Finding My Way
Editor’s note: This is written from my current vantage point
Welcome back, curious minds and kind hearts, to this week’s chapter of the Think Again series, where we’re rethinking the beliefs, expectations, and definitions we carry so we can live with greater curiosity, self-trust, and alignment.
If you’re new to the series, start with When I Stopped Explaining, a reflection on communication, understanding, and self-trust. Then, continue with The Beauty of Not Knowing Yet, where I explore uncertainty and finding peace in the unknown. And finally, What I Can Control, a reflection on becoming more intentional about where we invest our time, energy, and attention.
As we get into today’s chapter, Finding My Way, I want to ask you something:
Have you ever felt like you didn’t necessarily lose your way, you lost yourself?
I’ve experienced that feeling twice in my life. The first came after experiencing grief close to home. The second happened much more recently, during a difficult season. This time, I didn’t necessarily feel lost because I didn’t know where I wanted to go. But deep down, I think I did. I just didn’t know how to get there anymore.
Then, as cliché as this may sound, I felt like I had lost my spark.
I wasn’t as empowered, motivated, creative, playful, or passionate as I once was. I became quieter and increasingly reserved. I kept more to myself, partly because attempt to speak up seemed to make things worse and partly because I was simply exhausted.
I can still remember putting on my favorite clothes and having to give myself a motivational speech before walking into the office.
You can do this.
Just get through today.
Some days, that was about all I had.
I felt drained before the day even began. Situations around me had become disorienting and uncomfortable, and I couldn’t understand how people could treat one another certain ways without seeming to care about the effect they were having.
Eventually, I wasn’t just questioning what was happening around me. I was questioning myself.
So much so, it’s when everyone else’s voice got louder. While I was navigating circumstances I’d never experienced before, I naturally turned to other people for advice. I thought they might know something I didn’t.
Maybe they were older. Maybe they had more life experience. Maybe they could see something I couldn’t. And sometimes, I simply wanted reassurance that what I was experiencing wasn’t okay.
The problem was that I sometimes gave someone e'lse’s judgement more weight than my own.
There were moments when my instincts told me to do one thing while someone I trusted suggested another. I’d hesitate. I’d wonder if they knew better. I’d even question whether following my instincts would somehow make things worse.
Sometimes I followed their advice because I genuinely believed they had my best interests at heart. And they very well may have.
But I eventually learned something important: Someone can genuinely care about you and still not know what’s right for you. Because they don’t feel what you feel. They haven’t lived every experience you’ve lived. They don’t know every thought running through your mind or every detail influencing your decision.
While advice can offer perspective, it can’t replace your own judgement.
And the more disconnected I became from mine, the harder even ordinary decisions began to feel.
Basically, I had to start all over to find pieces of myself again. I wish I could tell you there was one dramatic moment when everything suddenly changed. But there wasn’t. Finding myself again happened slowly.
One walk.
One painting.
One new experience.
One uncomfortable decision.
One small act of choosing myself at a time.
Creativity was one of the first things I returned to.
After everything happening in my professional and personal life, I had forgotten how much I missed making things. Art provided me with a space to release those emotions, the feelings I tried so desperately to express yet had trouble saying out loud. It helped quiet my mind and gave me a sense of calm I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Then, there was walking. I had enjoyed walking before things became especially difficult, but eventually I became too exhausted to do much of anything. Yet it was walking that made me feel inspired again.
Hopeful.
Grateful.
I started noticing the world around me instead of constantly living inside everything that had happened.
Little by little. pieces of me started coming back.
My curiosity.
My optimism.
My creativity.
My adventurous spirit.
My playfulness.
And then, something else happened.
I started discovering parts of myself I hadn’t really known before.
Confidence that came later. For a long time, I think I assumed confidence was something you needed before doing something unfamiliar. However, I learned the opposite.
Sometimes you have to do the uncomfortable thing first.
One of those things, for me, was simply going to a restaurant alone. It sounds small, but sitting at a table by myself while people around me talked with friends, partners, and family felt weird.
I felt lonely.
I felt awkward.
But I did it.
And afterward, I had another experience to add to the growing collection of evidence that said: I can do unfamiliar things and be okay.
That didn’t suddenly make me fearless. But the next unfamiliar thing became slightly less intimidating.
Then came more activities by myself. New creative projects. New foods. Interviews. Barn dancing. Meeting new people. Putting myself out there in ways I wouldn’t have before. And somewhere in all of those experiences, confidence started showing up.
I hadn’t waited until I believed in myself enough to start living. It was living that gave me reasons to believe in myself again.
So, that made me wonder, who are we in the right environment?
