The control pattern I couldn’t see

We moved into a house the day before Halloween, and the shift was obvious the second we stepped in.

I felt it. My kids felt it too, which is what caught my attention.

When we were viewing houses a few weeks ago, my son looked at one place and said, “Mom, even if this was free, can we please not live here?”

And he was right.
It had the exact same heavy feeling as the condo we were trying to leave behind.
The sinking, suffocating, “we’re shrinking inside this” kind of energy that I had been pushing through for months.

So yes, the house mattered.
Not in the superficial “things make you happy” way.
It mattered because we were drowning where we were, and I kept pretending it was fine.

But the house is not the point.
That was just the crack in the surface.
The real truth has nothing to do with walls or square footage.

The real truth is this:

I’ve been lying to myself about how emotionally open I actually am.

I love depth.
I love honesty.
I love raw conversations.
I could talk about vulnerability all day long when I’m hosting, teaching, leading, guiding.
I can peel myself open in front of a room full of strangers.
Not because I’m brave… but because I’m in control.

When I lead, I decide the edges.
I decide the frame.
I decide what’s seen and what’s not.

But when I’m not leading, the story changes.

I thought I was this emotionally available, open-hearted, aware person.
And in a lot of ways, I am.
But not at home.
Not with the people who actually deserve to see the real me.
Not with the people who share a life with me.

My husband gets the brunt of it.
Not because he deserves it, but because he’s the one place I don’t perform, don’t hide, don’t prepare myself first.
He gets the version of me that is still learning how to be with myself, and he pays the price for the parts of me I haven’t wanted to face.

And that’s the part that has been hitting me hardest.

I’ve convinced myself that I’m vulnerable because I’m vulnerable publicly.
But with the person closest to me, I’m guarded, reactive, or shut down.
Not because I don’t love him. But because I don’t know how to be soft without controlling the moment.

I don’t know how to “let someone in” unless I’m running the space.
Unless I’m the one guiding it.
Unless I feel prepared.

So the move didn’t “teach” me anything.
It exposed what was already there.
It gave me space to finally admit what I’ve been avoiding:

I’m open everywhere except where it matters most.

And that realization is uncomfortable.
It’s raw.
It hurts.
But it’s real.

This is the pillar of the content I’ve been searching for.
Not the business talk.
Not the spiritual talk.
Not the identity talk in the fluffy way people use it online.

The real identity work is this.
The shit nobody wants to talk about out loud.
The part where you realize you’re not actually living the values you preach.
Not because you’re fake, but because old patterns run deeper than you want to admit.

I’ve been in control for so long that I didn’t notice how much it was costing the people closest to me.

And for once, I can’t hide behind teaching.
I can’t hide behind depth.
I can’t hide behind “I’m just being honest.”
I have to face myself.

That’s where I am right now.
Not in some big transformation.
Not in a poetic shift.

Just in the very real, very human moment of seeing myself clearly and finally telling the truth about it.

💛👽
Danielle