There’s a hum that sometimes visits me.
It doesn’t come in shouting or slamming doors. It’s quieter than that.
Slippery. Seductive. A slow creep that sounds like:
“Is this even helping anyone?”
“Is this just more noise in an already-too-loud world?”
“Am I just spitting pretty words into the wind, hoping they land?”
And when it comes, it’s tempting to obey.
To shrink. To go silent.
To stay in my lane.
But I’ve learned something about that voice.
It doesn’t belong to my future self or my intuition, and it certainly isn’t the Universe.
It’s a shape-shifter—familiar enough to feel true, but never rooted in wisdom.
So in true Shaneh fashion, when the doubt came this week, I didn’t make myself smaller. I didn’t wait for clarity. I didn’t pause to polish.
I turned up the fucking volume.
I slid into someone’s DMs—uninvited but hopefully not unwanted—just to say thank you for engaging with my recent posts because I needed to reconnect. To remind myself (and them) that we’re not doing this in a vacuum. That resonance exists even when it doesn’t echo back immediately.
Then I made sure our audio drops are now available on both Apple Podcasts and YouTube.
Apparently, if I’m wondering whether I’m contributing to the noise, the answer is to speak in stereo—to widen the channel, to let the current flow louder, clearer, freer.
And then, as if the universe was listening in…
I woke up to an email from someone I’ve never met.
They told me my words made them cry, that they read every single post. That my energy reaches them. That I make a difference.
They didn’t owe me anything.
They didn’t have to say it.
But they did.
And it cracked something open in me again—a reminder I needed:
We don’t always get to see the ripple.
But the ripple is real.
We don’t always receive applause, replies, likes, or shares.
Sometimes the sacred work lands quietly, like rainfall in dry soil.
But it’s working. It’s softening. It’s changing things.
So let this be your reminder, luv:
Your people are out there.
Your message matters.
And even if it feels like whispering into the void some days—remember;
You are singing someone home.
And no, it’s not always convenient.
It’s not always clear.
Sometimes, it’ll cost you courage you weren’t sure you had.
But you don’t need to be ready.
You need to be willing.
Willing to show up.
Willing to trust yourself.
Willing to say it again—especially when no one seems to hear.
Because here’s what we often forget:
Intuition rarely arrives with a booming voice.
It’s quiet. Felt. Subtle.
But fear?
Fear has a monologue.
It mimics your voice. It borrows the tone of authority figures. It sounds like someone you once wanted to impress, or someone you’re afraid to disappoint.
It is a lie dressed in familiarity.
So don’t confuse its condescension for clarity.
Don’t mistake its madness for your message.
You were not made to be background noise.
You are the signal.
You are the medicine.
You are the echo that reminds others of who they are.
And when you question your worth, your voice, your impact—
Don’t go quiet.
Say it again.
Say it louder.
And trust that the work is working, even when the waves haven’t reached the shore yet.
✨ Before You Go, Ask Yourself:
Where have I mistaken quiet impact for no impact at all?
What sacred ripple might I already be making without even realizing it?
What would it feel like to recommit—not because I’m certain, but because I’m devoted?
Whose voice helped me feel less alone this week? Have I told them?
PS:
You are not here to disappear into the algorithm.
You are here to anchor truth in a distorted world.
So speak it. Share it.
Let your resonance rewrite reality.
Because Profit is Protest—and your devotion is the loudest revolution of all.
🎧 Song of the Day: “Deep Connections” by Rob Riccardo and Slow Traverse
Because some messages don’t shout—they hum in the bones and find their way home.
🔥 Daily Affirmation:
My voice is a current. It moves what it’s meant to move.
I speak like the world is listening—because somewhere, someone always is.
My devotion is louder than doubt, clearer than fear, deeper than silence.
Even when the echo is quiet, I know I’ve stirred the tide.