Why The Numbers Don’t Matter

Lately I’ve stopped caring as much.

About the follows and likes and retweets or shares. I’ve stopped watching the numbers, though if I’m honest I’ll tell you I rarely looked at them to begin with. As I take my feet off the wall and free fall into what’s next, I’ve stopped worrying about the things that don’t matter. And numbers for the sake of numbers tops that list.

There’s a call inside me to open further than I’ve ever opened before. To peel back the flimsy layers that remain between what’s inside of me and the world. To tell my stories… the hard ones, the raw ones, the heartbreaking ones. The ones that show how human and broken and tired I am at times. The ones that taught me what it means to have trust and faith, when everything seems to be crashing down around you. The ones most people sugar coat and share in just the right lighting, so as to manage perceptions and judgments.

There’s a call inside me to open.
Without filters or a hard candy shell.
Without attempting to manage perceptions.
Without worrying about how well it’s being received.

“That’s a hard balance to strike,” he wrote me late one Tuesday night. Always my sounding board and the one who listens to whatever I need to say with love and wisdom. “Showing your vulnerability, knowing you want it to be seen, but being okay with it not being seen, and having the material be of service.”

“I want to focus more on the creating and sharing and less on the reach and numbers and whatever,” I responded. “Like, I just want my life and work to be out there and of service to whoever needs to see it.”

There were times I cared about the numbers. The size of my mailing list and Facebook following. The number of click throughs and how many people were landing on different pages of my website. If you ask most marketers about these things, they’ll tell you that they matter. Like, really really matter. Conversions and open rates. Split testing and bounce rates. Opt-ins and page hits.

I understand these things. I can speak educatedly about them. I can tell you whether a 40% open rate is good or bad and what it means if your bounce rate is 78%. I can tell you how to split test and how to read the results so you know how to best convert people landing on the page. I know what colors make people click, what images work, where the images should be on the page, and how much your font size plays a factor in sign ups.

But I don’t care as much these days.
Because these days it’s about the work.

The creating. The sharing. The serving.

And while the only way to have a successful business is to have a healthy balance between caring about the numbers and caring about the work, I’m swaying hard to the left (we’re talking sides of my body here, people). To my heart space. To the part of me that’s married to my purpose. To the work.

“I want my life to read like a map for anyone who ever wanted to become someone new.” Hannah Brencher

When I stumbled across this quote I exhaled a deep, “this, yes.”

I want my life to read like a map. I want my life and work to be a guide for anyone who ever wanted to live a life and build their work around the things they’re most passionate about. The things that matter most to them. For anyone who ever had to claw their way out the darkness, fight to find their footing when everything shifted around them, and want to have their voice heard in the midst of the clutter and chaos that surrounds them.

I want my life — my work — to read like a map.

And because of this pull to open, to lay it all out there for the world to see, I’ve stopped caring as much about the numbers. Because the numbers shouldn’t guide the work to the degree that we tend to allow. The numbers shouldn’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t share. The numbers don’t account for the fact that there are things inside of me that have to come out and exist in the world for me to stay sane and happy and healthy. For me to not be eaten alive from the inside out. The numbers don’t show that I’m leaning in with trust and faith and am committed to what’s being asked of me, whether it brings me fame and fortune or not.

Because it’s not about the numbers and conversions.
It’s not about my bank account and making gobs of money.
It’s not about becoming internet famous.

It’s about the work.

The words. The service. The map.


So while I do believe the balance has to be there to attain certain types and levels of success, I also think we all need to enter a period of not caring about the stats from time to time. Focusing solely on what needs to be birthed from within, the body of work and legacy we want to leave behind. Let whatever needs to flow through come, and not try to mold it to what is already working for other people.

If there’s anything I’ve believed about business building with every cell of my being, it’s that there’s a business model, marketing plan, and audience for every beautiful idea, dream, and vision. And the sooner we can turn inward and immerse ourselves in the work, the sooner we’ll find exactly what it is we’re here to contribute.

Then, and only then, should the numbers be considered.

Am I reaching the people I want to reach? Is this an effective platform to get my words in front of the eyes that so desperately need to read them? Am I getting the support or funding necessary to sustain what I’ve built? How can I support myself or my business or my team and still maintain the integrity of my work?

But first, focus on the work.

Also, if you’re interested in getting support in finding out what the work is about for YOU, so that you can make the most of the numbers, click here to learn about my awesome new coaching packages (starting at a whopping $35 – oh yes!)

I’m Not Sorry I’m Letting You Down

This message is going to make some people pretty mad, but I’m going to say this anyways. For you. For me. For all of us who have been giving our all every single day, yet continually come up short: I’m not sorry I’m letting you down.

