The Blue Chair That Held Me

Sometimes the loudest message comes in the quietest form.

This is the story of a dream that wouldn’t let go—and the divine truth it came to deliver.

A few years ago, I had a recurring dream—which is unusual for me.

A blue plastic chair was haunting me.

You know the ones. Those unforgiving molded seats that lived in every waiting room in the 80s and 90s. Cold silver legs. Scuffed plastic backs. Too big for a child, too small for comfort.

But this chair?

It remembered me.

I remember the way it felt beneath me—my legs dangling, my thighs sticking and pinching as I sat there, dripping with fear.
I remember tracing the deep scratches on the edges over and over again to ground myself.
I remember wrapping my shins behind the cool metal legs, trying not to kick.
I remember everything.

And I remember the folder.

Facing away from me, but I knew the handwriting. It was my court-mandated therapist’s notes. Words jumped out at me—sullen, flinch, burn, alarming, lonely, mother, sister, grandparents… I couldn’t read full sentences. Just fragmented flashes of a story too raw to face.

Across from me sat my mother.

And between us sat the caseworker, revealing my confidential file to her. That day ignited a cascade of trauma: the caseworker was fired, my mother threw me out of a moving vehicle, I was sent to live with my aunt, then shipped back to Alaska…

But none of that haunts me.

The chair does.

It came back in my dreams. Again and again. For two weeks straight.

At first, I didn’t understand why. But I’ve learned that if we ignore the whispers, the universe sends a Gibbs-smack to get our attention.

This chair, those dreams?

A Divine Gibbs-smack.

Here’s what I realized:

That chair did its job perfectly.

It held me.

On what I once labeled as one of the worst days of my life—I was held.

Physically held by the blue plastic chair.
Spiritually held by the Divine.
Energetically held by guides, ancestors, and future me.

If I close my eyes now, I can see them all—my entire support team—stretching from horizon to horizon.
Waiting.
Not to fix me. Not to rescue me.
Just… waiting for permission to hold me in grace and wonder.

Back then, in that unyielding little chair, I asked to be held.

And in 2020, when the world went into lockdown and the grief grew too big, I asked again.

And on January 20, 2025, as I watched the highest office in the land be seized by a man who dreamed of a crown and not a constitution, I asked again.

And each time, just like in the movie Pearl Harbor, when Doolittle called for volunteers, my entire support team stepped forward.
One resounding step.

I am held.
You are held.
We are all held.

The world is staggering under the weight of a wannabe king, and so many of us are walking around with grief-stuffed lungs and rage lodged in our throats. Even now, as part of “The People’s House” is being torn down—we are being held.

Held in the rising tension and the quiet refusal.
Held in our sacred rage and our revolutionary joy.
Held in our devotion to building a life, a business, and a legacy rooted in something far more ancient and holy than men drunk on power.

So I ask you:

How easy are you willing to allow it to be?

The surrender to the support that is all around you—
Just waiting to be acknowledged.
Just waiting to be asked.

You don’t have to armor up to be powerful.
You get to be bold and tender. Strategic and sacred.
Soft enough to ask and strong enough to receive.

So here’s your invitation:

Make the ask.
Whisper it. Scream it. Write it down if you have to.
But ask.

For the guidance.
For the clarity.
For the support.

Your Divine Team is already lined up—shoulder to shoulder, eyes blazing, ready to step forward with you.

Because beloved…

You were never meant to do this alone.

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👉 Reflection Prompt:
Where are you resisting the hands that long to hold you?
What might soften if you let yourself be supported—not after the storm passes, but here, in the middle of it?

Whisper your ask aloud tonight. Let yourself be witnessed by the unseen.

🔥 Daily Affirmation:
I am divinely supported in every breath.
Grace moves through me and around me.
The universe delights in holding me steady.
I surrender to being beautifully, abundantly held.

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P.S. Profit is protest, and receiving support is its most radical form. Every time you allow yourself to be held—by people, by spirit, by the systems you’ve built—you dismantle the illusion that power requires isolation.

Keep asking. Keep allowing. Keep rising.
That’s how we build a world where softness leads and overflow becomes ordinary.

🎧 Song of the Day: The One That You Call by Mackenzie Mackay