Nobody Is Coming

Day 195 – June 6, 2026

I think one of the most terrifying realizations of adulthood is discovering that nobody is coming. Not the way you thought they would, anyway. Not the magical person. Not the perfect opportunity. Not the mentor. Not the rescue.

Not the moment where somebody finally sits you down, hands you the map, points to the giant glowing X, and explains what the hell you’ve been doing wrong this whole time. Nobody is coming.

And when that realization first arrives, it feels awful.

Like somebody quietly stole the emergency exit. Like finding out the adults were improvising too. Like discovering that the person you’ve been waiting for your entire life doesn’t exist. At least not in the way you imagined.

Because I think most of us spend years waiting. Waiting for permission. Waiting to feel ready. Waiting to feel worthy. Waiting for certainty. Waiting for confidence. Waiting for somebody smarter, stronger, wiser, richer, prettier, more organized, or more qualified to arrive and tell us we’re allowed to begin.

It’s amazing how long a person can wait.

I know because I did.

Not always consciously. But looking back, there were entire seasons of my life spent standing in doorways I was afraid to walk through. Not because I didn’t want what was on the other side. Because I wanted guarantees. I wanted certainty. I wanted proof. I wanted somebody to tell me I wouldn’t regret it.

Life, unfortunately, does not offer that service.

Life mostly hands you a decision and watches what you do next. Rude. Very rude. But effective. Because the truth is, most of the biggest moments of my life happened long before I felt ready for them.

Transition. Writing publicly. Reporting what happened to me. Building Wild Poise. Starting over. Speaking up. Taking chances. Trusting myself.

None of those moments arrived with confidence attached. None of them showed up carrying instructions. None of them came with a helpful little certificate that said, Congratulations. You are now officially qualified to proceed. I would’ve loved that.

Instead, what arrived was discomfort. Fear. Uncertainty. And a growing realization that staying where I was had become more painful than moving.

That’s usually how change starts. Not with certainty. With dissatisfaction. With a quiet voice saying, I can’t stay here. That’s enough more often than people realize. Because confidence rarely comes first. Action comes first. Then confidence shows up six months later acting like it was part of the plan all along.

Which feels like fraudulent behavior, honestly. I don’t trust confidence. Not completely. Confidence is flashy. Confidence is loud. Confidence likes attention.

What I trust is evidence. And evidence is built one small act of courage at a time. One decision. One conversation. One risk. One step. Then another. Then another. Until one day you look around and realize you’ve traveled a shocking distance without ever feeling fully prepared.

That’s how it happens. At least that’s how it’s happened for me.

Not dramatically. Incrementally. One brave thing at a time. And maybe that’s why this realization becomes such a gift eventually. Because once you understand nobody is coming, you stop waiting. You stop sitting in the audience hoping someone calls your name. You stop treating your life like a dress rehearsal. You stop believing the person who saves you exists somewhere outside of yourself.

And that’s when something shifts.

Because the hero was never late. The hero was busy becoming. I know, possibly a little dramatic but also true. And maybe that’s what these last few years have taught me more than anything. The woman I kept waiting for eventually showed up. Not because somebody brought her. Not because somebody rescued her. Not because the world suddenly became fair.

She showed up because she had to. Because one day she got tired of waiting. And started moving. Terrified. Messy. Uncertain. Beautiful. Lost. But moving.

Roger, meanwhile, has never once waited until he felt qualified for anything. Every morning he wakes up absolutely convinced he can handle whatever the day brings. The confidence of .a superhero The heart of a saint. The emotional stability of someone who has never paid taxes.

Honestly? It’s aspirational.

Chaos in one hand. Grace in the other.

And me, increasingly grateful nobody came, because it forced me to discover I could.