Radical Faith in Practice

October 6, 2025 · 4 min read

Tiny promises kept daily that turn survival into momentum.

I put my heart and soul into every line I publish — proud of it all, even the pieces that still sting, even the ones I’ve hovered over the unpublish button.

The difference in me today is that I’m finally giving in.

Giving in to the ache that keeps asking me to show up… in pain, in anger, in disbelief, in pure bliss and contentment.

Giving in to the truth that discomfort isn’t a sign to stop; it’s a sign I’m on the edge of growth.

Giving in to radical faith (yet again).

To me, this is what radical faith looks like.

RADICAL FAITH

I am who I am, and that is enough.
Everything has a way of working itself out. The book has an ending; I might as well enjoy writing the chapters.
Change is required for growth.
If I push past the discomfort, stay consistent, and show up authentically… it will make sense.

A mentor once offered me a way to see the challenges of life: “If you can see your life as a path, sometimes you will come upon a mountain that blocks your way. You can climb it. You can scale around it. You can blast a tunnel through it. But the point isn’t to be stopped by it; the point is to find a way to get to the other side. Mountains are inevitable. For everyone.”

So now when a “mountain” shows up, I walk right up to the base and say, “I knew you were coming. I just didn’t know when. But now you are here, and I am ready to take you on.” Naming it settles the ground under my feet. Options appear. I remember I have the tools to conquer it as my best self.

That’s where I am with my work. I’m a week into consistent writing again, but this time I’m ready to be seen. Ready for the analysis. Ready to share what fills and fuels me (beyond Substack).

That means doing the piece I’ve avoided: setting up the processes to allow people to find my work. Not as performance or noise, but as a practice in leadership — show up, be clear, repeat. For years, the “marketing” mountain sent me back to basecamp. Today I’m lacing my boots.

I’m zooming out. I’m [working on] building simple, repeatable workflows so my words can travel without draining the life out of me. One core channel (Substack) and a checklist I can run when the day is loud.

I can’t control the platforms (or who runs them), but I can control my process and my presence. That’s self-mastery in the wild: regulate first, then create; create, then share; share, then release.

Do I still feel the old pull to retreat? Of course. Mountains don’t shrink because we were brave for one day. You have to keep climbing to get over them… even when the mountain feels too hard to get past.

I’m learning to transmute the heat instead of obey it — how to name the surge, breathe, choose the next right action. Discipline over distraction. Consistency over drama. A hundred small decisions stacked into a life I can stand inside.

I also feel, maybe for the first time, that I’m on the right terrain. Not because it’s easy… because it’s honest. The blinders are off. The burdens are lighter. The pain is understood and held with tenderness.

I’m not trying to be someone else to be worthy of the work. I’m being the person who does the work, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.

If this resonates, borrow it. When a mountain shows up: walk to the base, say “I knew you’d show up,” and pick your method — climb, skirt, tunnel. Keep moving. Keep your system simple enough to run on a hard day. Choose one promise you can keep today and keep it. That’s how self-mastery is built — in public, in motion, without waiting to feel ready.

Here’s how to take what I wrote and run it through your own life —same honesty, same tools, but with you at the center.

Start by “giving in” (on purpose)

Giving in isn’t quitting; it’s radical faith.

Radical faith that the story has already worked itself out in ways you can’t see yet.

Radical faith that when you stop letting fear set the pace, the trail softens — switchbacks appear, not dead ends.

Radical faith that the universe opens the right doors when you’re ready to walk through them… and your only job is to be ready.

Radical faith that showing up every day, even in the quiet, as your highest self trains your body to believe you — until practice becomes identity, and identity becomes embodiment.

That’s the “giving in”: not to pressure, not to panic — to create alignment.

Meet the mountain (name it, don’t fear it)

Stop ignoring the mountain. See it. Name it. Choose your route.

Script (use it): “Hello, Mountain. I knew you’d show up. I have the tools, and I get to choose my route around you.”

Practice: Say it before you write, post, pitch, or parent. Naming restores your footing and puts choice back in your hands.

Choose the cliff (and take a small ascent)

There’s a spot you keep hiking to, then turning back. That’s your cliff. Name it.

Examples: publishing your work, raising your rates, having that conversation, booking the appointment.
Micro-ascent (10 minutes): send the email, post the paragraph, make the call, set the timer, hit publish.

Pack light. Set a pace. (A workflow you can survive)

Consistency beats intensity. Build a route that won’t eat you alive. (This is what I’m working on for myself because I tend to take on too much.)

Acclimate first, then climb

If your nervous system is screaming, discipline looks like downshifting, not bulldozing.

90-second oxygenreset: 4-count inhale, 7-count exhale x4. Shake out hands. Unclench jaw.
5-minute acclimation walk: outside, no phone.
Rule: regulate → then write/speak/decide.

Reframe your thoughts

You’re not “too much” or “not enough.” You’re a person on a route.

Mantras for the trail:
- I am who I am, and that is enough.
- The book has an ending; I get to enjoy writing the chapters.
- Change is required for growth.
- If I push past discomfort and stay honest, it will all make sense.

You don’t need to become a different person to lead your life. You need to lead the person you are— with simple systems, regulated energy, and the courage to keep moving when the mountain appears. The mountain doesn’t have to move, but you do.