Strategic Patience: A Different Kind of Freedom

Several weeks ago, I opened the door to my storage unit in New Hampshire for the first time in almost a year. There was my former life. Stacks of boxes, bins, and furniture tucked away in that cold metal space waiting for me to come back to the life I left behind.

It hit me like a wave. I don’t have a place that’s truly mine right now.

When I sold my property, I headed to Florida to get eyes on my dad. Six months was the plan. A couple of falls and subsequent hospital and rehab admissions extended my stay until now. 

I'm in his house, not mine. And now we're facing dad's next steps with a lot of uncertainty that needs to be sorted out. We just got the word that, for his own safety, he will most likely not be able to come home. When he transitions to a facility, his home will be sold, and I’ll be out. I have my RV. Someday that will be an adventure again — but right now it feels more like another responsibility rather than the freedom it did when I bought it. And so it, too, is tucked away in storage.

This season of my life is a liminal space. It's my in-between. It's not quite where I was, not yet where I’m going. It’s caregiving, decision-making, grieving, holding space for my dad’s emotions, and trying not to lose myself in the process. And did I mention that today is the eighth anniversary of my mom's passing? 

It's becoming a lot. What's next for dad? Where do I land? What’s mine? Who’s got my back? 

And then I remembered: I do.

Woven through the heaviness, I’ve found glimmers of freedom:

• Sacred sunsets over the ocean.
• Curling up with my cats and taking in their purring vibration.
• Pouring my heart into writing.
• Creating the program I'll be launching in February.
• Cheering on the WNBA playoffs.
• Short bursts of travel that remind me who I am outside of caregiving.

These aren’t escapes. They’re rehearsals for the bigger freedom that’s ahead.

The truth is, I don’t feel sick. I’m not broken. I’m not powerless. I’m in between. And instead of calling it “stuck” or “waiting,” I’ve chosen a new name for it:

✨ Strategic Patience ✨

It’s not passive. It’s deliberate. It’s rooted in trust that what I’m doing right now is exactly what I need to be doing. I'm supporting my dad, sorting through a lifetime of belongings, and tending to my own heart in small but powerful ways. It is laying the groundwork for what comes next.

So I’ve created a new affirmation:

“I am gratefully living my life right now with strategic patience.”

Every time I say it, I breathe a little easier. I remember that I’m not wasting time. I’m investing it.

Strategic patience. It's perfect.

The way I see it, I'll likely be here until spring. The steps I am taking now are getting me closer and closer to the freedom that my soul has been longing for.

Maybe you’re in your own in-between. Waiting for clarity. Waiting for change. Waiting for the right timing.
If so, I offer you this. Your waiting is not wasted. Your patience is not weakness. It’s strategy. It’s wisdom.

Set your boundaries. Look for the places that bring you joy in the moment. Find your anchors in the little rituals or sacred pauses that remind you who you are. Let them hold you steady until the bigger freedom arrives.

And when the panic whispers, take a deep breath and fill your heart with gratitude as you remind yourself:
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You are living your life — right now — with strategic patience.

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