Don’t get me wrong, I was sorry. For the last nine months I’ve been really sorry, saying it more times than I can count. I’ve been bending over backwards trying to give people what they want and need from me.

Trying to live up to the measurements of the person I was before. Trying to hold everything together and still be the friend, daughter, sibling, and person they once knew. But I’m not that person anymore, and I’m so very tired.

The fact is, I’ve given everything I have to the last nine months of my life and work. I’ve shown up to the best of my ability and tried my absolute hardest. I’ve given my all, but it hasn’t been enough.

It hasn’t been even close to enough.

When loss came along and knocked me on my ass, I fought like hell to stay upright and keep everything moving forward as it was supposed to. I picked myself up off the floor of my kitchen or rolled myself out of bed to face the day more times than I can count. Because I had obligations and relationships and people depending on me. Some days, getting myself out of bed was honestly all I had.

Not enough credit is given to those of us fighting to find our footing in the darkest seasons of our lives… to those of us who are drowning inside a pain we can’t always name, who just managed to get out of bed, let alone face the day and all that it asks of us.

For most of the year, I did okay… I kept it together, kept on top of all the people and things that demanded my attention, and managed to give others what they needed. Until the summer arrived and it became apparent that I’d run on the fumes of the aftermath for as long as was possible. Until the trauma and PTSD said, “slow it down sweet girl, you have no choice now.” Until my brain stopped working and I went into straight up survival mode, fighting to maintain a grip on my life and all I’d built.

Those mid summer months will be remembered as the months where I disappointed a lot of people I truly care for, because I simply had nothing to give anymore. I couldn’t be smiley and happy. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t come out and play or show up for things I said I’d show up for, if I even remembered.

And a couple weekends ago when another person I love dearly looked at me and told me in his own words that I was letting him down, I cracked. I piled into my car, tears streaming down my face, and I went home where I proceeded to cry the hardest I’ve cried in months for at least 10 long hours.

“I’m not going to apologize for doing what I need,” I texted. “I don’t want you to apologize,” he replied. “Sometimes I forget how much you’ve been through.”

In that moment of deciding to stop apologizing, I reclaimed my power and a whole lot of my footing.

I’m not sorry I didn’t respond to your email as quickly as you’d have liked, or that I didn’t listen to your voicemail. I’m not sorry I’ve been MIA when it comes to hanging out, or I completely missed that text message you sent over the weekend. I’m not sorry that I can’t be the person you need or want me to be in any given moment, for any given situation. I’m not sorry that I chose to sit at home with my cats rather than “rallying” for whatever fun thing you wanted me to do with you. I’m not sorry that sometimes I’m too tired or sad or overwhelmed to give you 100%.

I’m not sorry I’m not who I was before.

I’m not sorry because I know I’m doing the best that I can, and someone has to step up and take care of me. Someone has to take a stand for my healing and grieving and the person I am today. I’m not sorry that the person I am isn’t the person you expect me to be. I’m just not sorry.


Let me be clear here: not being sorry isn’t permission to be lazy and inconsiderate.

It’s not permission to blow things off or take actions that hurt others. Nope. It’s about acknowledging that there are times in our lives where we only have so much to give, and sometimes that’s not going to be enough for other people. Sometimes you have to be the champion for the broken parts and the ways you’ve shifted, so that you can continue growing and healing and moving forward with your life, because no one’s going to do it for you.

If you’re lucky, you’ll have a person or three that will stand by you when you stop apologizing. Who will remind you to do what you need to do to heal and mend and get back to 100%, even if that 100% looks completely different than what it was before. Hold them tight, they are your people. They are the ones that will come out the other side with you, with bonds more sealed in love and tears than any you’ve ever experienced.

And the ones who fall away? Let them fall away. There are people who are meant to come into our lives for a season or a reason, and they may not be meant to stay, as much as we wish they could. The ones that get angry at you for doing what you need to do, they aren’t your people. They are added weight, sometimes toxic, and certainly not serving you and your highest good. Let them fall away.

Keep doing the best that you can do, even when you fall short.

Even when that’s just rolling out of bed and finding the strength to stand upright for longer than five minutes at a time. Even when it’s just returning one phone call or email. Handling one important detail of the day. Because the more you care for you and honor what you have to give, the sooner you’ll find your strength again.

This Work, It Asks a Lot of Us

I used to not like people, it’s true. I used to think people as a whole were selfish and unkind creatures… until I started doing this work I do.

