When I first came across the 12 steps of sobriety, I saw them for what they were: a guide for those struggling with addiction. But the more I looked at them, the more I realized their power goes far beyond that. The steps are a blueprint for anyone looking to live an honest, aware, and aligned life. They offer a way back to yourself—one step, one truth at a time.
In the last few years, grief has sat with me in ways I could never have imagined. When I lost my father, I felt a void I couldn't name, one I'm still learning to navigate. I felt grief again as I watched the dreams I poured into my businesses crumble spectacularly, leaving me questioning everything I thought I knew about success. And there's a unique kind of grief in the slow unraveling of a marriage and family—when the things you built with love begin to fracture.
I've had to wrestle with this truth on my own self-awareness journey. There have been moments when my loyalty—whether to a person, an ideal, or even a version of myself—became a kind of slavery. I found myself giving so much of who I was, trying to live up to unspoken expectations or maintain relationships that no longer served me, that I began losing sight of my own needs and values. It was as if my loyalty was no longer a choice but a compulsion, driven by fear of rejection or guilt over change.
The truth is, the love we receive from others—whether abundant or lacking—doesn't define us, but it does reveal something about the relationship we have with ourselves. Are we kind to ourselves when we make mistakes? Do we celebrate who we are, even when the world doesn't seem to notice? Or do we rely on external validation to feel worthy? These were the questions I had to ask myself as I journeyed deeper into the beliefs of Living Beyond
In moments of uncertainty, betrayal, or profound loss, we can find ourselves estranged from the essence of who we are. Choices we make from this place of "otherness" often reflect fear, survival, or a desperate attempt to belong. They can feel hollow, reactionary, or even at odds with the truth we carry deep within us. The pain of these choices is compounded by the realization that, even as we try to move forward, we are losing touch with our authentic selves.
I have learned, through Living Beyond, that dying is not just about loss; it's also about transformation. It's about letting go of the layers we've accumulated—the labels, the stories, and the expectations others have placed on us or we've placed on ourselves. These layers may have once protected us or helped us navigate the world, but over time, they can become barriers to truly living.
This isn't the kind of fear that shouts; it whispers. It hides in the subtext of my choices, the unspoken narratives I carry, and the patterns I find myself repeating. For years, I thought I was past it. I told myself that my spiritual practices, my work, and my self-awareness had built a sturdy shell. But the truth is, that shell hasn't always protected me—it has sometimes kept me from being truly seen.
What I've come to understand on my Living Beyond journey is that even the destructive choices we make in pursuit of belonging hold valuable clues about ourselves. These moments, painful as they may be, can become opportunities for deep self-awareness and self-discovery—if we're willing to sit with them.
In this blog, I share how stepping away—whether from work, relationships, or the rush of daily life—can be a powerful act of self-love and clarity. Rather than being a sign of weakness or avoidance, stepping away creates space for reflection, realignment, and deeper connection with ourselves. Within the Living Beyond framework, it's seen as a necessary pause that allows transformation to take root. The blog invites readers to consider where in their own lives they may need to pause, listen, and trust that clarity often comes not in the doing, but in the being.
In this heartfelt reflection, William Brown explores the hidden cost of operating in a "superhero mindset." While society often encourages us to find and live through our superpowers, William shares how constantly stepping into "hero mode"—especially during crises—can unintentionally cause harm, disconnection, and emotional silencing. Using the metaphor of superhero movies and their collateral damage, he questions the cultural obsession with strength, control, and saving the day.
William vulnerably shares how his own instinct to lead and protect has, at times, shut others down or dismissed their feelings—not out of malice, but from a desire to manage chaos. He references Tina Turner's song "We Don't Need Another Hero" as a turning point in his understanding: what we need most isn't more heroes, but more presence, compassion, and authentic connection.