I look around the group, sensing the energy in the room.
I ask, “Are you embodying your purpose, or are you resisting your calling?”
Silence. A deep breath. Then, a woman speaks. “I know I’m meant for more. But I’m afraid. What if I fail? What if people don’t like who I become?”
I nod. “The things people love about you will also be the things some others hate. That’s life. The sooner you accept this, the faster you’ll step into your power.”
I feel the words land. Some shift in their seats. Some smile, as if remembering something they had forgotten.
I place my hands on my heart. “Fear is just a lack of trust in NOW. When we measure ourselves by money, status, or approval, we will always feel small. But when we recognize our own presence—our breath, our gaze, our movement—we become radiant. We are the power we’ve been searching for.”
The Chariot appears in my mind. Not just a conqueror but a force in motion. A lover of life. A traveler of time. A being who moves forward not because they force their way, but because they trust.
I look at them. “You are the Chariot. The force of reality is moving through you. The question is, will you resist it, or will you let it carry you forward?”
A woman exhales sharply, a sound of release. Another straightens her posture, as if claiming space in her own life for the first time.
She sits across from me, arms crossed, shoulders tight. The weight of something unspoken lingers in the air.
I wait. Silence is powerful. It invites the truth to surface.
Finally, she exhales. “I just don’t know how to tell him.”
I nod. “Tell who?”
“My father.” The words come out heavy. “He thinks what I am doing is useless. That I should get a ‘real’ job. Something stable. Something that pays.”
I lean in. “Do you believe that?”
She shakes her head, staring at the floor. “No. But his voice is so loud in my head, it’s hard to hear my own.”
It’s the battle between the old and the new. Between the inherited life and the chosen one. Freud called it killing the old bull—the moment we stop living under the shadow of the father and step into our own authority.
I meet her gaze. “There comes a time when you have to choose between their voice and yours. If you don’t, you’ll spend your life asking for permission to exist.”
Her breath catches.
“The Chariot doesn’t ask for permission,” I continue. “It moves. It trusts. It knows where it’s going, even if others don’t understand. This isn’t about disrespecting your father. It’s about not making him your god. You are not here to fulfill his vision. You are here to claim your own.”
A pause. Then, something shifts. Her spine straightens. Her eyes sharpen.
For the first time, I see her. Not as a daughter seeking approval, but as a woman stepping into her own power.
The world is craving awakened hearts. Hearts that breathe, speak, and act with presence.
I smile. “Are you ready to step into yours?”
