Faith, Doubt, and Walking Anyway…
There’s a tension I’ve been sitting with lately—between who we seem to be and who we actually are. Between the image we project and the identity we carry. And somewhere tangled in the space between those two, doubt sets up camp.
Image is loud. It’s curated, polished, Insta-ready. Identity is quieter—it lives under the skin, slow-blooming, often inconvenient, and usually unflattering before it’s freeing. We get rewarded for image. We get seen for it, praised for it, reposted for it. But identity? That’s the stuff we live with when no one’s watching. That’s the part that whispers in the dark, “Is this really me?”
That question haunted me for a long time.
My friend Brian, who runs the ‘Owning the Goal’ podcast in NYC, always brings up my realtor days. And he’s not wrong—I was good at it. I could sell a penthouse or negotiate a brownstone deal with the best of them. But the truth? It didn’t feel like me. Not really. It felt like I was playing a part I was cast in but never auditioned for. Like I was living inside a version of success that looked good from the outside, but felt hollow on the inside. All image. Not enough soul.
The tension got too loud to ignore.
So I did something drastic. I left it all. I swapped stilettos for sneakers. I traded deals for deliveries. I joined the USPS, of all things—and I fell in love with it. The simplicity. The service. The steady beat of walking and helping and connecting. Talking to strangers. Listening to stories. Being a thread in the fabric of people’s ordinary days. That felt real. That felt like me.
And now here I am, walking across the country with a mailbox on wheels named Gertrude, talking about mental fitness, healing, and everything in between. Wild, right?
But that question—“Is this really me?”—that’s what got me here. It’s what cracked the image and let the identity grow roots. It’s what helped me realize that doubt wasn’t my enemy—it was the tension that stretched me out of what I had outgrown and into something truer.
What I’ve learned—especially mile after mile on this road—is that faith isn’t forged in the absence of doubt. It’s forged in the presence of it. Faith is saying yes when you’re only 63% sure and still walking. It’s showing up shaky. It’s moving forward even when you’re still negotiating with your own fear. It’s the wobbly step that says, “I don’t know exactly where this goes… but I trust something good is waiting on the other side.”
So what does doubt mean to me?
Doubt has taught me to look for the lessons. It’s reminded me that clarity doesn’t always come first. Sometimes movement has to come first—and understanding follows. Doubt has taught me that even when I’m not 100% sure, if I just keep moving—just one more mile, one more morning, one more moment of not quitting—it all somehow works out.
It may not look like I imagined. But it ends up being what I needed.
Because when you let identity lead, the image can catch up. When you stop performing and start becoming, your life starts to feel less like a show and more like a story. And when you step out on your doubt—not after it’s gone, but while it’s still humming in your chest—you learn that courage was never about certainty. It was always about movement.
So if you’re standing on the edge of the thing you’re meant to do, half-sure and halfway in, and you’re waiting for doubt to disappear before you go—let me say this with love:
Go anyway.
Not because you’re ready.
Not because you’ve got it all figured out.
But because you’re real. And real is enough.
Shout out to Pastor Kerrick and Bishop Herbert Jr for your sermons this morning. Both spoke to me today.
#mentalfitness #SuicideAwareness #GodsGPS #faithoverfear #keepmeposted
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