As I started to coach and teach sweet souls from all over the world, I learned something pretty life altering: we all want to be of service, leave a mark that makes the world a better place, and help people in a very specific way.

Every single one of us.

What that work looks like is unique and incredibly personal. It stems from our own journey and story and the ways we’ve been hurt. As Sean Corne said in the film Yoga Is, “find your pain and you’ll find your purpose.” We’re all uniquely qualified to be of service in exactly the way we feel called. It’s been truly humbling to coach and teach and support so many brilliant beings as they step into their work.

But this work, it asks a lot of us.

“I exist in this life in service of very specific work,” I said a week ago, fighting through the lump in my throat as tears began to form, “sometimes that work just asks a lot of me.”

I don’t believe in painting pretty pictures of places that don’t exist. In acting as if everything is always shiny and happy and easy breezy. The truth is that doing work that’s in service of others is hard at times. Fulfilling, life changing, and even phenomenal for your bank account, but challenging and soul stretching in ways you don’t know until you know.

Devotion is a word that landed in my lap a couple years back. Devotion to our work and our callings, the things that light us up from deep inside our soul. Devotion is a word that changed my business and brought me more focus and clarity than I’ve ever known.

I’m devoted to this work.

My life is in service of it and is no longer just my own.

The work pulls and tugs at me. It moves through me and uses me in ways I never imagined I’d be used. It takes me to places I never thought I’d venture, with people I never thought I’d know. And this work, it asks a lot of me.

It asks me to show up in ways I’m not ready, to bare my soul and put everything out there for others to see and learn from. It asks me to walk into some of the darkest spaces of this life and feel things that most people spend years tucking neatly away. It asks me to let go of all that I know so that I can tumble into the unknown. So I can create what I’m meant to create. It asks me to pick up the sledgehammer, time and time again, and tear apart all that I’ve built so that I can be more deeply rooted in the pain, allowing me to connect with others in the ways I need to.

Honestly, sometimes this work feels like it’s peeling little slivers off my soul and sending them out to the world and those who need what I have to give. And sometimes I wonder if anything at all will be left of me when I’m old… but if there’s nothing left, I will be grateful to have been spent in the ways I’ve been asked to give myself to those around me. I will be grateful to know that I served a purpose, if even for just one sweet soul who needed me.

This my friends… this is not easy.

People ask me how I got to the place where I’m so comfortable sharing so much of myself online, and I always laugh, because I’m not comfortable. I’m constantly uncomfortable. I’m constantly being asked to share things that make me feel terrified and exposed. I piss people off with my deepest truths, with being who I am. I am stretched and torn and broken in ways that hurt like hell. I’m pushed into spaces I’m not ready to be standing.

This work, it asks a lot of me.
But I’m devoted.
I’m purpose driven.
And I, like you, am here to be of service.

So if you’re ready to step into the work you feel called to do and you’re feeling scared, that’s okay. It’s normal. It means you have a lot to give and so very much to contribute to this crazy world of ours. This work will ask a lot of you, and it will be challenging at times, but there are no words to describe how absolutely worth every soul stretching moment it is. There are no words to describe what it’s like to see your work and words land on someone in just the right way, and you see something click in side of them. No words for the moments where people thank you for being you, and sharing all that you have to share.


We need you to do the work you’re here to do. Whatever it is. Wherever you feel called. With whomever you desire to support.

We are desperate for it.

So take a deep breath and lean into what calls and tugs and pulls at you. Stretch your edges just a little bit further with everything you do, learning to find comfort in the discomfort. Put yourself out there and risk the rejection, push back, and piss people off in the process. Let the work move through you and use you up until you’re spent in the most fulfilling of ways.

You are needed, just as you are, in exactly the way you feel called.

I’m Taking My Feet Off The Wall

While on a family trip this past August, I had the opportunity to go canyoneering for the first time. We hiked up a beautiful rock formation on the outskirts of Zion until we reached a little ledge that poured over into a dark, cool crevice within the rocks.

While covering the basics of handling your rope and the descent, our guide talked to us about gravity. “As you’re going down you’ll notice gravity start to pull you, remember that gravity always wins. You can continue to try and stay the course, but eventually she’s going to grab you and force you to move in her direction.”

I strapped in, looping the rope through the appropriate hooks before disconnecting from the safety line and positioned myself on the edge. With a little guidance and a quick lean, I was over and heading down the first section of the wall. It was only a few beats before I felt her tugging at me ever so gently. Despite knowing I needed to move with her, I still found myself staying the course I’d already started, wondering how I was going to keep the path when things felt a little off kilter.