Meeting new people taught me something else. For a long time, I would’ve described myself as quiet. And something I can still be. But around people who are kind, curious, respectful, and genuinely interested in conversation?
Apparently, I have quite a lot to say.
And that made me question something: How much of who we think we are is actually who we’ve had to become in certain environments?
Maybe I hadn’t completely lost my playful, curious, talkative personality. Maybe parts of me simply hadn’t felt like they had room to exist.
Finding my way wasn’t only about becoming someone different. Some of it was rediscovering who had been there all along. And some of it was becoming someone new.
I’ve become more outspoken.
More willing to advocate.
More willing to stand up for myself.
And strangely enough, I’ve also become more easygoing.
Not because I don’t care. But I’ve simply become more selective about what deserves my involvement. I don’t need to know everything happening in everyone’s life. I don’t need to insert myself into situations that don’t involve me.
But when someone opens up to me or something genuinely matters? I care deeply.
Finding my voice didn’t mean I needed to use it all the time. It meant realizing it was mine to use when it mattered.
So, I learned to listen to myself. Because even with self-trust, it doesn’t mean every feeling I have is correct. I’m still learning the difference between intuition and fear.
Sometimes something feels uncomfortable because it genuinely doesn’t feel right. Other times I’m nervous because something is unfamiliar, because I might be judged, or because the opportunity in front of me has the potential to change something.
Those feelings aren’t necessarily warnings. Sometimes they’re simply the discomfort of doing something new.
Therefore, I’ve learned to pause and ask myself, “What am I actually feeling right now?” And when someone gives me advice, I listen. Except now part of trusting myself means deciding whether that advice feels genuine, useful, and right for me.
Sometimes it is.
Sometimes it isn’t.
Either way, the final decision is mine to live with.
Other than that, there was a foundation I didn’t know I had. There was another piece of finding my way that I don’t think I fully appreciated until someone pointed it out to me. And that was my faith.
Years ago, an old friend told me they wished they’d been given a stronger foundation of faith growing up. That conversation has stayed with me because I had spent years wondering where I had fit myself.
At times, I felt more religious than some of my friends. I rarely drank, didn’t swear, didn’t enjoy staying out particularly late, and made certain choices because of my beliefs.
At the same time, I didn’t necessarily practice my faith the same way some of my more religious friends did. Not in the traditional sense, at least.
Eventually, I realized I didn’t need to measure my faith against either group.
My relationship with God is personal.
I think I began understanding that more when I went away to college. Living independently meant nobody was telling me how, when, or where to practice my faith. And yet, I continued choosing it.
Today, that same faith, same religion, looks like prayer, quiet reflection, and carrying the hope that somehow things will work out, even when I can’t understand how yet.
Looking back, I think I would’ve felt much more lost during difficult seasons without that foundation. While my faith doesn’t give me a map, it does give me something to hold onto when I can’t see the road.
Yet, the funny thing is, after all of this, I still can’t tell you exactly where I’m going.
I have directions.
Plural.
I’m swimming again, with hopes that maybe someday I’ll complete again. I’m creating and sharing my artwork. I’m continuing these weekly posts as I love writing them. I’m exploring career opportunities similar to work i’ve enjoyed before. I’m trying new things. I’m following what interests me.
I’m paying attention.
And I’m allowing myself to change direction.
A few years ago, I might have called that being lost. Today, however, I’d call that finding my way.
Because I’ve realized finding your way isn’t a journey from lost to found where suddenly everything makes sense and you never question yourself again.
No, sometimes you listen.
You choose.
You move.
You learn.
You adjust.
And then you keep going.
If I ever find myself lost again, I know what I'll return to.
My passions.
My curiosity.
My faith.
My instincts.
My voice.
Myself.
Of everything I’ve rediscovered along the way, my voice might be the most important.
Because there was a time when I felt powerless, defenseless, and unheard. But today, I see someone much different.
Someone more confident.
Determined.
Resilient.
Strong.
Someone who understands that other people can offer advice, opinions, and interpretations of who I am, but I’m still the person who has to my life. And maybe that’s what finding my way has really meant all along.
It hasn’t been about finally knowing exactly where I’m going. It’s been about building enough faith in myself to take the next step, enough faith in something greater to accept what I can’t see yet, and enough resilience to keep moving even when the path changes.
Maybe finding our way isn’t about finding the perfect path. Maybe it’s about finding our way back to the parts of ourselves we can trust to walk it.
So, let’s take a moment to reflect, when you’ve felt lost in life, what helped you find your way back to yourself? Comment below or reflect on your own.
And be sure to check back on Monday, August 24th, for the next chapter of Think Again. Until then, sending you positive vibes, good food, lots of laughs, and plenty of sunshine your way.
As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!
***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***
