"It’s A Season. Not A Sentence."

This week on WORDS MATTER, Deanna Ley, The Catalytic Coach, dives into a phrase that’s become her personal anchor:

“It’s a season. Not a sentence.”

The original author is unknown — but the impact? Undeniable.

This episode speaks to the foggy, frustrating, in-between seasons we never asked for. Whether you're walking through grief, burnout, perimenopause, transition, or simply a life that looks nothing like you imagined — this one’s for you.

With raw truth, heartfelt honesty, and a touch of humor, Deanna gives voice to what so many women are carrying but rarely get to say out loud — and yes, that includes full-on fist-pumping her way through perimenopause.

What Listeners Will Learn:
• Why no season — even the hard ones — lasts forever
• How to stay anchored to yourself when the ground beneath you shifts
• What Deanna means by “I deal with it, so I can heal with it”
• How breathwork, movement, truth-telling, and rituals keep you from disappearing in the hard
• A loving reminder that your identity is not defined by this chapter

Memorable Quotes:
“It’s a season. Not a sentence.”
“I deal with it, so I can heal with it.” — Deanna Ley
“This season doesn’t get to define me.”
“What matters right now?”
“What do I need right now?”
“You’re not just surviving. You’re laying the foundation for who you’ll be on the other side of this season.”
“I CHOOSE ME.”

This episode is a hand on your back and a voice in your ear reminding you that you are not alone.

Your WORDS MATTER, because YOU MATTER.

❤️❤️❤️

Transcript

Well, hey there, friends. Welcome back to another episode of WORDS MATTER. I'm so glad you're here because today we're diving into something deeply personal and universally human. Today we're talking about the different seasons we go through throughout our lives. Especially the ones we didn't ask for. Maybe the ones we never even saw coming. And for sure the ones that stretch us beyond what we thought we could handle.

See, there's a quote I've been saying to myself a lot lately. It's become my mantra. An anchor on the hardest of days and a gentle nudge when everything else feels uncertain. 

"It's a season. Not a sentence." 

I don't know who said it first, but I know I've lived it. Not only in the past, but as we speak. And I'm guessing you have - or you are - too, in your own way, shape, or form.

Friends, life gives us seasons. Some filled with energy, momentum and clarity - and others that feel like a fog. Some bring expansion. Others demand excavation. And sometimes the ground shifts so suddenly that you barely recognize the landscape of your own life.

Maybe you're in a season of grief where loss has carved a hollow space that you don't know how to fill. 

Maybe you're in a season of caregiving, giving more than you have while trying to stay afloat.

Maybe you're starting over - after a breakup, a career pivot, a betrayal, or a dream that didn't unfold the way that you had planned. 

Maybe you're navigating health challenges that have turned your world sideways. 

Or maybe - like me - your body has started playing by a completely new set of rules. Without warning. Without a guidebook. And for sure without much conversation around it.

That's the season I'm in now. And its name? Perimenopause. 

Let's just say - I was not prepared. 

See, I grew up thinking menopause was just this moment where one day your period stops - and that's it. You've crossed the finish line. Good for you. But no one told me about perimenopause...

This five to ten year stretch that can feel like your body is dismantling itself, and then reassembling piece by piece - without your permission. Five to ten years, friends! It's not just about hot flashes or wackadoo menstrual cycles. Nope. It's the bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of rest seems to fix.

It's lying awake in the middle of the night just staring at the ceiling, wondering why sleep has become such a stranger. It's losing your words mid-sentence or walking into a room forgetting why you're there in the first place. It's crying over something small and then feeling numb five minutes later. It's the sudden waves of anxiety that hit without context. The heart palpitations. The weight gain - especially around the middle. It's the frozen shoulders. And the mood swings. And the way your reflection in the mirror slowly starts to feel unfamiliar. 

And the hardest part? Life doesn't pause to make space for any of it. You're still expected to work. To parent. To partner. To smile through it all. To stay kind. Stay focused. Stay the course. But on the inside?

It can feel like you're totally unraveling. Quietly. Invisibly. 

It's crazy-making, friends. 

I've had days where I felt like I was trying to function... underwater. Where even the smallest tasks like getting dressed or making a decision or responding to a message - felt heavy.

I've had moments where I felt like fog was wrapped around my brain, and everything that once came easily suddenly felt hard. But I refuse to give in. It's doing everything it can to disconnect me from others and from myself, but I refuse to disappear in this season. And I don't pretend I'm fine when I'm not. I face it. I deal with it.

One of the things I tell the women in my CORE4 Community is my own quote. "I deal with it, so I can heal with it." 

