I sent the email. Now what?

You know that feeling when your stomach drops the second you hit send? Or, you scheduled it to go out in the morning because you worked on it all night.

Yeah, that one.

It's like your body instantly knows you just did something you can't undo. No more hiding behind drafts, no more rewrites, no more looping, no more "I'll deal with this tomorrow." The words are out there now, floating in cyberspace, and there's literally nothing you can do to pull them back.

That was me about an hour ago.

I'd been working on this email for days. Not kidding, I had drafts scattered across my desktop like digital confetti. Hours of going through transcripts, pulling screenshots, trying to find that perfect balance between "here are the facts" and "please don't think I'm a trying to fight with you." You know what I mean? That delicate dance of being truthful without torching every bridge in sight. Although, I am not lighting anything on fire, the perception of pushback from authority is what leads others to light things on fire and then look at you as if you did it.

The moment it left my outbox, my nervous system went absolutely haywire. Nausea, shaking hands, that weird dizzy feeling that makes you wonder if you just made the biggest mistake of your life.

But here's what I keep telling myself (and maybe you need to hear this too):

I didn't send something reckless. I sent something I'd thought about, revised seventeen times, and backed up with actual evidence.

I didn't start drama. I documented what happened, asked for clarity, and basically said "hey, this doesn't work for me anymore. This is harmful"

The sick feeling? That's not proof I screwed up, or that I am the problem. That's just my body doing what bodies do when we finally stop making silencing ourselves because others tell us that we’re too much. It's bracing for impact because, let's be real, speaking up always comes with risk, especially when you're dealing with people who have more power than you do.

Here's the thing nobody talks about, that gut-wrenching feeling after you send "the email" isn't actually about being wrong. It's about finally refusing to silence yourself to make everyone else comfortable. I grew up worried about the reactions of others and the impact it would have on me because when I was honest about harm, people chose to be more harmful, not less.

When you do something like this, when you choose honesty over keeping the peace, your body freaks out. It remembers every other time being real with people backfired. Every moment when staying quiet felt safer. And it goes into full protective mode, preparing for fallout that might not even happen, even if history shows that it likely will.

So what do you do with yourself after you've hit send?

First, you breathe. Like, actually breathe. Not those shallow panic breaths, but the deep ones that remind your nervous system you're not actually under attack right now.

Then you remind yourself of the basics:

• I'm safe in this moment

• I said what needed saying

• I don't need to replay this conversation in my head 47 more times

• Whatever is going to happen now, was bound to happen anyway

You anchor back into the fact that even if they respond with silence, or get defensive, or try to flip it back on you, you already did the hard part. You told your truth.

And maybe most importantly, you stop letting their potential reaction live rent-free in your head. Because that's the trap. We send the brave email and then spend the next 48 hours playing out every possible response scenario, letting their imaginary reactions take up all our mental real estate. This also impacts us emotionally, and physically as well through various manifestations. Stress is a silent killer.

But that's not your job. Your job was to be clear, honest, and stay true to yourself. Check, check, and check.

So today, I'm going to practice what I'm preaching. I'm going to make some coffee, and remind my body that feeling sick to my stomach doesn't mean I was wrong. It means I told the truth. And sometimes the truth shakes us up before it shakes anyone else.

Because I sent the email.

Now what?

Now I remember, hitting send was the brave part. I freed myself from everything I was being asked to internalize even though it was harmful. Everything else is just waiting.

And I can do waiting.