“You feel gravity starting to pull you to the right?” our guide hollered up to me. And with a “yep” and an exhale, I took my feet off the wall and let gravity do the rest. She pulled me fast and hard to the exact spot I was supposed to be, and I shimmied myself down the rest of the way with ease.

What a stupidly perfect metaphor.

If you’ve been following me at all this year you know that loss and grief have been words that color everything I do and write. On a warm December night in Hawaii, I received the worst phone call of my life: my very recent ex boyfriend had decided to take his own life. They were calling to make sure I was safe and alive. They needed his parent’s phone numbers. They had questions about the days before his death. The last time I saw him alive and breathing.

I remember everything about that moment and the ones that followed.

I remember feeling myself crack open as the wind left my body and I fell to my knees. I remember how hard it was to focus on the conversation and pull myself together long enough to answer the questions being thrown at me. I remember how much it took for me to get back up off the ground and over to my mom’s bedroom door to tell her what had happened. I remember how I cried so hard I nearly stopped breathing, time and time again.

The thing about grief and loss is that they can shatter you, but everyone and everything else keeps moving. The world, clients, relationships, obligations, and responsibilities don’t stop moving no matter how impossible it is for you to get yourself up out of bed. No matter how much you just need a freaking moment to pause and be broken. To sit on your kitchen floor and cry until there aren’t any more tears left inside of you.

The world keeps moving. 
So I kept moving with it as best I could.

The level of appreciation I have for this beautiful body of mine is enough to write a separate post… because this body of mine did what it needed to do to keep me moving. Even when I couldn’t feed or water it. Even when I ran as fast and far as I could every single day to ease the anxiety that ate me alive. Even when sleep wasn’t a thing we did without sleeping pills. My body kept me moving. My body kept me alive when I didn’t have what it took to do it myself.

But what I didn’t recognize is that everything shifted in that single moment when I heard the news. “Cracking open” is something we only kind of understand until we really know it for ourselves. Cracking open is life, heart, mind, and soul altering. Cracking open forces all that isn’t meant to be to shake loose from our selves and our lives. Cracking open shifts the ground beneath our feet.

And when the ground shifts beneath your feet, your center of gravity shifts with it. Even though I was unsteady and off kilter, even though I could see there was no way for me to continue down the path I’d started out on, I kept resisting the pull. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other, and so I did my best to stay the course. Stick to the plan. Make it work.

But if I’m honest I’ll tell you it hasn’t been working.
Not even a little bit.

So, I’m taking my feet off the wall.

Truth be told I already took them off and am free falling to where I’m supposed to be. I let go of my grip, stopped worrying about the plan and the things that will fail and fall apart on the way down. I took my feet off the wall and I’m letting the Universe pull me to exactly where I’m supposed to be.

This is the part where you want to hear how amazing it is.

How suddenly I made all the monies doing all the awesome things my heart desires. How I rode off into the sunset with rainbows and unicorns and fireworks all around. How taking your feet off the wall is a little scary but it all works out in the end and you live happily ever after in the nice vacation house on the beach while multiple six figure launches fill your bank account.

I would like to tell you that, I really would.
But the truth is, taking your feet off the wall is scary. as. hell.

Taking your feet off the wall looks like watching everything you’ve worked so hard to build fall from your hands and vanish more quickly than you ever imagined a thing could disappear. Like watching the house you built burn to the ground without even reaching for the fire extinguisher. It feels like tumbling around in the dark, all twisted and upside down with no idea which way is up. It feels like your stomach is in your throat and you can’t really breathe at times.

That said, taking your feet off the wall also looks like finding alignment in your voice, life, relationships, and work at a rapid pace. It looks like clarity and divine downloads happening with every single breath.

Because while you may feel all turned around, you have never been more guided and supported than in the heart stopping moments that come with free falling. Because you’re no longer resisting and trying to control… you’re simply letting gravity (or God, the Universe, your intuition, etc.) pull you to exactly where you need to be so that you can shimmy along with more ease and joy.


I don’t have the happy ending story for you yet.

But it’s coming, that I know for sure.

Even if it means more of my life and work need to burn to the ground first. Even if it means more people and things that no longer fit need to fall away. Even if it means more heartbreaking moments of cracking further and further open as I tumble into the unknown. Even if my landing is far from graceful and leaves me with bruises and broken ribs.

There is nothing greater than alignment with yourself, your relationships, and your work. And that’s all that can happen when you take your feet off the wall and allow yourself to be guided to where you need to be. So I’m sharing where I’m at in case you need to take your feet off the wall too. Because I know it’s scary and had I not had that perfect metaphor moment, I’m not sure I would have found the strength to just let go and start free falling.

