What Was She Thinking Podcast
In Paradise, the women are constantly faced with decisions that test their instincts.
Teri ignores critical information that could have led her to safety—putting both her life and her husband’s at risk. Annie, on the other hand, chooses not to leave with a man who later becomes the father of her child. Her decision isn’t rooted in arrogance, but in fear. She stays where things feel familiar, even if that familiarity isn’t necessarily safe.
And that’s what makes their choices so relatable.
Because how often do we do the same?
Teri’s decision feels different. Hers seems tied to self-trust, independence, and maybe even a bit of stubbornness. She believes in her own judgment, in her ability to figure things out. But there’s a fine line between trusting yourself and refusing to listen—especially when wisdom is right in front of you.
Where was the discernment?
The truth is, discernment is easy to recognize in hindsight. In the moment, it often feels like a quiet nudge—something subtle we override with logic, fear, or the need to be right.
I’ve done it more than once.
I remember being in a relationship with someone who said he wanted to become an architect. He already had his bachelor’s degree, and I respected that he wanted more. At the time, it aligned with my own plans to go back to school for my master’s. It felt like we were building something real.
But when it came time to act, I moved forward—and he didn’t.
I applied to graduate school, got in, and started the next chapter of my life. He stayed stuck in the idea of what he wanted to do, without taking any real steps toward it. When I tried to support him—offering to research programs or help him get started—he brushed it off. And when I pressed, I was met with resistance.
So I let it go.
Not because it felt right—but because I didn’t want to push too hard. I didn’t want to be “that” girlfriend.
Looking back, that was the moment I should have paid attention to.
When someone consistently avoids action—and then makes you feel like you’re the problem for noticing—that’s not a misunderstanding. That’s information.
My gut knew it.
I just didn’t listen.
Maybe Annie’s story would have ended the same no matter what she chose. Maybe Teri would have been safe if she had listened. With fiction, we can debate outcomes all day.
But in real life, ignoring your discernment comes at a cost.
For me, it was time. Time spent in a situation that didn’t align with who I was becoming. Time invested in someone whose actions didn’t match their words. That uneasy feeling I kept pushing aside? That was my answer.
Discernment doesn’t shout. It whispers.
And the sooner you learn to listen, the less time you spend trying to recover from ignoring it.
Because while every path teaches you something, not every lesson needs to take as long as we make it.
Are you listening to your gut?