Navigating the Silence: Embracing Life’s Uncertainties
There’s a certain heaviness that comes with eleven nights in a hospital room — a stillness that isn’t quite peaceful, but rather, the weight of waiting, of facing the inevitable. My grandmother had been in a coma, her body holding on while we, her family, kept vigil. My father, as devoted as ever, was there every day and every night. He sat with her for hours, whispering prayers, holding her hand, willing something — anything — to happen. And as the days turned into nights, he began to look more tired, more defeated, the hope slowly draining from his eyes.
One evening, as he was preparing to head back to the hospital for another night with her, he paused, looked at me, and said, “I just want to manifest a miracle for her.” His voice was steady, but I could hear the uncertainty beneath it — like he was holding on to hope even as it slipped through his fingers. I asked, “What kind of miracle are you hoping for?” He didn’t answer immediately. He just gave me a look — a mixture of determination and helplessness — before turning and heading out the door.
The Manifesting Struggle
I sat with the weight of that question, reflecting on my own relationship with manifesting and wanting something so intensely it feels like you could bend the universe to your will. Just two weeks before, I was doing everything I could to manifest a new job. After being laid off, with my financial situation deteriorating, I turned to everything I knew — Bashar, Joe Dispenza, Abraham Hicks. I followed my highest excitement, focused on positive visualization, and felt an energy that kept me buoyant. Interview invitations started to come through. It felt like everything was aligning, like the universe had heard my plea.
And then, nothing. Emails went unanswered, calls unreturned. I clung to positivity as best I could, convincing myself that the universe was simply taking its time. But when the news finally arrived that another candidate had been chosen, I felt the familiar sting of doubt seeping in, eroding the foundations of my carefully constructed optimism.
This wasn’t the first time I had been confronted by silence. Years ago, I was in a marriage that was draining every bit of joy from me. I had spent years praying, pleading with God to give me an answer — should I stay or should I leave? But there was nothing. No divine sign, no sudden clarity, just silence.
It wasn’t until I stumbled upon a passage in a book that everything changed. It asked, “If God said it was okay to leave, would you feel relieved?” My answer was an immediate, absolute yes. That’s when I understood: I had been waiting for permission that I never needed. The silence wasn’t a judgment or a test — it was an invitation to trust myself, to take ownership of my own life.
A Different Kind of Miracle
Now, as I sit here with my grandmother’s passing, I find myself thinking back to that conversation with my father. He wanted a miracle for her, just as I’ve wanted miracles for myself. But maybe we’ve been looking at miracles in the wrong way. Maybe they aren’t grand, sweeping reversals of fate. Maybe they’re quieter. Like the strength it took for my dad to be with her every night, the unspoken love between them. Maybe miracles look more like showing up, even when the outcome seems inevitable.
Manifesting, in that light, isn’t about controlling everything. It’s not about bending reality to match our wishes. It’s about finding alignment with ourselves, even when things don’t go as planned. It’s about being present and open, not as a means of avoiding pain, but as a way of truly embracing what it means to be alive.
I’ve come to understand that the crux of my struggle isn’t a lack of clarity about what I want. I see my dreams with crystalline precision — a fulfilling job that resonates with my passions, a thriving candle business, a transformative coaching practice. The real battle is believing, deep down, that I am capable of bringing these visions to life. It’s about trusting that I can weather the storms, that I am worthy of the success and fulfillment I crave.
Trusting the Silence
Sitting here, thinking of all my grandmother has taught me, I realize that the challenge isn’t to make everything go according to plan. The real challenge is to believe that I am capable of facing whatever comes next, to trust that I have the resilience to keep going. The silence I’m experiencing — whether it’s in the hospital room or from a potential employer — isn’t a void. It’s an invitation to reflect, to continue forward, even without certainty.
There’s liberation in releasing the need to control, in acknowledging that setbacks aren’t personal indictments but rather part of the universal ebb and flow. My grandmother’s legacy whispers to me that worth isn’t something to be earned — it’s inherent. Just as her love for me has always been unconditional, so too should be my acceptance of myself.
So, I will continue to chase my highest excitement, not because I need the universe to validate me, but because it’s what sets my soul alight. I will embrace the silence when it comes, trusting that it’s not a void but a space ripe with potential. I will remind myself that setbacks are not stop signs but signals to pause, reflect, and recalibrate.
As I lean into the silence, I see that it is not emptiness; it is possibility. It is a space to breathe, to find my own strength, to choose love and resilience again and again, just like my dad did for my grandmother, just as she did for all of us.
In loving memory of my grandmother, whose unwavering love and quiet strength will forever guide me.
