More Like Myself
Editor’s note: This is written from my current vantage point
Welcome back, curious minds and kind hearts, to the final chapter of the Think Again series, where we’ve spent this month questioning old beliefs, expectations, and definitions we’ve carried with us in hopes of living with greater curiosity, self-trust, and alignment.
Over the course of this series, I’ve written about what happened when I stopped explaining, what I discovering in not knowing yet, what I can and can’t control, what it meant to find my way, and who I realized I had been all along.
And now, for the final chapter, I keep coming back to one thought, which is I’ve never felt more like myself, and yet I’m not the same person I used to be.
There was a time when waking up early didn’t feel like a fresh start.
During one of the most difficult seasons of my life (and one I often reference), I would wake up already exhausted. Before the day had even really begun there was dread. Tension. A heaviness. An uneasiness about what might happen next. I felt disconnected, uncertain, and drained.
I’m not sure I realized just how much of myself had gotten buried underneath all of that until pieces of me slowly started coming back.
Toward the end of that season, I began taking early morning, hour long walks. Eventually, my creativity began finding its way back into my life. Then fitness. And last spring, I picked up a jump rope and found myself getting back into the zone again.
I’ve worked out for most of my life. When I was younger I played soccer. Then, I swam competitively for a good chunk of time. Played volleyball and basketball for a couple years before being a cross-country runner. So even something as simple as waking up sore after pushing myself felt strangely familiar.
“Oh, I remember this.”
There was something comforting about feeling physically tired from something I had chosen to challenge myself with rather than emotionally exhausted from the circumstances that surrounded me.
Little by little, I started recognizing myself again.
So much so, I came back different. It wasn’t an overnight transformation by any means. Honestly, it wasn’t until toward the end of last year and into this year that I really started feeling like myself again, emotionally, mentally, and physically.
But returning to myself hasn’t meant returning to exactly who I was before.
Some things are familiar.
I’m still friendly.
Still polite.
Still considerate.
Still curious.
Still hopeful.
But I’m also firmer in my decisions and beliefs. More comfortable speaking my mind. Less hesitant to be seen.
I’m more confident.
And then, there are parts of my old self I don’t particularly want back.
I don’t want to be so flexible that I forget I’m a person who needs consideration too.
I don’t want to move mountains for someone without stopping to ask whether I’m moving myself out of the way in the process.
For a long time, I think I either overvalued other people while undervaluing myself, or I simply believed that was what relationships required.
If someone mattered, I made it work.
I adjusted.
I showed up.
I gave more.
And there’s nothing inherently wrong with doing those things. Relationships aren’t always perfectly balanced. Sometimes one person needs to give more. Other times, they’re the one who needs to receive more.
But there’s a difference between occasionally giving more and constantly putting yourself last.
I know that now.
That’s why, I make more room for myself now. While these days, I’m still willing to be flexible, but I’m no longer willing to dismiss my own time in the process.
If I’m tired and need a break, I don’t force myself to make plans.
If someone and I can’t make our schedules work, we’ll find another day.
If something makes me uncomfortable, I’m much more willing to say so.
It may sound simple, but learning to give my own feelings equal weight wasn’t always easy.
There was guilt, shame, and embarrassment as first. But eventually, I realized something. And that was that considering myself doesn’t require me to stop considering everyone else.
There are times to give.
There are times to receive.
There are times to compromise.
And there are times when saying no is the healthiest choice available.
Maybe that’s why balance has always been important to me. Not just in relationships, but everywhere.
Work.
Fitness.
Creativity.
Rest.
Fun.
The people I care about.
And myself.
An ordinary day right now might mean waking up early, swimming, having breakfast, working, taking a walk, working some more, eating dinner, doing something fun, reading, sleeping, and doing it all again tomorrow.
It may be nothing extraordinary but it feels good.
Because the things I spend my energy on increasingly give something back to me.
Fitness and art especially do that.
I can finish a workout or creative project feeling proud, inspired, and grateful.
I’ve even started thinking of that kind of energy as almost recyclable. I put something into myself, and somehow it comes back.
That’s very different from spending hours worrying, replaying, waiting, or trying to make someone else happy and walking away depleted.
I’ve gotten better at recognizing the difference.
Saying no has also helped me say yes. Boundaries are usually talked about in terms of what we stop doing.
But something I didn’t expect was how much more willing I’d become to say yes.
Yes to doing things alone.
Yes to unfamiliar experiences.
Yes to being uncomfortable (while feeling safe) for a while while.
Yes to something I might be terrible at.
And recently, that meant swing dancing.
I met a new friend through an app and they mentioned being open to trying it, and I thought, why not?
For years, I had wondered why those around me didn’t invite me to try more unusual or adventurous things.
Yet, someone finally had. Except there was only one minor problem, I am not a dancer.
While I enjoy watching people perform, being the one who actual doing it is an entirely different situation.
However, belong long, I was switching partners throughout the night and trying to keep up with the people who had significantly more experience, and considerably smoother footwork, than I did.
