It feels like you're falling apart right now...but maybe you're just taking root.

For the woman that feels like she's breaking down..but is really just breaking open for the first time in her life.

(click the image to watch the film)

I didn’t realize, when we made The Watered Seed, that I was telling my own story before I even lived it.

At the time, myself and my cousin, who is also a writer and director, produced our short film The Watered Seed for the American Black Film Festival’s HBO short competition.

I was early in my filmmaking journey and had been wanting to enter the competition for a few years, so I took a leap of faith and partnered with my cousin to bring it to life.

I can’t even remember the competition’s theme that year, but McDonald’s sponsored it, which meant we had to feature their product in the film.

But that’s not really important to the story.

I’m sorry if I distracted you with thoughts of hot crispy French fries! :)

Moving on…

Beyond the technicalities, we wanted to tell a story about growth—about a woman at the pinnacle of success who is called back to her roots.

And now, looking back, I see the irony.

Success Isn’t the Destination—It’s the Trigger for Transformation

The main character in The Watered Seed is finally being acknowledged for her achievements. She returns to her hometown to receive an award, but instead of basking in the moment, she finds herself reflecting on the people and places that shaped her.

She decides to take a detour and go back to the farm where she once worked, back to the youth program that helped raise her.

(If you watch the film my daughter plays the younger version of the protagonist)

Now, I find myself in a similar place.

I don’t have a publicist (yet), but I do feel the tension of reaching milestones while simultaneously being pulled toward something deeper.

I also see something else I couldn’t have seen until now.

We named the film The Watered Seed because it explores what happens when a young person’s gift is nurtured—how potential, when given the right care, can take root and flourish.

When a plant grows, it doesn’t just reach for the light—it grows in two directions.

The woman’s achievements are like the part of the plant that pushes through the soil, reaching toward the sun. They are the visible accomplishments, the milestones the world can see.

But we rarely talk about what happens beneath the surface.

We always focus on what seeds need to grow—water, sunlight, soil. But we don’t talk about what happens when the growth actually begins.

A seed doesn’t just sprout. It has to break open first.

Before it ever emerges into the light, it must send roots down into the dark—anchoring itself, drawing strength from the unseen.

And now, I realize—that’s what’s been happening to me.

The Breaking Open

For so many years I had this vision:

I wanted to create art that inspired and empowered people. I wanted them to feel loved.

Maybe I was trying to heal a part of myself.

But something always felt out of reach.

I couldn’t fully articulate my value as an artist.

Now, in this season of transition, I understand.

The seed that was planted years ago is only now breaking open. And breaking open is painful. It’s disorienting. It feels like things are crumbling, like relationships are shifting, like old patterns are unraveling.

I can’t force it. I can’t rush it. I can only let it happen.

I used to be afraid of becoming depressed at this stage in life…like my mother was.

A few years ago I shared this fear with her, and she gave me some advice:

"Imagine what you want your 40’s to be like."

To tell you the truth - there is no way I could have imagined what this time was really like.

But I do know this.

I’ve been given a choice…

Let myself be broken open and take root in all that has been cultivated within me over the years… or to fight it and stay a seed.

Society tells us that midlife for a woman is a decline, that everything is downhill from here. But the truth is the opposite—life is opening up in new ways.

It’s messy. It hurts. It’s confusing. It’s lonely sometimes.

You just want to get through it already.

But you can’t rush nature.

I know this because I’ve learned patience the hard way.

Learning to Trust the Process

My experience healing from being hit by a car a few years ago taught me that patience isn’t optional—it’s required. I had no choice but to listen to my body, to give it time, to accept that healing isn’t instant.

Then, when I started this unexplained weight gain and decided to sees hormone specialist, I learned what was happening inside my body. Things are out of balance.

The day after I received the results of my tests I was both happy and anxious.

I realized it was just going to take time to get things back on track and I couldn’t snap my fingers or take a magic pill.

The changes I was going to have to make were going to have to be FOR LIFE.

I realized: this is a long game. If I wanted to heal, I had to be in it for the process.

And then, the Holy Spirit spoke to me.

"This is the same as the process I’m taking you through now."

You can’t rush transformation.

When I first began deconstructing my faith, I was terrified. It felt like everything was coming undone. I shed tears daily (and still do.)

But then one day I had this thought.

Maybe I wasn’t losing my faith…maybe God was calling me deeper. That’s why I was scared—because it was unknown. Because I had been conditioned to fear the questions.

But the questions weren’t the enemy. They were the invitation.

I had a dream once, where I stood on a mountain looking down below at three bodies of water. I had a choice to dive into any of them. One of them represented God.

(I found a drawing I made of the dream from several years ago!)

I knew I had to jump. It was time.

I had that dream years ago but that’s where I am now.

This breaking, this shedding, this transition—it is happening in its own time, and I cannot force it.

Just like a caterpillar must stay in the cocoon until its transformation is complete, just like a baby must be carried full-term, I have to trust that I am being made into something new.

I have to trust even though I’m terrified right now.

Returning to My Roots—With New Eyes

Returning to my roots doesn’t mean going backward. It means reclaiming what I lost while bringing all the wisdom I’ve gained along the way.

One of those things? Creative exploration.

This past weekend, I did something I had been dreaming of doing for many many years.

I started taking singing lessons!!!!!!!

And it was amazing. I learned how connected our voice is to our beliefs about ourselves.

It reminded me why I love storytelling and performing—not just as a career path, but because it nourishes me.

I don’t need anyone’s permission to follow what I know is right for me.

I don’t need to justify why I’m choosing myself in this season.

I don’t need to prove my worth through productivity.

I don’t need to do anything to be loved.

To the Woman Who Feels Like She’s Breaking Apart

You are not alone.

If you’re outgrowing the life you once fit into, if everything feels uncertain and you don’t recognize yourself anymore—embrace it one minute at a time.

Step back when you can. Observe. Document your feelings through journaling, art or videos.

Give yourself grace.

You are becoming more of yourself, not less.

Deep down, the women who go on this journey want to be their freest selves—and this is the path to that place.

You don’t have to be strong.

You don’t have to be perfect.

You don’t have to do things that don’t feel aligned.

Allow the lies to fall away. Give yourself permission to do what you need to do.

Maybe that means sitting on the couch watching movies. Maybe it means cooking a delicious meal. Maybe it means taking a solo trip to the Maldives.

If you’re going to the Maldives - would you like company?

You have the right to live life on your terms.

This is your life after all.

Your life is the gift God gave to you.

And your life is telling you:

“You are valuable. You are loved as you are. You don’t need to prove yourself anymore.”

Here is a video of what happens to a seed when it’s planted.

Blessings,

Dija