On Fluidity
Letting My Life Become Water
In one of my recent posts, I wrote about the gut-deep fear of being left behind by my own life as I pack up a house, sell what's complete, and prepare to leave Maine. What I didn't fully name there is the companion to that fear—the word that has been quietly shaping this entire season since a WEL-Systems intensive almost a year ago: fluidity. This word popped up in my mind's eye and I journaled it, big, and colored it in and sat with it, as at that moment I had no idea what it meant. This piece is part two of that arc, the story of how fluidity entered my world as an idea and has become the way I'm learning to walk through this transition—and through the shadow aspects of leadership I've been writing about all month.
Almost a year ago, sitting in a WEL-Systems intensive, the word fluidity dropped into my world and refused to leave. At the time, I didn’t really understand it. I heard people talk about being fluid, moving like water, staying open to life. It sounded beautiful and slightly vague, like one of those words you nod along to while quietly wondering, “Okay, but what does that actually look like in my life?” It reminded me of a yogic word that is used in practice.
I brought up this word during our intensive and if I remember correctly this was the same time that I was asked to embrace the water, the ocean side of myself as I did the fire I used to burn through most of my life. I didn’t realize it then but I do now—I embraced fire to get through life, burning things down, creating wildfires that were uncontrollable, until I finally learned how to actually hold fire and my internal flame. But it wasn’t until I began playing with the water element over this last year that it truly dawned on me all that was meant by that statement.
Now, almost a year later, in the middle of selling nearly everything, packing what matters, preparing to leave Maine, and hours after teaching a workshop on the very shadow CEO archetypes I’ve been living inside of, fluidity is no longer a concept. It’s a practice. It’s a demand. It’s the only way I’m getting from here to where I’m going.
How Fluidity First Arrived
In that intensive, fluidity landed as a contrast. A word that came through to me in my journaling before the intensive began. I could feel how rigid I’d been—rigid in how I thought my life “should” look by now, rigid in who I believed I was allowed to be, rigid in the identities I clung to for safety: the helper, the over-giver, the one who holds everything together. Sound familiar? These are the same patterns I’ve been naming in the shadow work that I facilitate and have been writing so much about this month.
Fluidity was presented almost like an invitation to step out of a fixed self and into a more living, responsive one. To stop gripping the shoreline and let myself become more like a river: moving, adapting, reshaping the banks, finding another way when a path is blocked.
Back then, it felt aspirational. I could taste it but not touch it. I could taste the salt waters of the ocean and the fresh waters of the rivers that run to that ocean. I could dip my toes in and feel the temperature, but I never knew what it meant to actually hold it. I wrote the word down more than once, circled it, underlined it, and still felt like I was only scratching the surface. It was still such an obscurity to me.
Fast-Forward: A Life in Motion
Now I’m in a season where everything is in motion. The year of the Fire Horse as a Piscean, Aries cusp. I relate well to the water and the fire element. I relate to all aspects of all zodiacs being the last and knowing the undercurrents of all. The air that holds me and the earth that I move around and reform.
At this moment, I am selling or donating almost everything in the house, packing only what feels truly meaningful for the next chapter, getting the house ready for listing photos, making plans to leave a state I never plan to return to, and holding the unknowns of money, timing, work, and how it all comes together. And I just stood in front of a room full of powerful women and spoke about the shadow aspects of leadership I have personally lived—not theoretically, not as an observer, but as someone who has stood inside every single archetype and felt the grip of every shadow pattern.
If I tried to meet this moment with rigidity, I would snap. The old way I would be operating would have me clinging to every object “just in case” and forcing the plan to unfold exactly how I imagined, white-knuckling through the move so I can finally create my new life “after.”
Fluidity is asking something different of me. It’s asking me to let the move and the new life be one continuous wave—not two separate chapters where one is pure chaos and the other is pure creation. It’s asking me to keep breathing, keep adjusting, keep listening for what’s true today, not what was true six months ago, not even what was true a minute ago, but right this very moment in time.
Fluidity vs. Flexibility
I used to think fluidity was just a fancier word for flexibility. It’s not. Flexibility feels like a rubber band: I stretch, but the aim is to snap back to my original shape once the pressure is off. Fluidity is water: I don’t “snap back”; I reshape. I let new circumstances, new awareness, and new choices actually change me.