I messed up.
A lot.
I apologized.
A lot.
And thankfully, everyone I danced with was incredibly encouraging. They complimented me, helped me along, and continued dancing even when I was struggling to figure out what my feet were supposed to be doing.
Part of me was stressed in the moment.
The other part of me felt awkward.
But by the end of the night, part of me was definitely relieved that I no longer had to worry about slowing anybody down. But mostly? I was proud.
Because I stayed.
I kept switching partners.
I kept trying.
I kept putting my best foot forward, sometimes quite literally, even if it wasn’t always the correct foot.
A version of me from a few years ago probably wouldn’t have done that. Or maybe she would’ve gone and watched from the sidelines. Maybe she would’ve left early.
While current me was nervous, and did so anyway.
I’ve started to realized that maybe confidence isn’t walking into every unfamiliar situation believing you’re going to be good at it. Sometimes confidence is trusting yourself enough to stay while you’re still figuring it out.
That being said, being quiet doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. Because confidence has also changed the way I understand another part of myself.
I’ve always been somewhat reserved, private, and quiet.
For a long time, I wished I were more naturally outgoing or charismatic like a chameleon. After all, there was a part of me that associated those qualities with being more successful, capable, or noticeable. But I’ve come to appreciate my quiet, sensitive nature much more.
Quiet people are sometimes underestimated.
Not saying much doesn’t mean we aren’t listening.
It doesn’t mean we’re naive.
It doesn’t mean we don’t understand what’s happening around us.
And it certainly doesn't mean we don’t have something to say.
I’ve found that I’m actually pretty talkative when I’m comfortable and feel safe being myself.
And when something I strongly believe in is challenged, when I seen being treated poorly, or when there’s something I genuinely think needs to be said? I can be very outspoken.
I’ve surprised people with that before.
But I’ve also learned that having a strong voice isn’t necessarily about being the loudest person in the room. To me, a strong voice also knows how to listen. It recognizes that everyone deserves the opportunity to speak. And it knows there are moments when speaking matters and others when saying nothing at all is the better choice.
Being quiet never meant I didn’t have passion, purpose, or something to say. It was simply another part of myself I needed to stop treating like something that needed fixing.
Now I have hope with my eyes open. Because are other parts of myself I’m especially grateful returned. But hope just might be the biggest one.
I’ve always had this unwavering belief that somehow, in some way, things will work out.
During that difficult period, it wasn’t that I completely stopped hoping, but for a while, I stopped really believing it. And that’s different.
When you’ve felt powerless or defenseless for long enough, it can become difficult to imagine anything changing.
Today, that’s a whole different ball game. The belief has returned and I think it’s different now.
More grounded.
I don’t believe everything will always work out exactly the way I want. It won’t.
People disappoint us.
Plans fall apart.
Relationships end.
Opportunities don’t happen.
We get hurt.
Sometimes life doesn’t cooperate.
Healthy optimism, at least to me, isn’t pretending those things don’t exist. I’ve always believed in feeling whatever emotion I’m experiencing. If I’m sad and need to cry, I’ll cry. If something hurts, I’m allowed to acknowledge that it hurts.
Because optimism isn’t saying, “Everything is fine.”
It’s being able to say, “Everything isn’t fine right now, but I still believe something else remains possible.”
There’s still another opportunity.
Another person to meet.
Another experience.
Another direction.
Another day.
That belief has returned a sense of possibility to my life that I didn’t realize I’d missed so much.
Similar to that belief is peace. By experiencing peace or having peace in my life, it doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped wanting more. Rather today if I had to describe happiness, I don’t think I’d describe excitement.
I’d describe peace.
Quiet contentment.
Not needing anything else to happen before I’m allowed to appreciate where I am.
Sometimes I feel it after an early morning swim.
Sometimes it’s when I’m making something simply because I love making it.
There’s no audience required.
No recognition needed.
No validation expectation.
Just me doing something because it makes me feel alive, energized, empowered, and inspired.
And strangely enough, becoming more content hasn’t made me any less ambitious. I think it’s actually made me even more ambitious.
The reason behind that ambition has changed.
I want to improve art swimming because I want to.
I want to become better at my creative hobbies because I enjoy them.
I want to travel internationally someday.
I want to continue visiting other states.
I want more adventures.
I want to try things I’ve never done.
I have career goals, personal goals, fitness foals, dreams, wishes, and ideas.
Contentment doesn’t mean I don’t want any of those things. I still want more for my life. I just don’t need more to prove that the life I have right now is worthwhile.
That’s a big difference.
But I’d say one of the biggest things I’ve learned is the art of slowing down. I’m still learning it, too.
I’ve spent much of my life wanting to jump straight into things.
Go harder.
Do more.
Get better.
Yet i’ve had to learn that sometimes the smarter thing is to slow down.
This year alone, workouts haven’t always gone according to plan. There have been closures, interruptions, soreness, exhaustion, and other things out of my control.
