The Sound That Wouldn’t Stop (and the Wisdom It Woke Up)

A couple of months ago, our dryer started making a terrible screeching sound. At first, I tried to ignore it. It was early summer—good drying weather. Besides, with just my partner and me at home now, we don’t go through that much laundry. I thought, why not use the sun?

So we did. We dried our towels outside. They came in stiff and scratchy—like sandpaper on skin. Not terrible, if that’s your thing. But I missed the soft warmth of a dryer.

When I finally called the repair shop, they asked for a $150 prepayment just to diagnose the issue. I winced, paid it, and a technician came out.

Within ten minutes—without opening the machine—he told me it needed a new motor and fan. The estimate arrived that afternoon: $1,300.

My anger rolled in like a Midwest thunderstorm. This was a premium dryer. I’d invested in it five years ago with the belief that it would last. I hadn’t abused it. I hadn’t overused it. It simply failed.

But what upset me most wasn’t the money—it was the waste. The impact. The idea that even when we try to buy quality, we’re still feeding the machine of disposability.

I called my dear friend Summer MacCool. Her advice is always the same: trust what you feel.

So I did.

I didn’t rage. I didn’t collapse. I got clear.
I wrote a letter. A real one. On paper. With a stamp.

I explained what had happened and why it mattered to me—not just as a customer, but as a human being who cares about the planet, quality, and relationships with companies that honor what they make.

And then—within just a few days—I heard back.

The company responded with integrity and care. They offered to repair the dryer. I was moved—not just by the outcome, but by the reminder that speaking up from a grounded place can lead to connection, not conflict.

Here’s what I learned (again):
Our emotions are intelligent.
They’re not problems to fix. They’re signals. That screeching sound stirred something in me—not just frustration, but a deeper knowing that something needed to be honored.

A larger presence in me listened.
I let the emotion speak, and I took clear, grounded action.
And then—I let go.

I could have held on. Waited. Watched. Tried to control the outcome.
But I didn’t. I did what I could do—and then I released it. I trusted life.

And in that space of no expectation… something met me.

Not all anger is destructive. Some of it is clean. Some of it is holy.

I’m not writing this to say “write a letter” or “fight the system.”
I’m writing this to say: don’t dismiss what you feel.
There may be wisdom—and love—hiding in that sound that just won’t stop.

P.S.
This is the kind of work I do with clients.
Not about dryers—but about learning to trust what’s true, even in the small moments. Because how we meet the everyday is how we meet our lives.
If you’re ready to meet yours with more clarity, presence, and power, I’d love to talk.