New here?
Start here →
I’ve been here before. Not in the exact same way, not with the same circumstances—but in that familiar, quiet space where things feel uncertain and slightly off, like life shifted while I wasn’t paying attention.
In 2012, I didn’t have the language for it. I just knew I felt anxious, unsettled, like I didn’t fully recognize myself. Writing helped me see it. It gave shape to something I couldn’t explain out loud.
Now, here I am again. Only this time, it looks different.
It looks like a body that doesn’t respond the way it used to.
It looks like energy that comes in unpredictable waves.
It looks like trying to understand menopause, hormones and gut health, and wondering how much of it is “normal” and how much is something I’m supposed to fix.
It looks like a quiet house after years of noise—being a recent empty nester and still not quite knowing how to hold that space.
And it looks like sitting with the reality that my job was eliminated… and I’m re-entering a job market that feels crowded, fast-moving, and not always built for someone in this season of life.
None of this is catastrophic. It’s just a season with a little more to sort through than usual.
What’s different now is that I don’t panic the way I used to. I don’t immediately assume something is wrong with me. But I do notice the weight of it—the way it all stacks together: health, identity, purpose, energy—and quietly asks: Who are you now?
And maybe that’s the thread that connects then and now.
Back then, I was trying to become someone.
Now, I’m trying to understand how to be someone in a body and a life that are changing.
I used to think strength looked like pushing through—holding it together, figuring it out quickly.
Now I’m starting to think it might look more like paying attention. Letting things be slower. Admitting that some transitions don’t have a clean or immediate answer.
I’m still a wild soul. I think that part never leaves.
But I’m learning, again, what it means to have a soft heart in a season that feels uncertain.
Maybe that’s not something to outgrow.
Maybe it’s something to come back to.
So here I am again—not because I have answers, but because last time, this is what helped me find my way back to myself.
And I have a feeling it might again.
No comments:
Post a Comment