If you’ve never heard of Human Design, it’s a system that maps out how we’re energetically designed to move through the world—how we make decisions, use our energy, and relate to others. I’m a Projector, which means I’m not designed for constant output or proving my worth through effort alone. My work is to see, to guide, to recognize patterns—and to live in alignment with that truth.

But learning that didn’t immediately feel liberating. It felt confusing.

For years, I had to "decondition" the idea that success must look a certain way from the outside. In Human Design, “deconditioning” refers to the process of unlearning who we were taught to be so we can live in alignment with how we’re actually designed. I had to untangle myself from metrics that said: "If it’s not visible, it’s not valuable. If people can’t see your transformation, does it even count?"

And if I’m being honest, that brought up fear.
How do I build a practice?
How do I serve clients?
How do I trust my path—
if my biggest shifts are internal, energetic, and quiet?

Where in your life have you been measuring your success by someone else’s ruler?

This year, success asked me to listen differently. To feel instead of perform. To notice what was changing inside me, not just what could be proven or posted. At first, celebrating this way felt awkward—almost like I was doing it “wrong.” But slowly, something began to settle.

I could feel it in my body.
A grounded sense of self-accomplishment.
Not adrenaline. Not validation.
But a deep, steady knowing: I am building something real.

What does success actually feel like in your body when you strip away comparison and expectation?

Freedom in Space and Time
I downsized my home. I let go of rooms, objects, and identities I no longer needed. And in that release, I gained something far more valuable: time, space, and breath.

Less managing. Less maintaining.
More presence. More choice.

What are you holding onto that may be costing you more than it’s giving back?

Nourishing Body, Mind, and Energy
I committed to practices that support me rather than push me: meditation, somatic work, and a health routine I can actually sustain. I limited alcohol. I watched my finances closely—not from fear, but from curiosity and care. Each small decision taught me that agency can be quiet and still powerful.

One of the biggest shifts this year was learning boundaries—not as defenses, but as acts of self-trust.

• Energetic boundaries: noticing when my energy dips and giving myself permission to step back.

• Relational boundaries: saying no without over-explaining. Asking for what I need. Letting discomfort be part of honesty.

• Practical boundaries: protecting my time, my attention, and my capacity instead of constantly overextending.

Each boundary became a small declaration: I matter. These are quiet little love letters I write to myself. 

Where are you leaking energy in ways that feel normal—but actually feel exhausting?

Voice and Visibility
I shared more of my thoughts and writing with the world. And then something incredible happened: I was published at Tiny Buddha—not once, but twice. A dream I’d held quietly for ten years finally met me.

And still, even here, I noticed the old questions surface:
Is this enough?
Does this “count”?

It reminded me that external recognition is beautiful—but it doesn’t replace internal alignment. It only lands when the soil is ready.

What dream have you been quietly carrying that you haven’t let yourself fully honor yet?

Asking for Help
This year, I practiced asking for help—directly, clearly, without apology. That alone felt like a revolution. I learned that receiving is a skill. That support doesn’t make me weaker; it makes me more rooted.

What might shift if you allowed yourself to be supported instead of self-sufficient?

Resilience and Grace
I moved through another holiday season as a single mom. I didn’t do it perfectly. I did it present. And that, too, counts as success.

What have you survived that you’ve never paused long enough to acknowledge?

Redefining Success
Success, for me, is no longer something I chase. It’s something I feel.
It lives in clarity. In boundaries. In sustainability.
In the quiet pride of choosing myself again and again.

Deconditioning this has been hard. Letting go of performative success has been scary. But what I’ve gained instead is something far more nourishing: a grounded, embodied sense of self-accomplishment that no one can take away. But there are still times where this doesn't feel like enough. And that is ok too!

If you trusted your inner sense of success more than the outside world’s applause—what would change?

This year, I’m honoring the quiet wins.
The invisible work.
The deep roots.

And I invite you to do the same.

With love, 

EM