I used to think I’d know when I’d “found myself.”
That there would be a moment — clean and definitive — where I would settle into who I was always meant to be. The clouds would part, the questions would quiet, and I’d walk forward in a steady rhythm, no longer wondering.
But lately, I’m starting to wonder if that’s not how this works at all.
Maybe there is no finding.
Maybe there’s just becoming.
And becoming isn’t linear. It’s not tidy. It doesn’t show up in five steps or follow a checklist. Sometimes it looks like standing still for longer than you wanted. Sometimes it looks like shedding pieces of yourself you swore were permanent. Sometimes it’s a quiet shift you don’t notice until you look back and realize you don’t hurt the same way you used to.
Nobody tells you how disorienting it is to outgrow a life that once fit.
Or how lonely it can feel to no longer recognize the version of yourself you were so used to being.
We talk a lot about reinvention like it’s glamorous — like it’s just a matter of bold choices and brave leaps. But the truth is, it can also look like crying in your car, rethinking your calendar, reintroducing yourself to your own reflection.
This isn’t about becoming someone new for the sake of change.
It’s about finally making space for who you’ve always been underneath the roles, the responsibilities, the armor.
And no, it doesn’t always feel empowering at first.
Sometimes it just feels like being undone.
But maybe being undone is part of the process.
Maybe it’s not a crisis. Maybe it’s a clearing.
If you’re in that space — where you’re not quite whoyou were, but you’re not yet sure who you’re becoming — you’re not broken. You’re not behind. You’re just in motion.
And even if you don’t recognize yourself right now, that doesn’t mean you’re lost.
It might mean you’re finally on your way.
Have you ever felt like you were in between versions of yourself? What helped you keep going?
Birdie
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