There’s a particular kind of stillness that settles in when you’re about to make a hard choice—the charged, uncomfortable kind. Like something’s about to shift, and once it does, you won’t be able to go back.
Rachel sat across from me last year, hands wrapped around her coffee cup, staring at nothing in particular. She was twenty-six, three years out of college, and had been juggling two possibilities for six months: law school, which she’d deferred twice, and her dream job at a nonprofit that kept extending their offer deadline.
“I know what I want to do,” she said quietly. “I’ve known for weeks.”
The nonprofit work lit her up. She talked about it with an energy that never appeared when she mentioned law school. But knowing what she wanted didn’t make the choosing any easier.
“Then what’s keeping you stuck?” I asked.
She was quiet for a long moment. “If I take the nonprofit job, I’ll never be the lawyer my parents wanted me to be. I’ll never have that kind of security or respect. There’s a version of myself I’ll just… never become.”
That’s when I understood. Rachel wasn’t struggling to make the right choice. She was struggling to grieve the choice she wouldn’t make.
We don’t talk enough about this part of choosing—how every meaningful decision closes a door, at least for now. Even when you’re moving toward something you want, you’re also saying no to something else. Another version of life. Another version of yourself.
Rachel had spent months trying to keep both doors open, negotiating deadlines, avoiding the finality of choosing. She thought she was being strategic. Really, she was avoiding the grief.
“What would happen if you just let yourself be sad about the path you’re not taking?” I asked.
Her eyes filled up immediately. “I’d have to admit I’m disappointing people who believed in me.”
“And what else?”
“That I’m giving up something I worked really hard for. That maybe I’m making a mistake.”
We sat with that for a while. Sometimes the most helpful thing I can do is create space for someone to feel what they’ve been pushing away.
When she finally chose the nonprofit job a week later, she called me crying. Not because she regretted the decision, but because she was mourning the lawyer she would never become. The prestigious career. The financial security. The version of herself that would have made her parents proud in a way they could easily understand.
“But underneath all that sadness,” she told me, “there’s this relief. Like I can finally breathe again.”
That’s what I’ve noticed about the choices that matter most. Grief and relief often show up together. You can miss what you left behind and still know you made the right choice.
I think about Rachel when I work with other people facing similar crossroads. The entrepreneur who finally closes the business that’s been limping along for years. The person who chooses to move across the country, knowing they’ll miss their family but understanding that staying feels like dying slowly.
These aren’t clean choices. They all involve loss. But the people who learn to navigate hard choices aren’t the ones who avoid loss. They’re the ones who’ve made peace with it
They understand that trying to keep all doors open means you never fully walk through any of them. They know that indecision is also a choice—and often the most costly one.
Six months later, Rachel sent me a photo from her first day at the nonprofit. She looked tired but alive in a way I hadn’t seen during all those months of deliberating.
“I still think about law school sometimes,” she wrote. “But I’m not the same person who applied two years ago. This version of me needed to choose what felt true, not what felt safe.”
If you’re holding a choice right now—wrestling with what to pursue, what to leave behind, what version of yourself to become—consider: What door have you been afraid to close? What choice have you been postponing because you don’t want to face what you might lose?
The thing about doors is this: when you finally choose to close one, you stop spending all your energy holding it open. You can turn around and see where you actually are. And often, you discover you’re somewhere better than you thought.
Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is choose. Even when it breaks your heart a little.
P.S. If this message found you thinking about a choice you’ve been avoiding or the grief that comes with closing doors, here are a few ways I can support you:
- Schedule a Momentum Experience – When you’re ready to create space to explore what you want from what you think you should want, this one-on-one session helps you listen to the voice that knows what you actually need. [Book your session]
- Read The Book of Choice – Discover how the choices you make—including the choice to grieve what you’re leaving behind—create the life you’re living. [Get the book]
- Take The Choice Quiz – The way you handle difficult decisions often reveals how comfortable you are with loss and change. Discover your choice-making style and learn to trust yourself through uncertainty. [Start the quiz]
- Work with me privately – Whether you’re facing a choice that involves significant loss or learning to make peace with decisions that don’t feel perfect, let’s explore how I can support you. [Let’s connect]
- Explore Choice Mapping Mastery – If you’re ready to develop trust in your ability to choose well, even when it means letting go of other possibilities, this program teaches you to access your inner knowing with confidence. [Learn more]
