Homebody & Heart

I’m allowed to be new.
I’m allowed to go slow.
I’m allowed to take up space.

I keep coming back to these sentences, like little permission slips I didn’t realize I was waiting for. They’ve been grounding me lately, especially in moments when I catch myself wondering if I should already feel more certain than I do.

There’s a quiet pressure that shows up whenever you start something new, to already sound confident, to already know what you’re doing, to move faster than feels natural. To prove you belong before you’ve even had time to settle in.

But I am new. And that’s not a flaw. It’s just a fact.

Being new looks like learning in public. It looks like asking questions, changing your mind, and figuring things out as you go. It looks like not having all the language yet, but showing up anyway. It’s awkward sometimes. It’s tender most of the time.

I feel this most right now in my real estate work, where being new means stepping into unfamiliar rooms, learning a new rhythm, and letting myself be seen before I feel fully formed. It’s exciting and humbling in equal measure, and it keeps reminding me that confidence doesn’t come from having all the answers. It comes from staying present while you learn.

That’s where going slow has started to matter.

Going slow, I’m learning, isn’t about falling behind. It’s about letting things land. It’s about giving myself time to understand what I’m building, instead of rushing to make it look impressive. Slow is where clarity sneaks in. Slow is where confidence actually grows.

And taking up space doesn’t have to be loud to be real.

Sometimes it looks like writing when you’re not sure who’s reading. Sometimes it looks like sharing before everything feels polished. Sometimes it’s simply allowing yourself to exist in the room, in the conversation, in the season, without shrinking.

I’m not here to perform certainty.
I’m here to practice presence.

So if you’re new, or slow, or unsure, or quietly becoming something you can’t fully name yet, you’re not doing it wrong.

You’re allowed to be here.
You’re allowed to take your time.
You’re allowed to take up space.