Some changes arrive like a storm, others like a whisper. But all of them leave a mark. In The Only Constant, Najwa Zebian doesn't just reflect on change—she sits with it, listens to it, and gently invites us to do the same. This isn’t a book about resisting life’s uncertainty. It’s a guide to finding home within ourselves, no matter how much the world around us shifts.
Here are 8 soul-deep lessons from this heartfelt book:
1. Letting go is not a betrayal of the past—it’s an honoring of the present.
We often confuse letting go with giving up. But as Najwa writes, there’s a quiet strength in acknowledging when something no longer serves your growth. Whether it’s a relationship, a dream, or a former version of you, releasing it doesn’t erase its importance. Instead, it honors what it taught you—and creates space for who you’re becoming. The present deserves your full presence, not a distracted gaze lost in the past.
2. Healing is not linear, and that’s okay.
One day you feel empowered, the next day you’re grieving again. This ebb and flow doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. Najwa reminds us that healing isn’t a checklist or a race—it’s a spiral. You return to old wounds with new eyes and deeper understanding each time. There is no shame in taking time. The only failure is pretending you’re fine when your soul needs softness.
3. You do not have to shrink to be loved.
We’ve been taught that love is earned by compliance—by being easy, agreeable, less emotional. But Najwa calls out this conditioning and says: No more shrinking. If your voice trembles, let it. If your feelings are big, let them be. The love you deserve won’t demand your silence or ask you to compromise your truth. Your fullness is not too much—it’s exactly right.
4. The most painful goodbyes are often the beginnings of coming home to yourself.
When people leave or when life breaks wide open, we often mourn the loss of what was. But underneath that grief is often something more sacred: the rediscovery of who you are when you're no longer bending to be someone you're not. Zebian gently shows us that heartbreak can be a clearing. A space to return to our values, needs, and boundaries without guilt.
5. There is power in naming your truth.
Silence can become a cage when we fear what others might think of our truth. But unspoken wounds grow heavier with time. Najwa encourages us to speak, even when our voices shake. Telling the truth—to yourself and to others—restores integrity. It says, “I matter. My experience matters.” Whether through writing, therapy, or conversation, naming what hurt us is the first step toward reclaiming our wholeness.
6. You don’t have to have it all figured out to be worthy.
Society glorifies clarity and certainty. But most of us are walking questions—figuring it out as we go. Najwa reminds us that you’re allowed to exist in the unknown and still be enough. You’re allowed to be a masterpiece and a work-in-progress at the same time. Stop waiting for the perfect plan to start living like you matter. You already do.
7. Self-abandonment is too high a price for belonging.
There’s a difference between connection and conformity. If you have to suppress your opinions, over-explain your boundaries, or constantly perform to feel accepted, you’re not truly seen. Najwa urges us to ask: What part of myself am I leaving behind to keep this relationship? Belonging should feel like coming home, not like walking on eggshells. Choose yourself first. The right people will meet you there.
8. Change is not the enemy—it’s the invitation.
Instead of resisting change, Najwa invites us to lean into it with curiosity. Who am I now? What am I learning? What part of me is ready to rise? Change is inevitable, yes—but suffering through it isn’t. When we shift our perspective from fear to openness, we allow change to sculpt us, not shatter us. It becomes not something to survive—but something to trust.
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