me all along. Sometimes the better gift isn't getting everything we ask for. Sometimes it's having the wisdom to recognize where we truly belong. 

And perhaps that's what it means to find a place that's safe enough to exhale.