embracing change

When Your Reality Shatters: What to Do When the World No Longer Makes Sense

How to Rethink, Reimagine, and Move Forward When Everything is Changing

For decades, I clung to beliefs that felt like a lifeline. Even when they didn’t fit, I assumed the fault was mine. I thought if I just tried harder and prayed more, I’d find alignment. But I didn’t. Instead, I suffered.

Letting go wasn’t an option—not for a long time. My beliefs were woven into the fabric of who I was. Questioning them felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that if I jumped, I might not survive the fall.

But the suffering became unbearable. So, eventually, I jumped.

I almost died. Some days, it felt like I was peeling my own skin off, layer by layer. I barely recognized myself and others no longer recognized me. The confusion, fear, and despair were suffocating. I wandered blindly through the dark, grasping for anything solid. No one handed me a roadmap, but a few offered a hand. Slowly, glimmers of light began to appear. Bit by bit, they grew.

Since that great unravelling of belief, I stay wary of clinging too tightly to any worldview. I hold my beliefs with open hands. Not because I don’t stand for anything—oh, I do!—but because I know how easy it is to mistake certainty for truth.

I see it everywhere. People gripping tight to ideas that can’t hold them anymore, afraid to let go.

What We Can’t See

I’m reading An Immense World by Ed Yong, a book about how animals experience reality in ways we can’t even imagine. Some creatures hear frequencies beyond our range. Others see spectrums of light we’ll never perceive. We humans like to believe we take in the world as it is, but the truth is, we are always missing something—we only ever see truth partially.

Lately, when I walk in the woods, I try to notice more. I pause, breathe deeply, and listen. I feel the sun warming my skin, the cool wind brushing against my face. I take in the scent of damp earth and the faint sweetness of pine. I remind myself that there is more happening than I can ever perceive. And I ask myself: How much of what I think I know is just another illusion or partial truth?

(Arboretum in Asheville, NC. ©2022 Carla Royal)

Why We Cling to Our Beliefs

Psychologist George Kelly compared beliefs to reality goggles, which we use to make sense of the world. But when those goggles crack, when something challenges what we think we know, we don’t usually take them off. Instead, we tighten them, trying to hold everything together. We twist, contort, rationalize—anything to keep our worldview intact.

It’s human nature but also dangerous because the world never stops changing. And when it changes, our old ways of seeing won’t save us.

I get why people resist change. It’s not just about the belief itself—it’s about who we are without it. If we let go, what’s left? Who’s left? That fear keeps people gripping tightly to what no longer serves them, even when everything around them is shifting.

Neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett reminds us that our brains are wired to predict what’s next based on what has already been. Letting go of an old belief isn’t just uncomfortable; it can feel unsafe. But that doesn’t mean the belief is true. It just means we’ve worn deep grooves into an old map. Maybe it’s time for a new one.

What Comes After Letting Go

At first, letting go can feel like freefall. The ground you stood on, the certainty you built your life around, vanishes beneath you. But what if it’s not falling at all? What if it’s flight?

What if, instead of gripping tighter, we trusted that something new wants to emerge? What if the space left behind by an old belief isn’t emptiness but possibility?

I’ve found that something remarkable happens when I stop fighting for control and allow myself to stand in the unknown. Clarity arrives, not all at once, but in glimpses. New ways of thinking surface, and unexpected perspectives find me. I stop seeing the world through old, cracked lenses, and instead, I catch glimpses of something new—new possibilities, new opportunities, new ways of being.

The Courage to Not-Know

What if we stopped treating uncertainty as something to fear?

Because here’s the thing: we don’t know what’s coming next. Yes, things look frightening, but we can’t know how things will go. Not with any certainty. The ground beneath us is shifting, whether we like it or not. And those who will make it through aren’t the ones gripping hardest to old paradigms.

They are the ones willing to see what wants to emerge and focus there rather than on what is crumbling.

Joan Halifax said, “All too often, we hold on to what we believe to be solid, when in truth, everything is shifting. Liberation begins the moment we recognize that groundlessness is not a curse, but a doorway.”

What if we stopped fighting the shift and started stepping through the doorway?

A Challenge for Us All

I won’t pretend I have mastered this. Even now, I catch myself tightening my grip, trying to make sense of things. But when I notice, I pause and breathe. I remind myself that clarity isn’t about having all the answers but about staying open to the questions.

Maybe it’s whispering, I don’t have to have all the answers right now, and that’s OK. Maybe it’s learning to rest in the unknown, trusting that something meaningful will arise in time.

