There are seasons when life asks us to listen instead of act.

Nothing is urgently wrong.
Nothing is clearly right.
But something is shifting beneath the surface, and the usual ways of moving forward feel strangely out of reach.

These are listening seasons.

There are days when I look at my journal pages and see nothing but mess. Layers that don’t quite work together. Colors that feel off. A page that doesn’t have a clear direction, and may never.

And yet, those pages are honest. They are a witness to the moment I was in when I made them — messy, uncertain, but true.

That’s what this Soul Truth reminds me: I am exactly where I need to be.

We don’t always tell our stories in straight lines.
Sometimes, they emerge through torn paper and soft edges, through marks made slowly, intuitively.
Sometimes, the story needs space to unfold—not in bold declarations, but in quiet gestures and subtle textures.

This is the language of layers.