The storm’s equal

The storm isn’t here to destroy you.
It’s here to meet you.
To show you who you are beneath the scaffolding.
Beneath the coping.
Beneath the illusion of control.

We spend our lives trying to outrun the storm—
but eventually, the sky breaks open.
The ground quakes.
And what you’ve buried rises.

Not as punishment.
As initiation.

This is the reckoning most people mistake for failure.
But it’s not failure.
It’s the sacred beginning of remembering.

The storm calls for something more honest.
More whole.
More alive than the version of you that was just surviving.

To become the storm’s equal is not to overpower it
but to let it strip away what’s not yours.
To stand with your feet in the mud, your chest open, your heart intact.
Not untouched.
But unbroken.

It means allowing your pain to be sacred.
Letting the chaos rearrange you, not erase you.
Choosing coherence over collapse.

Breaking open—
and coming back more deeply tethered to the root of who you are.

When the storm comes—and it always will—
ask not how to escape it.
Ask what it came to unlock.
Ask how to meet it without abandoning yourself.

Not a shield,
but the unmoving center.