What the Fire Taught Me About Choosing Myself

I haven't written publicly in over a year. Not because I had nothing to say, but because I was living through something I couldn't yet put into words. This is the first of five pieces about what happened when everything burned down, and what I'm building from the ashes.

It's been a while since I've written.

Not because I didn't have something to say, but because life rerouted me. The kind of rerouting that changes your view before you even realize you've turned a corner.

When we last connected, everything I was building felt aligned. Every experience, every lesson, every pivot had brought me to exactly where I thought I was supposed to be.

Then, in the summer of 2023, I was chosen to lead in a new way. An opportunity that felt both validating and sacred. It reconnected me to the proud Jewish woman I've always been and allowed me to build and nurture community in ways that felt beautifully aligned with my soul's purpose.

That season gave me something I didn't know I was missing: a deeper relationship to Judaism. Not through study or ritual, but through integration. I began to see how the lunar calendar and the Hebrew calendar mirror each other: both cyclical, both rooted in rhythm and renewal, both telling stories of growth, contraction, and return.

And then, January 7 happened.

The fire.

The unthinkable.

In one night, our home, and the life we had so carefully built, was gone.

The months that followed were full of shock, displacement, and grief. But even in the ashes, something unexpected began to take shape.

This summer, I came to understand that being chosen was an incredible gift. But choosing myself? That's where true transformation lives.

"Being chosen was an incredible gift. But choosing myself? That's where true transformation lives."

 

So I did something I've never really done before: I stopped.

For the first time in decades, I stepped away from the doing, the building, the constant motion. I pressed pause.

And that's why I'm sharing this now.

Because if you're reading this, chances are you've also experienced a season that cracked you open. Maybe you're in it right now. In a pause you didn't plan, standing between endings and beginnings, trying to remember what it feels like to dream again.

In the Hebrew calendar, we're in Kislev. The month of darkness and dreams, the time of Hanukkah, when faith and imagination intertwine. It's about hope, miracles, and trusting the light even when you can't yet see it. Kislev invites us to slow down, to dream deeply, and to listen for what's next.

And that's what I'm doing this month.

I'm giving myself permission to dream before deciding. To ask, Do I stay? Do I go? What does choosing me look like from here?

I don't know the answers yet. But I'm trusting that the quiet will reveal them in its own time.

If you're also in a season of pause, take December to listen. To rest. To let the dark be a teacher, not a threat.

Because sometimes, the pause isn't a detour. It's the doorway.

With love and light,
Susan

P.S. This is part 1 of 5. If this resonated, forward it to one friend who needs to read it too. Over the next few weeks, I'll share more of what this year has taught me about choosing, trusting, rebuilding, and showing up for ourselves again.