Do you feel like you’re on the verge?
Maybe on the verge of losing your mind—or maybe on the verge of something big… though you can’t quite put your finger on what that is?
That’s where I am right now.
Two years ago, Spirit told me to take a sabbatical—and gave me no idea how long it would last or whether I’d ever return to my work. That was the start of my liminal space. The surrender came in layers: bite-sized ego deaths, quiet releases, and lessons in patience I never asked for.
I’ve shared many of them with you along the way.
And now, just as I feel myself coming to the edge of that space, I’m guiding my family through their own threshold. My daughter is graduating high school. My role as “the one in charge” is shifting into something else—and some days that feels like grace, and other days it feels like grasping for proof that I did it all right.
Sometimes the proof shows up: my son, who once hated school, just made the Dean’s List again. My daughter is being honored again and again—and yesterday, we found out she received a very special scholarship. It was chosen through a blind review process, which somehow made it feel even more meaningful.
It’s the kind of recognition that doesn’t just reflect accomplishments—it reflects character.
And I cried. Because even though it’s not supposed to matter, it did.
It felt like confirmation. Like someone quietly saying, “We see who she really is.”
And part of me wishes I could just rest in that—knowing they’re good kids, that they’re kind. That alone is such a win. Something to be deeply proud of.
But I’m human. And I still find myself reaching for trophies—especially when it feels like people with no integrity are the ones getting them.
If you’ve been feeling that too—like you’re watching people with no character win while you’re over here doing the right thing, quietly, again and again—I want to say this:
Goodness wins.
It might not always be loud. It might not always come with confetti. But it matters. It lands. It lasts.
Let go of needing the proof. I know it’s hard—but it’s the weight we can set down.
The fact that I’m still reaching tells me I’m not quite done with the lessons of letting go.
But the fact that I can laugh at myself?
That’s what tells me I’m on the verge.
Miracles are being birthed all around us. It’s part of what’s making the air so frizzy with energy.
Change, change, change—bringing the evolution of what was into what’s becoming.
“On the verge” is the privilege of having slogged through liminal space—those in-between places that are no longer what was, but not yet what will be.
It’s the threshold.
But here’s the tricky part:
You don’t exit the liminal space until you accept it.
You have to surrender to the not-knowing before knowing begins to rise.
(I haven’t had coffee yet. This is all being fueled by lemon water and sparks of inspiration.)
I tried to write you all weekend. Each time I started, it either turned into a rant or a ramble about something small and human that made me cry.
And every time, I deleted it.
Because what I really wanted to say is this:
You’re in one of two places right now.
You’re either in the liminal space—where nothing makes sense anymore, and you can’t go back to when it did. You feel the weight of this in-between, and all you want is for what’s next to finally arrive.
Or…
You’re on the verge.
You’ve surrendered, finally. You stopped fighting. You lived the day you were in.
And now—without realizing how—you find yourself standing on the precipice of something new.
Either way… control is not an option.
(Oh, how I miss control.)
If this landed for you and you’re wondering, “What do I DO here, Patty?”—the answer is simple but not easy:
Look for where you’re gripping. And let go.
Release. Trust.
It’s the only way forward.
With love,
Patty
P.S. If “on the verge” is where you find yourself right now, the retreat in Dublin might be exactly what your soul is asking for. We gather June 28th in a circle of women ready to reconnect with clarity and courage. Early bird pricing ends tomorrow (€100 savings).
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