My shortest job lasted six hours.

Not six months. Six hours. And that was the start of learning how to trust my intuition.

It was senior year. A prom dress store an hour from my house, which meant two hours a day in the car for a paycheck I’d already spent in my head. I showed up early. I was excited. I wanted to be good at it.

They walked me to a rack of dresses and told me to hang them up.

Easy. Except there was a system, sizes or designers or something, and nobody had shown me. So I did the thing you’re supposed to do on your first day. I asked for help.

“Figure it out.”

Two words. That was the whole training.

I finished the shift. I drove the hour home. I never went back.

What I actually walked out on

I would have hung every dress in that store. I’m not afraid of work. At six years old I was picking up aluminum cans and turning them in for cash. Work has never been the problem.

What I couldn’t do was spend two hours a day driving toward a place that made me feel like a burden for asking a question.

On paper that’s nothing. A shrug from a manager. A bad Tuesday. Teenagers are supposed to swallow that and keep the job.

I didn’t. And I want to be honest about what that was, because it wasn’t confidence. Seventeen-year-old me had no plan, no savings, and no idea what she was doing. She just had a body that refused to drive back.

The rule I didn’t have words for yet

I didn’t have language for it then. I do now. I call it the 7 or Above Rule, and it’s one of the boundaries I teach inside my transformation program, SHIFT.

On a scale where one is awful and ten is amazing, if it’s not a seven or above, it’s a hell no.

That job was a 2. My body scored it before my brain knew the scale existed. The dread on the drive over. The tightness when she said those two words. The way my hands went still on the hanger. My body had already filed the paperwork. All I did was agree with it.

This is the part people get wrong about intuition. They picture a voice from somewhere else with instructions. Mine mostly shows up as a number I already know.

How to actually run it

Pick the thing you’ve been circling. The job. The friendship. The client who makes your stomach drop when her name lights up your phone. The invitation you keep not answering.

Don’t ask if it’s good. Ask what it scores. First number, no negotiating, no editing upward because you feel guilty.

Most women land on a 5 or a 6 and immediately start building a case. It has benefits. She’s been my friend since college. The money’s fine. I’d feel terrible leaving.

Babe. A 6 with a legal defense attached is still a 6. You just don’t want it to be.

And notice what your body did while you read that. The flinch is the score.

Why “it’s good” is the trap

The hardest ones to leave are never the 2s. A 2 announces itself. You know in six hours.

The ones that eat years are the 6s. The pretty-good job. The relationship that isn’t cruel. The business that pays the bills and hollows you out on a Wednesday afternoon for reasons you can’t put in a sentence.

You’re allowed to be grateful for something and still refuse to spend your one life inside it. Those two things have never once cancelled each other out, no matter how many times you’ve been told they do.

What refusing the 2s built

Here’s what happened after the parking lot.

I skipped college and went to beauty school, and the day after I got my license I opened my own salon suite. First year: six figures, working solo, no Instagram, no funnels, just word of mouth and a vision my spirit wouldn’t shut up about.

Twenty years behind the chair at OMGhairstyles came next, and that chair turned out to be the real education. Women came in for color and ended up telling me their heartbreaks, their grief, their dreams. I heard “I feel alone” so many times I finally started gathering them under the full moon. That became the Goddess Gatherings, then the retreats, then Shine School®, then the oracle deck, then stages I never imagined standing on.

None of that was a plan. There was no vision board at seventeen. There was a girl in a parking lot with her keys still in her hand, deciding she wasn’t driving back.

That’s the whole strategy. I kept refusing the 2s, and refusing them long enough left me holding a life that scores a 9.

Seventeen-year-old me would absolutely lose her mind.

So what’s your six-hour job?

You already know. You knew before you finished the first paragraph.

The thing you’d walk out of today if you believed you were allowed to. The thing you’ve scored a 2 for months and keep calling a 6 out loud.

You don’t have to quit it this afternoon. You do have to stop lying to yourself about the number.

Name it. On paper, out loud, in a text to the one friend who won’t talk you back into it. Then ask what a 7 would look like, and start walking in that direction. Slowly is fine. Badly is fine. Walking is the only part that matters.

If you don’t know what your 7 is yet

Most women I meet can score the 2. What they can’t name is the 7. “I know I don’t want this, but I have no idea what I DO want.”

That’s exactly why I made the Discover Your Passion guide: 30 journaling prompts that cut through the noise and get you clear on what actually lights you up. Over 10,000 women have used it to find their 7. It’s free. Grab it here →

And if you already know your 7 and you’re ready to build it, that’s what my 90-Day Coaching Intensive is for: one-on-one, psychic insight plus real strategy, so the thing you keep circling becomes the thing you’re doing. Book a call and let’s talk →

Either way, stop driving back to the 2s. You were never meant to hang dresses for someone who wouldn’t show you where they go.

xo, Brittney 💜