The Cost of Greatness Series, ACT 1

“Let go or be dragged.” – Lama Surya Das

The Illusion of Safety

I never bought into the illusion. Not marriage. Not a job. Not even the white picket fence of motherhood with the dog. From a young age, I knew safety wasn’t something handed to me through tradition; it was something I’d have to build myself. Safety, to me, looked like freedom: the power to choose my path, my people, my pace, my place. It looked like becoming a writer at six years old and never letting that fire die. So, I never stopped writing and learning. It looked like having children, not because I was supposed to, but because I chose to. So, I gave birth on my own terms, loved my children, and successfully raised them alone.

While I’ve lived parts of the so-called “traditional” life—marriage, corporate titles, suburban lifestyle, motherhood—I’ve also watched it all go up in smoke, some out of failure, but mostly out of clarity. Because sometimes, the only way to live a life that’s truly yours is to burn down the one others expect you to survive in. Through trial and error, you discover that you have to let it all go—what they told you a woman should want, should do, should be—and make room for what actually fits. The cost of liberation is steep. Ruthless. Necessary. It demands sacrifice, solitude, and self-trust. But it will take everything you’ve got and it will take you exactly where you’re meant to go, unboxed, unwavering, and finally free.

“Sometimes the safest thing you can do is burn the shit down—every expectation, every checked box, every borrowed dream—and start building from your own fire.”

The Beautiful Interruption

What we call the plan is what we build when we’re following the script, dreaming, managing, and chasing after the version of life we were taught to believe was worth having. It’s curated, calculated, built on expectations, and often conditioned by someone else’s blueprint. The traditional illusion of safety starts to crack under the pressure of this becoming. And in that unraveling, you face a choice.

But purpose is different. Purpose doesn’t knock. It breaks down the door. Purpose is divine disruption and the sacred dismantling of everything you thought made sense. It wrecks comfort zones. It tears through illusions. It unearths every carefully laid mile of the map, not to punish, but to redirect. Purpose unapologetically pulls you toward what your soul came here to do.

So, you can hold on and suffer, or you can let go.

Letting go isn’t failure, but it hurts like hell. The winning takes time. It’s freedom. And surrender. And radical self-inquiry. It demands courage. So, start here:

What does an emotionally stable life look like—for me?

Not for your parents. Not for your partner. Not for your family. Not for society. You.

Is it rest without guilt? Is it space to breathe, to create, to say no without explanation? Is it leaving the relationship, the marriage, the job, the friendships, the version of you that survives but doesn’t thrive?

This beautiful interruption exposes what we often mistake for a “stable life,” which is emotional stagnation dressed in routines and roles. It’s a slow death of the spirit. We stay because it looks good on paper. After all, it checks all the boxes. But inside, something is restless. It’s a performance of peace, not the real thing. And the restlessness is the pull. The call. Persistent. Quiet. Sacred. That’s your soul asking for MORE.

More truth.
More clarity.
More real stability.

If you can recognize the pull, you can honor it. And let it reroute you.

Torching the Blueprint

Remember the film What’s Love Got to Do With It? One of the most cathartic, soul-rattling scenes in that movie is Angela Bassett as Tina Turner, stepping out of years of abuse and manipulation with quiet fury and surgical clarity. It is night. Streetlights hum. Her silhouette is sharp, sovereign. Ike’s belongings—his guitar, his clothes, the fantasy they built—are flung across the lawn like dead weight. Tina lights a cigarette like she’s lighting the truth, then sets it all on fire. No tears. No second thoughts. Just flames. It’s not just his shit she’s burning, it’s the narrative. The lie. The version of herself someone else scripted for her survival. That fire is a ceremony. And Bassett’s face doesn’t beg or plead. It bears witness. And she doesn’t just walk away, she arrives. Not in pieces, but in power.

Greatness Demands the Flame

Our path to greatness echoes Tina Turner’s. It demands we torch the blueprint. Burn it all down. The one built on fear, approval, silence, and settling. Becoming great is not for the weary; it requires sacrifice and gumption. Not the glamorous kind. The bone-deep, sleep-stealing, identity-stripping kind. It requires rage that births clarity. Grief that makes space for new language. And a refusal to keep performing a life that doesn’t feel like our own. Greatness doesn’t come wrapped in comfort with bows. It comes in the fire—when we choose to start building from what’s real, not imagined.

Fire is a sacred disruption. As my cosmic element, it arrives to cleanse, to illuminate, to make room. Fire devours what no longer serves and sets the stage for what’s real, raw, and next. It is the element of transformation—the destroyer and the deliverer. The cosmos has a divine way of pulling us out of our comfort zones, especially when we’ve overstayed in places that our spirit outgrew. And yet, how can we open ourselves to new possibilities if we’re still grieving the chances we didn’t take? Still clinging to the version of life we thought we wanted?

Tina didn’t look back once the fire was lit. She walked forward. Not in rage but in readiness. That kind of choice creates its own climate. It gives way to great momentum. Avalanche-like power. It doesn’t just push you—it carries you, full-force, into unfamiliar territory. You will be stripped. You will be softened. You will be stretched in ways you never imagined. But if you let your spirit lead, if you trust the wisdom rising from the wreckage, this can become the most beautiful, soul-true chapter of your life. Not the one they expected. The one you were born to live.

On your greatness journey, you will lose people. You will outgrow versions of yourself. You will grieve what you thought you needed. But you’ll gain sovereignty, soul-stability, and You.

After the Fire

Sit in the ashes long enough to hear your true voice, to feel the air around you, to see the debris dissipate over time.

After the burning, there’s quiet. Not peace, not yet—but space. While you’re sitting in that space, allow yourself to meet yourself without the noise, without the roles, without the expectations you used to confuse for identity. The truth about emotional stability isn’t about holding it all together, but rather knowing what’s worth holding at all. Stability is not control. It is alignment. The question now becomes, are you willing to stop pretending and start listening?

Sometimes the bravest thing you’ll ever do is admit: this life I built no longer fits the person I’m becoming. This is a hard road. And you may walk alone. You’ll likely walk alone. Because your newly profound choices may not align with your family, friends, or partnerships. And that’s ok.

It’s not their journey; it’s yours alone.

It’s evolution. It’s bravery. It’s soul-deep. And evolution always leaves a mess before it reveals the meaning.

The Cost of Greatness

The cost of greatness requires TOTAL madness. You have to tear down everything—your life, your mind, your habits, every part of who you thought you were. Let go of it all: the old you, the comfortable lies, the safe patterns that kept you numb. Only when it’s all gone can something real take root.

I’ll tell you now, most people can’t do it.

They cling to their old selves like it’s a lifeline. They guard their comfort zones like they’re holy. But a few? They torch it all down and start over. They walk away from years of work, skills they mastered, pride, and predictability. They dive headfirst into the unknown. It’s brutal. It’s messy. Every damn day, you’ll question your sanity. You’ll wonder if you have what it takes to pull it off.

But that’s exactly what makes greatness worth pursuing. The struggle. The chaos. The uncertainty. The raw rebirth into someone your younger self wouldn’t even recognize.

It sucks. It’s painful. But it works.

Let this be the season you set yourself on fire 🔥