It Really Is About The Vibes
I could be a millionaire by now, but...
If you’d like to listen to this essay
For a long time, I thought sharing personal stories in my work was self-indulgent. Or unprofessional. Or somehow beside the point. Coaching was supposed to be about the client, right? About insight and transformation—not about me. I thought if I let myself take up too much space, I’d be distracting from the actual work.
But that assumption was built on someone else’s design.
Plus, people just keep asking…
How would you approach this something similar?
Have you ever moved through something similar?
How would you think about this?
As a 6th line in Human Design, I’ve learned that people don’t really come to me for advice. They might think they are, at first. But underneath it, they’re really coming to me to feel the frequency of someone living in integrity with themselves. They come to experience what it’s like when someone chooses congruence over performance.
I’m not saying that with a badge of ‘holier than thou’, it’s just part of the design.
The only way I can offer that isn’t by teaching—it’s by being. Which, paradoxically, often means telling the story. Not in a way that says “do it like me,” but in a way that says: here’s how I walked through this. Here’s how I didn’t abandon myself this time. Here’s how I stayed.
The sixth line has been called the role model, but that phrase tends to get flattened into moral overtones—like we’re supposed to be ethically sound public figures with a perfectly gluten-free aura. The pressure! Thankfully, that’s not it. Though it does take time for Sixth lines to understand that—and not hold themselves to impossible standards.
But in reality, Sixth lines don’t lead with correctness. They lead with congruence. It’s not about what we do. It’s how we do it. The aura says everything. (It really is about the vibes.)
I’m currently in the “on the roof” phase of my 6th line journey—that middle chapter where life turns more observational, quieter, sometimes lonelier. Less “teach the people!” and more “watch the world quietly implode while you sip tea and make notes.” The roof isn’t about checking out—it’s about healing. Distilling. You start seeing the patterns under the patterns. And once you see them, good luck un-seeing anything ever again.
Which brings me to one of the most vital (and least teachable) aspects of the 6th line experience: embodiment.
A buzzword that’s lost its meaning in a sea of self-help books and manifestation techniques. But a really important concept for any Sixth line to become intimately familiar with.
Embodiment, at its core, is the absence of contradiction between your beliefs, your words, your actions, and your body. It’s not a thing ‘you do’ but rather a way you be. It’s what happens when your capital-S Self is leading—not your strategies, not your protector parts, not your projections.
Because people don’t learn from what we say. In fact, I’m often not saying a ton. Instead, they learn from our nervous systems. From the choices we make when no one’s watching. From how we handle failure, grief, thresholds. From whether or not our Instagram captions match our actual lives.
Which—if I am being fully honest with you—is inconvenient. Because it means there’s no shortcut. No rebrand strong enough to mask dissonance. No perfect Instagram bio that outshines incongruence. You either are what you say you are, or you’re not. And people—especially other sixth lines—can feel the difference. It’s not something you can fake.
This can be wildly annoying when you, like most humans, occasionally just want to coast. When you’d like to not have your personal integrity as your main marketing strategy. When you’d love to launch the damn thing without having to unearth yet another layer of “If I’m not impressive, I’m not lovable.”
And yet.
There have been so many moments I’ve thought, If I were willing to shut off my integrity, I could be a multi-millionaire by now. Like really. I know exactly what to say. I know what sells. I could write the webinar script in my sleep. But I can’t. No, I won’t. Because for a sixth line, abandoning yourself never pays off. It might get you numbers. But inside your body? It registers as betrayal. Your own nervous system throws a small, quiet coup. If you’ve tried it, you know. It’s nearly impossible to do and if you manage to force it, it falls apart anyway.
That’s why so much of my work is actually just... my nervous system. Not optimizing it. Not biohacking it. Just listening to it. It’s not exactly glamorous (and my integrity won’t let me over-glamorize it for ‘likes’ anyway), but it is very effective.
And this is why sixth lines often carry oracle frequency. Not the curated, incense-drenched version (though if that’s your thing, cool). The real kind. The inconvenient kind. The kind that sees what’s coming before anyone wants to admit it—and gets gently ignored—or worse, outcasted—until it’s proven right again, at which point everyone panics and asks if you offer Telegram support (I do).
Oracles aren’t always adored in their own time. They’re too early. Too exact. Too unwilling to soften the blow. And there’s grief in that. Grief in being ahead of the curve. Grief in holding clarity that no one wants yet. And grief in watching the people who are willing to distort themselves for success sprint ahead with trendy Canva templates and a suspicious number of testimonials.
But that’s the work. That’s the sixth line transmission. You don’t get to sell out. But you do get to become so coherent, so intact, so unshakably real that people can’t help but feel it. You become the reference point. The signal in a sea of noise. And it is possible—it’s our energy. Our purpose.
You don’t role model by being right. You role model by being real. By staying in your own timing. By refusing to decorate the truth just to make it easier to swallow. Sixth line leadership isn’t performative. It’s physiological. It’s what happens when your system is aligned. People feel it. They relax. They get honest—often without realizing why. It’s not loud, not perfect, not trendy, not especially cute—but very, very effective.
This way of operating doesn’t just feel good for Sixth lines. It works. It translates. It sustains. My business is successful—not in spite of this approach, but because of it. Well, once I learned to work with it. The more I’ve embodied my sixth line rhythm and wisdom, the more the right clients, collaborators, and opportunities have found me. Without effort. Without polishing. Without trying to be everyone’s cup of herbal tea. They want my wisdom. They want the stories. They want the oracle.
Many of my clients are also sixth lines. We tend to find each other. There’s a particular flavor of recognition—oh. You too. You’re also trying to live in a way that doesn’t require self-distortion. You’re also done pretending performance is leadership. Great. Let’s begin.
So no, sixth lines are not destined to be broke, burned out, or professionally ambiguous. We’re here to be oracles and to thrive. We’re here to lead with nervous systems that don’t lie. We’re here to be wildly coherent and quietly magnetic. The kind of successful that doesn’t require moral compromise or a seven-figure blueprint.
But it starts with owning our energy. With putting down the ways we see others ‘being successful’ and coming home to our own truths.
When you lead from that place, people notice. They trust it. They want to be near it. That’s the magic of your Sixth line.
We’re the oracle!! I’m also in the “on the roof” phase too 🫶🏽
GLUTEN-FREE AURA!