How I Built Trust with My Intuition
A reflection on the quiet partnership between faith and intuition and what happens when we finally trust the still, small voice.
“Have patience.”
That’s what my intuition once said to me during a meditation session.
The words felt calm, direct, with a sense of truth. They echoed in my chest, something arising from deep within.
It felt not as a thought, but as a pulse — quiet and certain.
I’ve come to see my intuition as the language God uses to reach me — not through force or grandeur, but through the quiet knowing that rises in stillness.
These were not the words I was expecting to hear, nor the ones I wanted to hear at the time. I was at the very beginning stages of divorcing my husband, and when I sat with the anxious question, “What do I do next?” hearing “have patience” was the last thing I wanted to accept.
I was ready to get the ball rolling, yet I was being told to sit tight, to have faith, to just be. For someone who had already waited years to get the words “I want a divorce” out, this did not align with what my mind wanted my next move to be.
It’s funny how many things we’re unable to grasp in the moment, and only in hindsight is the veil lifted and truth revealed. Respecting the timeline of how things were meant to unfold, and having faith that I was being supported and guided, took every bit of strength in me to move forward with grace.
But I had too many reasons not to have anything but faith in the message I heard. Too many synchronistic events, divine timing of podcasts, books that fell into my lap, random meetings with strangers who carried messages of hope and courage toward the path ahead.
“Sometimes God isn’t telling you to wait… He’s preparing what you can’t yet see.”
When you pick and choose which messages to follow and which to ignore, it’s like giving the wheel of a car to a toddler, you only take it back when you feel like it. You might still reach your destination, but at what cost? Perhaps a more treacherous, twisting path full of uphill battles.
This is what it’s like to ignore intuition and lead only with the mind. Our minds will create pros and cons lists, project outcomes, rationalize and logicalize every thought. It wants our ideas to fit neatly into a box, tied with a pretty bow so it all makes sense. It uses data from the past to dictate the future, all in an effort to find the “safe” answer.
And the truth is, we need that kind of thinking.
The mind is brilliant at solving puzzles, balancing budgets, building schedules, analyzing data, and organizing plans. It’s what helps us navigate logistics, meet deadlines, and make concrete, linear decisions, the kind that live neatly on spreadsheets and calendars. But when it comes to the deeper questions of the heart — love, timing, purpose, or calling, the mind alone can’t see the full picture.
At one point, my mind almost won. I rationalized that it wasn’t that bad — that I could hang in there, try harder, do better. The fear of the unknown was too much, so my mind created stories to keep me safe. “What if” scenarios filled my nights, and when I shared them with well-intentioned friends, it only validated my fears.
But in the dark hours, when all was still and it was just me and my heart, I asked God for guidance. Each time I asked, something new would happen the next day, a book with my exact story, a podcast with the very words I needed, a meditation that mirrored what I was living. Every time I listened to my intuition, it revealed another layer of truth.
God had been preparing me for years through these synchronicities, giving me strength and courage. So when I heard the words “have patience,” I listened.
And I practiced. Every single day.
It took eight months of patience before my husband and I could finally sit down and speak peacefully, about how we would part ways with mutual respect.
God was right.
Even when you’re ready, God might still be preparing the other person’s heart.
Even though I felt ready, I realized that fear is a sum of the parts of us that have been hurt, unheard, and unhealed. Those parts join forces, creating an overwhelming, anxiety-driven, and at times paralyzing fear, one that convinces us to stay in what’s known, even if it means shrinking to fit a box we’ve outgrown.
Fear lived in my body long before it lived in my thoughts.
Fear resists change. It whispers, “You’re making a mistake.”
But intuition does not speak from worry or fear.
Here’s how I began to tell the difference.
Fear felt urgent — tight in my chest, loud in my mind, needing an answer now.
Intuition felt spacious — soft in my belly, quiet in tone, patient enough to wait.
Fear spun stories about loss and control.
Intuition offered calm clarity, even when it asked for courage.
Fear demanded action.
Intuition invited alignment.
It feels like an inner knowing, a truth you can’t explain but can’t deny. Accessing it is the challenging part. You start small, praying for guidance, listening before bed, being still enough to hear life’s subtle pulls.
You have to create stillness within yourself to hear it.
The more you listen, the louder it grows.
One afternoon, walking through my neighborhood, I heard a quiet voice say, “Stop.”
So I stopped.
Seconds later, a teenage boy ran by and dropped his passport right in front of me. I picked it up and chased after him to return it. Imagine if I had been distracted, if I hadn’t listened.
My intuition began speaking through sensations: a tightening when something wasn’t right, a quiet expansion when it was. What I once sought in signs, I began finding in my own heartbeat.
Now, I can close my eyes, take deep breaths, and feel the answer.
This has taken years of leaning inward, through prayer, meditation, walks in nature, yoga, intuitive movement, even classical music that quiets my mind enough to hear my heart.
That’s how trust was built — moment by moment.
Through prayer that softened my resistance.
Through silence that let me hear the truth beneath fear.
Through paying attention to the smallest signs — the way my chest eased, the way peace followed certain choices.
Intuition grew louder each time I followed it, even when I didn’t understand it.
Following intuition hasn’t always led to easy moments or miraculous signs. Many times, it has led me straight into the tender places I wanted to avoid. Yet, it has always led me to the right people, the right moments, and the right mirrors for my growth.
That’s the beauty of it, knowing that every experience, no matter how challenging or tender, is an invitation to trust. I no longer judge those moments. I’ve lived through enough to know I’ll see the light again.
Each stone I step on, painful or peaceful, is part of the same sacred path.
Every breath becomes an act of faith — a way my body says, “I’m still here.”
And that understanding invites peace, even in uncertainty.
Every stone on the path, even the painful ones, becomes sacred when you trust the unfolding.
Where in your life could you lean in a little more — be still — and listen for what a higher power has to share with you?
You don’t have to be going through a divorce to begin.
Intuition is always here, open, quiet, and ready to guide you through every season of life, both big and small.
I can’t promise you’ll like the assignment.
But if you trust what you feel, hear, or see…
your life will never look the same.
With love,
Eli
P.S. Science calls it interoception; I call it listening for God.