Witnessing…

Recently, I’ve noticed a shift in how I process my life.

Sometimes I feel like I need to witness what happens before I respond, which means I’m always a day late and five dollars short.

Let me explain.

My life is no worse than anyone else’s, but a girl has had a heck of a ride lately. In the last six months alone, my family has lost two huge male figures. Two fathers. A grandfather, two brothers, and a husband. Two men whose absence leaves a hole that can never truly be filled. Two sets of children and grandchildren are now learning how to navigate life without them.

I opened another brick-and-mortar business in an economy that seems determined to saw off its right hand to spite its left. I lost the job that supported my entrepreneurial adventures, my home, my children, and the lifestyle we had built. I found out my husband fell hard back into his addiction, forcing me to once again question my place as a woman and reconsider whether this marriage can be repaired.

I lost three brand deals because I simply couldn’t keep up the performance. I couldn’t fake enough smiles for social media, and as my posting slowed, so did my numbers, my followers, and ultimately my income.

I finished another year of training toward my Comprehensive Pilates certification, pushing myself closer to the finish line. Yet somehow, now that I’m closer than ever, I find myself wondering if I even want to be part of the race at all.

And let’s not forget that I’m probably heading full speed toward perimenopause, with rage and brain fog running at 100%.

Those are just a few of the things I’ve had to process while still showing up, still being present, and still carrying on.

So lately, I’ve pulled myself out of my own life and simply witnessed it all unfolding.

Why?

Because it allows me to not react to every feeling—or at least not the first few feelings. Because usually those first reactions sound something like:

“Are you stupid?”
“WTF did he just say?”
“Nope. Not today.”

By becoming a witness to my own life, I can watch it like a movie. I can let the drama unfold without immediately inserting myself into every scene. It allows me to see people’s true intentions because I’ve stepped back and let them reveal their entire hand.

Witnessing also allows me to see perspectives and possibilities I would otherwise miss. The story continues whether I’m involved in every moment or not. And perhaps most importantly, witnessing gives time the opportunity to reveal what needs to be revealed.

The older I get, the more I realize that none of this is really ours to keep. The people we love will all be gone one day. The things we build won’t last forever. Every season eventually ends.

And somehow, that’s okay.

Because being human is hard. It is beautiful and heartbreaking and exhausting all at once.

Allowing yourself the space to witness—not only your own life, but also the stories that intertwine with yours—creates room for grace. For reflection. For understanding.

And most importantly, it gives you the gift of time.

Time to stop reacting.
Time to start seeing.
Time to simply be present.

Love Briana Nicole.