The Door Without a Handle: Trusting the Leap

Lately, I’ve been thinking about that line from Eat Pray Love, when Liz’s Balinese guru says: “To lose balance sometimes for love is part of living a balanced life.” It’s one of those quotes that lingers in your bones long after the movie ends.

And here I am, preparing for another leap—this time, not into a new city alone, but into a shared space with the man I love. It’s been almost a year of building this relationship with care, laughter, and a few tender moments of “Wow, I didn’t know love could feel this safe.” And yet, here comes the old familiar wobble of change, knocking at my door. Or in this case… a door that seems to have no handle at all. 

Four years ago, I moved to Charleston with the proverbial suitcase in hand and a hopeful heart. I was nearly out of money, taking a job I genuinely felt excited about, trusting—probably for the first time—that the universe would catch me. And it did. But it came at a cost. I left behind the community I’d spent 17 years building, and a daughter already in college—moving even farther away from her was one of the hardest parts. I became, officially, an empty nester.

Looking back, I think my time—and maybe even my soul contract—with Florida had simply run its course. I had outgrown that version of myself, and life was gently (okay, sometimes not so gently) nudging me toward who I was becoming.

And that’s where I find myself again: standing in the hallway of the unknown, trying to pack up not just things, but an old chapter of life that I’ve truly lived in. One that has held me. Humbled me. Grown me.

This past weekend, I had time to be in my own energy—which, honestly, caused me to spiral a bit. Selling furniture, downsizing, donating, planning… mentally, physically, and emotionally working through the weight of the past few months. But it wasn’t the stuff that made me feel unhinged. It was that familiar grasp for control in a space where no roadmap exists. And I told myself I could come down from it all with a day or two of collapsing on the bed, squeezing in a nap, and brushing off self-care like it was optional. The truth? It was the craving for certainty in a season meant for surrender. I couldn’t ground myself if I tried—mentally running through every next, next, next step until my heart felt breathless.

That’s when I took a minute to journal—to connect with my guides, who gently reminded me:

What you seek is not out there. It’s within. There is no door to unlock but your own heart, no handle to grip but the softness of presence. You ‘re putting the Cart before the horse, love. Slow down.

So I did. Okay—I’m trying. laughing. “ish”

My guides have this wonderful way of reminding me: it doesn’t have to be so hard.

The thoughts, though—they sneak in quietly. Whispering doubts. Stirring up old fears. Telling me I should have it all figured out by now. And when that spiral begins, their message is simple but powerful: pause.

They gently nudge me to slow my roll, if you will. To cut myself some slack. To come back to center. To offer a little tenderness inward. To take a time-out from all the big feels and choose love—for me, too. And to remember: Girl… there is no perfect next step—just the one you choose with love.

Maybe the unknown isn’t a void to fear, but a canvas that hasn’t been painted yet. Maybe the wobble is part of the dance. Maybe—just maybe—living a spiritually aligned life doesn’t mean always feeling steady. It means trusting yourself to move anyway, even when the ground feels soft beneath your feet.

And if you’re in a season of transition too…

Remember to take a deep breath. Feel that beautiful light within—that is all you.

Pause. Get quiet. Let the unknown feel less like a threat and more like an invitation.

Because there’s no “right” way forward—only the one that aligns with your heart.

You’re not lost. You’re becoming. ❤️

Copyright 2025 Angelique Declercq. All rights reserved.
Photo Credit: Self Portrait/Angelique DeClercq