See, this season doesn't get to define me. Sure. It gets to teach me. Shape me. Challenge me. Yes. But it doesn't get to steal my identity. It doesn't get to shrink me either.

I don't run from the hard. I don't retreat from the tricky. I run toward it. Straight into it. Determined, devoted, and deeply committed to not losing myself in this process. 

And when things get intense? When my mind goes blank or my mood veers hard left? I've started doing this silly little thing. I pump my fist and say "Menopause." 

Yeah. It's absurd... but it's oddly therapeutic. Chris and I - we get a kick out of it and we laugh. Not because what I'm going through is funny, but because humor softens the sharp edges of really hard moments. That small act of levity reminds me that I'm still here. Still grounded. Deeply rooted. Still capable. Amazingly gifted. Still choosing how I move through this. But this isn't just about me.

I know you're walking through your own hard season, too. 

Maybe you're a single parent carrying it all. 

Maybe you're facing a health diagnosis that's brought everything into question. 

Maybe you're trying to recover from emotional or financial burnout. 

Maybe you're redefining your identity now that your kids are grown. 

Or maybe you're standing in the quiet aftermath of a chapter that closed before you were ready.

Whatever your version of hard looks like - whatever season you're in right now - I want you to know this. You are not weak. You are not broken. And you are not alone. 

You are walking through something difficult, but it doesn't mean that you're failing. In fact, I'd argue it means that you're growing. You're becoming. You're figuring out how to move through the dark without letting it define your light. So no... I'm not going to tell you it's easy. But I am going to tell you that there's a way through it.

And it starts with staying connected to yourself in the messy middle of it all. 

So how do I keep moving? How am I dealing with it, so I can heal with it? 

Well, allow me to share a few things that are holding me steady in the season that I am in. These aren't grand solutions. They're mindful practices. Personal lifelines. Ways I remember that I can choose to stay strong - even in the middle of the storm. 

First, I simplify. When overwhelm sets in, I stop trying to do everything and I ask, "What matters right now?" Not what would impress someone else, and not what just looks productive. What matters. And then I let the rest wait. 

Second, I move my body - even when it's the last thing I feel like doing. Sometimes it's a short walk. Sometimes it's stretching. And sometimes it's just lying on my back, hand on my chest, reconnecting to my breath. Movement is my way of saying, "I'm still in this, and I'm not giving up on me." 

Third, I say it out loud. I name what's hard. I speak the truth to someone I trust - or to myself if that's all that's there. There's something powerful about letting the struggle be witnessed when you name it. It loosens its grip. 

Fourth, I rely a lot on my routines - my daily rituals - especially the ones that have been proven to work FOR me. Like drinking my first cup of coffee on my deck. Listening to my favorite songs as I clean. Playing with my pups as soon as I get home. Meal prepping so I always have healthy food ready to eat. And going to bed around the same time every night. Just to name a few. See, these aren't habits, they're anchors, and they keep me rooted when everything else feels like it's shifting beneath me. They remind me that I'm worth showing up for. Even when I don't feel like myself. 

And finally, I've been doing a lot more breathwork and leaning into the pause asking myself, "What do I need right now?" Not what's expected, and not what's undone that still needs doing. But "What do I need?" And then I do my best to honor that answer in a way that serves me - and my peace - in the moment. 

These choices aren't about erasing the season I'm in, but they are keeping me from disappearing inside of it. They're helping me hold on to who I am and move forward - even through the yuck and the muck of it all. 

So if you're in a season right now that feels relentless or foggy or heavy... 

If you're walking through grief or transition or burnout or rebuilding... 

I hope you'll take a moment today to remember this. Just like winter gives way to spring, and spring turns to summer, and summer eases into fall before winter returns again... 

No season lasts forever. 

This is not forever. 

This is not a sentence. 

This is a season and seasons change. 

And when the next one comes - and it will - I'll meet it with the same grit, grace, and self-devotion I'm practicing right now. And you will too.

Because you're doing better than you think. You're not just surviving. You're laying the foundation for who you'll be on the other side of this season. I'm not backing down. I've got too much purpose to pour out. Too much life that's still calling me forward. Too much joy I haven't even tasted yet. 

So I'm gonna keep showing up. Fog, fire, and fist pumps included. 

Because I CHOOSE ME. 

And I know you can choose you, too. 

Friends, the words we see and read, the words we hear, and the words we say to ourselves, and about ourselves - about what we're doing and how we're doing it - they all matter. 

Your WORDS MATTER, because YOU MATTER.

Have a great day.