The Room of Power

I used to think power had to be bought and paid for. I thought it came from being able to buy the life I wanted—because the only time I ever felt in control was when I went to the store by myself and bought something. I knew that when I bought that thing, nobody could take it away from me. It was mine, and I was fully in control of it.

The need for control through money eventually brought me to a place where I’m now financially supported by my husband. For someone who equated money with power, allowing myself to be supported didn’t come cheap. (Pun intended.)

For some, wounds like mine make them millionaires. They find ways to work within the system and all but sell their souls to make sure they can buy the power they think they want. But for me, the system was a source of pain. I wasn’t willing to sell my soul to get the millions I thought I wanted. I was on a healing path that meant finding the truth—not the corruption.

Within a few years, I left my job in the system to work for myself again, this time as a psychic and tarot reader. Very quickly, I turned that into writing. I found a voice I didn’t know I had, and something to say that I didn’t know needed to be said. Over time, the message evolved into what it is today.

Any need for money that I still felt had to be worked out through my writing. My path demanded that I do this for myself—not for a paycheck. I couldn’t compartmentalize it into “work” the way I had with my jobs in the system.

I used to say, “Take your work on, not in.” It was emotional protection from work that could be deeply demanding if I let it. But to apply that to my writing caused me pain. If I left myself out of it, I wouldn’t do it.

I remember questioning why I had to put myself out there. The CEO of McDonald’s doesn’t put themselves out there. Neither does the CEO of Walmart or any other major retailer you can think of. Why should I? Why can’t I just be a faceless name behind a screen that spits out content to make a living?

The answer was simple—I didn’t want to. I thought I wanted to hide and churn out content—to fit my work into the system I had just walked away from. I thought I wanted to scale it and make millions. But I didn’t.

Those ideas were wounds I had carried most of my life. They weren’t the truth I had set out to find. They were part of the corruption I was trying to leave behind.

It turns out real power isn’t something you can buy or sell. It’s not found in a bank account balance or a fancy car. True power is internal—available to each of us, whether we’re homeless or living in a mansion.

How do you find it in a world that tries to sell it back to you?

You look inside yourself. You do your best to shut out the noise around you, and you ask whether the messages you’ve picked up are actually true. You have to let go of the story about what your life is supposed to look like in order to find out what you truly want it to look like.

Contrary to popular belief, spirituality doesn’t mean poverty. It doesn’t mean living in a cave. It doesn’t mean abandoning the life you already have. It means finding the truth of the life you’re in.

Which parts were created from pain?
Which parts do you want to keep?
Which parts are real?
Which parts are fake?
Which parts are just noise?
Which parts are true?

When you’re able to answer those questions from deep truth instead of societal expectations, you’ll find your true self—a version of you that isn’t attached to all the stuff, that knows what they want and is eager to find a way to build it.

This is where the mourning begins—for the version of you who made it all work. And in that space, a new question starts to take shape:
What would it look like to build the life I actually want?

Often, we think it means taking a bomb to our lives and starting over. But what if that’s not the case? What if we can honor where we’ve been and where we’re going—without destroying everything in the process?

Internal strength isn’t about being stubborn or fighting for what you want. It’s about making choices, standing in them, and honoring the resulting choices of the people around you. Some will come with you. Others may not. Both are okay. These are valid choices that deserve our respect, whether we like them or not.

At first, making choices is nothing more than showing up differently. There’s a saying: “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” The same idea applies to life. Be who you want to be in the world—not who your circumstances tell you to be, but who you truly are. Show up in your own truth, not in reaction to the pain of your past or the pressure of your present.

Life begins to shift when you do this. It’s a slow shift, but a powerful one. It tells the Universe that you’re ready—ready for new circumstances, ready for the life you’ve been envisioning.

We often hear in spiritual circles that inner change must come first, and the outer world will follow. There’s truth in that. Learning to fully stand in your truth and your power takes time. And the world will ask you to stay there—to hold steady—long enough for everything to realign. It means resisting the urge to make things happen.

I’ve outgrown the life I’m in. Part of me wants to force the outside to shift—wants to go back to the system, earn the money, and buy the power to change my circumstances. But in truth, that would be cycle repetition, not forward movement based on who I really am.

My vision for my life is to be a full-time writer. And that means I can’t push my life into place. I have to be patient. That’s hard to do when the present keeps reminding me of where I’ve been instead of where I’m going. But whether I can see the change or not, I have to trust that it’s coming.

My soul job is to stand in my power, hold onto my vision, and not budge. No matter how much of my past the Universe throws at me, I’m meant to hold to the vision I carry—until my life finally rises to meet it.

That said, I also acknowledge that physical safety doesn’t always give us the luxury of waiting for circumstances to catch up. Sometimes making things happen is a matter of survival, not choice. It’s important to name that—to contain it. That’s a specific circumstance, and it doesn’t apply all the time. Not every choice has to come from that place, nor should it.

Fear is not truth. Most of the time, our fear of what not making things happen creates is far worse than the circumstance we’re in. If waiting brings up fear, it’s important to recognize the message it has. What is fear telling you? Is it true? Or is it just another reminder of where you’ve been? Befriend your fear. It is one of the biggest teachers you have within you.

Power is granted, not through external circumstances, but through finding the truth of who you are and standing in it, proudly. The truth is not based on pain or circumstances. The truth is based on a deeply held vision of your life that you buried long ago because the world told you to be something you weren’t. Not knowing any better, you followed that advice. It brought you here.

Now you get to make a choice:
Do I want a life based on my truth or based on who the world told me I should be?

Your power starts when you answer the question truthfully.

Love to all.

Della