Everything is upside down and up in the air and I’ve never felt more confident in my decision. So if you need some support in taking your feet off the wall, know that I’m right here with you. I know. I get it. I believe in you.

Don’t Numb Out

Please. I know it’s hard to live this life.

I know there are times that it hurts so much you think you might not make it through another day. When you’re certain that nothing will ever change or go your way. When your body is tired and your soul is broken. When the people you love hurt you, or you’ve done so much wrong it may never be possible to make amends. When you’ve slipped up so bad you feel a shame you’ve never known.

I know there are people you’ve lost, in one way or another. People you thought would always be there, who are suddenly a memory or a stranger you once knew. I know there are hard things you have to do to create what you want, and just thinking about them makes your bones ache. I know that it’s scary out there, because people can be cruel and the world can be so strenuous you don’t know why you bother.

I know that sometimes you love so much and give your all and you still end up alone. That sometimes you do everything right and it’s just not enough. I know that failure stings and rejection leaves marks on your heart. How being misunderstood makes you question yourself at the core of your being, and makes the ground seem a little unstable beneath you. I know it’s hard to find your footing when everything seems to be crashing down around you.

I know that sometimes everything is so “fine” and “okay” that it hurts worse than the most spectacularly heartbreaking moments. That the normalcy and details of the day to day are so simple and straightforward you think you might actually implode. I know it hurts how far you might be from the place you want to be. That it seems like a such a long distance between where you stand right now.

But please, don’t numb out.

This world is not an easy place.
Loving is not painless.
Failing and succeeding take so much from us.
Loss is shattering in ways you only know once you know.
People can be cruel and hateful.
There are roadblocks around every turn.

But stay here with us.
Stay here with me.
And then breathe some more.

Breathe it in and feel all that hurts and stretches you in ways you didn’t know you could stretch. That bends you in places you weren’t supposed to be bent. That takes those tiny fractures and splits them wide open. I know it hurts like hell and you’re not sure you can survive.

You can, if you just stay here.
If you choose not to go numb and disconnect.

Take my hand and tell me the things you need to have heard. Be willing to let others see you for who you really are, scars, and bruises and all. Cry or scream or curse through the parts that sting and burn and break you open a littler further.

Here’s the thing about what hurts in this life… it’s beautiful. It’s what teaches us to be wiser and smarter and more discerning. It’s what shows us who we really are and who’s meant to walk beside us. It’s how we connect with the people we most want to connect with, and it’s how we are shaped into the people we’re here to be.


Pain is there for a reason, we need it to guide us.

To show us where to go and where not to go. To tell us that this isn’t the right relationship, or that our job is actually killing us. To let us know when things aren’t working how they’re supposed to, so we can actually work towards things that bring us true joy and fulfillment.

If you’re numbing out, you’re missing it.

You’re missing the joy and the depth and the connection. You’re missing the people who will really show up and love the shit out of you. You’re putting up walls where there should be windows, and barricades where there should be doors. You’re ignoring the things that desperately need to be addressed.

You’re missing this one short life of yours.

I spent so much of my life numb and disconnected, because it hurt too much to be here and to try and find my place. It hurt too much to love openly and put myself out into the world. And people… people were hard on me in ways I didn’t think I could survive. So I numbed out. I stepped back. I hid deep inside myself. And because I was so numb, I spent years with the wrong people, doing the wrong work, and making big decisions that were so far from aligned with my truth.

I know it hurts to open and be present. I know what it feels like to face pain that’s been tucked away for years. I know how it makes you sick to your stomach and uneasy in a way you can’t describe.

But I also know that when you open and face the pain, when you choose to connect and show up fully and presently in this life… that’s when the amazing things start to happen. When you meet the people you’re meant to know and love and walk through life with. When you find the work that lights your soul on fire. And when you start to understand that “joy” isn’t just an annoying word you don’t understand, but a way of being in the world… a way of experiencing everything, even the hard stuff.

It’s worth the pain, I promise. And you can survive it, if you allow yourself to open and unravel into your life and those around you.

Will you take my hand and join me in this life? Present and connected and feeling all there is to feel? I hope so. Because it’s pretty wonderful.

If you asked me two months ago what topic I wanted to base my business on, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. With her guidance and support, my business is up and running and I have created my Individual Coaching Package and two Transformational Quick-Guides. I’m currently coaching my own clients and there are several other products and packages in the making. The best part is that, by working with Stephenie, I have been able to overcome my own mental blocks so that I now feel so much more in-tune with my own creative flow.