Fluidity means I don’t insist that my old identity, old business model, or old coping patterns come with me into every new room. Instead, I let them dissolve where they’re complete and reform into something that fits who I’m becoming. This is the deeper work. It’s not just identifying the pattern. It’s learning to move with it instead of being frozen by it.
The Elements in Motion
Fluidity, for me, is deeply elemental and each element maps to the shadows I’ve been teaching.
Water: Letting emotions move, not damming them up. Crying at 1:30 a.m. over the fear of being left behind and still moving forward.
Air: Allowing ideas, possibilities, and visions to circulate. Not clamping down on “the one right way,” but staying curious about multiple pathways.
Fire: Honoring desire and life-force without burning everything down. Letting my Aries fire move through me without scorched-earth reactions.
Earth: Staying rooted in what truly matters—values, relationships, inner integrity—even as the outer structures and locations change.
Fluidity is not about dissolving into nothing. It’s about being willing to re-form, over and over, around the core of who I am—not who I learned to be for safety.
Capacity and Fluidity
In this current season, fluidity is directly tied to capacity. If I stay rigid, my capacity shrinks and I can only handle one thing at a time. The move feels like a separate monster from my business, my relationships, my inner work and I get overwhelmed and shut down. That is not how I choose to move through life or this moment any longer.
When I practice fluidity, my system learns it can hold more. The move is part of my creation. Selling things becomes a ceremony, not just logistics. Packing becomes a conversation with my future self: “Does this belong in the life I’m building?” and the plans are made with room for adjustment, not carved in stone.
This is what I mean when I say your business mirrors your nervous system. If your system is locked in fight-or-flight, your business will feel like constant crisis management. But when you practice fluidity—when you let your body soften, adjust, and move with what’s happening instead of against it—your capacity expands. You can hold more. You can create from a different place. You can lead without burning out.
Fluidity doesn’t mean I never wobble out of alignment. It means I notice when I’ve frozen, when I’ve gone rigid, and I soften—back into breath, back into body, back into the present moment where I can actually choose.
Fluidity as a Story I’m Still Writing
If I’m honest, I’m still very much in the early chapters of living fluidly.
There are days I feel more like a rock than a river. Days where fear of money, fear of being left behind, fear of making the “wrong” choice hardens me.
And yet, even there, fluidity now has a voice in my system that whispers things like:
“You can let this feeling move; it doesn’t have to define you.”
“You’re allowed to change your mind as new information arrives.”
“You don’t have to know the entire plan to take the next true step.”
Almost a year after that intensive, fluidity is no longer abstract. It’s the daily practice of letting go of what’s complete, packing what aligns with who I’m becoming, and selling or donating what no longer has a place. I am making plans with enough structure to move forward and enough space to adjust and trusting that I can meet change not as something that happens to me, but something I can move with. It’s learning that the shadow archetypes aren’t problems to fix. They’re nervous system patterns asking to be met with presence, not rigidity. It’s discovering that I don’t have to choose between being a leader and being human. I can be both. In motion. At the same time.
A Question for You (and for Me)
If you feel drawn to this word too, you might sit with:
Where in my life am I still trying to “snap back” instead of letting myself change?
What would it look like to be more like water in this transition I’m in?
If I trusted my capacity to adapt, what could I release? What could I finally say yes to?
I don’t have a neat definition of fluidity to offer you.
What I have is a life in motion, a house in transition, a heart that is learning not to cling so tightly, and a body that is slowly discovering that it can stay present—even as everything changes form.
Fluidity, for me, is letting my life become water…
and trusting that I know how to swim.
Christina Rae Blackmon is the force behind Momentive Media and Christina Rae + Co—where AI strategy meets embodied truth. She’s a marketing architect, intuitive coach, and creative provocateur helping entrepreneurs dismantle performative business, reclaim their voice, and build from who they actually are. Her work blends consciousness, somatics, and cutting-edge AI to create brands that don’t just get seen—they get felt.
In her spare time, she writes poetry, creates art and handcrafted pieces for sale, hunts for antiques and rare treasures, and tends to her garden—harvesting herbs for her own teas through Moon Phase Collective. She also creates and sells moon and shadow work journals designed to support deep self-exploration and transformation.