So, I’ll keep walking. I’ll keep noticing. I’ll keep breathing in the uncertainty and trusting that something new is constantly unfolding, even if I can’t see the whole picture.

I can either help usher in the new or cling to what no longer holds, pretending I can’t feel the shift already happening.

I know which choice I want to make. What about you? Will you hold on tighter, or will you open your hands and see what wants to emerge? Maybe that’s where something new begins—when we stop gripping so tightly and allow space for what’s next.


If this stirred something in you, share it with someone who might be standing in their own uncertainty. And if you’d like to keep exploring these ideas together, subscribe here. Your thoughts, reflections, and even a simple ‘like’ mean more than you know. Let’s keep finding our way—one step at a time. 🤗

The Leap You’ve Been Avoiding—And Why It’s Time to Take It

History moves in leaps—not careful steps. Will you answer the call?

Leap

That’s the word echoing through me right now. A single, insistent whisper. A knowing. Now is the time to leap toward how I am meant to show up in a crumbling world.

Leap, trusting that the wings will appear or the rope will hold.

And even if they don’t, it will have been worth knowing I didn’t stay small inside the illusion of safety, standing still while the ground gave way.

Leap—to manifest my destiny rather than letting the tide of fear and control decide for me.

Just over a decade ago, I bungee jumped for the first time. I thought it would be easy. I spent a few years in college rock climbing and rappelling. I’m not afraid of heights. But standing on that bridge in the mountains of Whistler, BC, I realized something: climbing is about control, but it’s another thing entirely to hurl yourself into the abyss 160 feet above a rocky river that will not cushion the fall.

Humans aren’t meant to hurtle through the ar! My body knew this. I froze.

The young guy coaching me told me something simple but true: It won’t get any easier.

He was right.

No amount of standing on that bridge would dissolve the fear. The only way forward was down. And so, after what felt like an eternity, I dove. I dove!

(That’s me leaping! You can’t see the terror, but it’s there.)

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was worth it.

I won’t do it again—but I will never forget the lesson: Even in the face of paralyzing fear, I can leap. I am capable!

The Cost of Not Leaping

I have also known the opposite of leaping.

I watched my father do everything he could to stay safe and in control. He was meticulous and cautious. Yet, for all his efforts, I never found his life inspiring.

I listened to my mother tell me not to be consumed by what I loved—even as her addictions consumed her. I watched her slowly snuff out her beautiful light.

Might it be better to go out blazing?

Neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett explains that our brains aren’t wired for safety but for survival. The nervous system doesn’t distinguish between the fear of leaping and the quiet cost of holding back; it only tracks the toll. What feels like self-preservation can become self-abandonment—and when we abandon ourselves, we abandon the world.

Adrienne Maree Brown speaks of emergent strategy—the art of adapting and trusting that what we need will come as we move. She says, "How we live and grow and stay purposeful in the face of constant change" is what shapes us. The leap is not just an act of courage—it’s how we participate in our own becoming.

I decided 25 years ago that I would rather die than slowly fade away. Before that, I came close to death, but that decision pulled me forward. And yet, honestly, I haven’t been burning as brightly as I could. But over these past decades, I have built a foundation beneath me, and I have resourced myself well.

Now, it’s time to leap again. Time to blaze.

The World Is Calling Us To Leap

This is not just personal. The world is inviting you to leap, too.

We live in a time when old structures are crumbling economically, politically, socially, and environmentally. The safety nets we once trusted are faltering.

Jean Gebser wrote about mutations in consciousness—how history moves not in straight lines but in great leaps. And in every shift, some try to hold onto what was, and some surrender to what wants to emerge.

The ones who leap can help usher in a new world.

We are being called. Right now.

And yet, we hesitate.

Our nervous systems resist the unknown. We cling to what feels familiar, mistaking it for safety. Deb Dana, an expert in Polyvagal Theory, explains that safety isn’t the absence of risk; it’s the presence of connection. Read that again: Safety isn’t the absence of risk; it’s the presence of connection.

This means we don’t have to leap alone—we aren’t meant to.

We can hold each other through the freefall.

The world is in desperate need of my light. And yours.

So, I’ll ask you what Mary Oliver once asked:

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

I know what my next big leap is, and I’m scared! I’ve decided to take it before I hit publish, even though it frightens me because I’ve learned I can do brave things even when fear is present.

Trembling, I leap. Will you join me?

It will be terrifying. It will be exhilarating. It will be worth it.


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