Old me might have been more annoyed or defeated by that.
Current me is learning to listen.
To rest.
To recover.
To adjust.
To come back and try again tomorrow.
We as humans aren’t designed to work around the clock, and taking a break, doesn’t make us lazy.
Sometimes slowing down prevents an injury.
Sometimes it prevents burnout.
Sometimes we need to slow down because we feel disconnected.
And sometimes we simply need enough quiet time to figure out where we’d like to go next.
Slowing down can still be movement.
Life isn’t a race against everyone around us.
Someone else having something I want doesn’t mean I’m losing.
Someone reaching a milestone before me doesn’t mean I’m behind.
We’re allowed to pursue completely different definitions of fulfillment.
And that’s the kind of mindset that has allowed me to be more like myself. Writing this series made me realize how interconnected all of these lessons actually are.
I didn’t see that when I started.
I stopped believing I needed to explain every detail of myself or my decisions for them to be valid.
I became more comfortable with not knowing exactly where my future is headed.
I started playing closer attention to where I put my energy and what I can actually control.
I learned that finding my way sometimes meant listening inward instead of searching everywhere else for direction.
And I realized that many of the qualities I was trying so hard to become had been part of me all along.
So, maybe Think Again was never really about finding better answers. Maybe it was about becoming willing to question the answers I’d been living by. Because sometimes there isn’t one answer. There can be another perspective. Another interpretation. Another experience. Another angle we haven’t considered.
We’re all moving through life with different information, resources, experiences, beliefs, and circumstances. We’re doing what we can with what we have, and sometimes we’ll get it right. Other times, we’ll think again.
That’s not failure.
That’s growth.
As the following hours, days, weeks, months, and years go by, I’m still becoming.
I’m still going to have insecure days.
I’ll still feel behind sometimes.
I’ll make mistakes.
I’ll probably overthink things I don’t need to overthink.
There will be moments when I need reassurance.
There will be thing I desperately want that don’t work out.
But I no longer feel like I’m racing against myself or time anymore.
And I don’t feel like I have nearly as much to prove.
Because I shouldn’t have to prove that I deserve respect.
Or fairness.
Or to be valued.
Those things should all be a given.
And when they’re consistently not, I’m learning that walking away doesn’t always mean defeat.
Sometimes it means acceptance.
Sometimes it means awareness.
Sometimes it means realizing your energy belongs somewhere else.
I’ve also stopped believing confidence means never being uncertain.
Confidence comes and goes just like any other feeling. There are days when I’ll feel insecure. There are days when I’ll put on my favorite outfit because it gives me a little boost. There are skills I’ll keep practicing because getting better at something makes me feel capable.
Confidence isn’t certainty. For me, it’s simply believing in myself. And that’s one thing I hope I never take for granted again.
Thinking again. If I could sit beside the version of myself who was waking up exhausted, tense, and dreading the day ahead, I don’t think I’d tell her every lesson I’ve learned.
Some things she needed to discover on her own. I also wouldn’t tell her every decision to make. Nor would I give her a map. Instead, I’d simply tell her, “Things will work out.”
Not necessarily the way you expect.
Not necessarily when you want them to.
And some things won’t work out at all.
But that doesn’t mean nothing else will.
I’d tell her that none of it makes much sense right now, but one day she’ll understand herself differently because of it. I’d tell her she’s stronger and more resilient than she realizes. And most importantly, I’d tell her to trust herself and her instincts more.
Because becoming more like myself hasn’t meant forgetting who I once was or becoming someone completely new. It’s meant returning to parts of myself I lost tough with while allowing experience to change me. It’s meant learning that I can be quiet and confident.
Kind with boundaries.
Optimistic and realistic.
Content and ambitious.
Independent and connected.
Certain about who I am while remaining curious about who I might become.
It’s meant figuring out who I am now, without letting expectations, older versions of myself, or the life I once pictured determine who I’m allowed to become next.
And if you’re reading this while feeling disconnected to yourself, from the life you expected, or from where you believe you should be right now, I hope you give yourself some grace.
It’s okay to feel lost.
It’s okay to reevaluate.
It’s okay to change direction.
It’s okay to realize something you once desperately wanted isn’t for you anymore.
It’s okay to return to something you loved.
And it’s okay to discover something completely new.
You aren’t required to live according to a picture of your life that an older version of you created with information she had at the time.
Instead, appreciate where you are.
Stay curious about where you’re going.
And give yourself permission to think again.
I don’t know exactly who I’ll be in five years from now. But maybe that’s a good thing.
I hope there are experiences I haven’t imaged yet, things I haven’t learned, places I haven’t been, and even beliefs I’ll have reason to reconsider.
But I hope that person is still down-to-earth.
Still kind.
Still compassionate.
Still curious.
Still hopeful.
Still willing to trust herself.
Because I don’t think we’re ever really finished learning who we are.
Becoming more like myself was never about reaching a finished version of me. It was about learning how to keep growing without losing myself along the way.
And wherever I go from here, I hope I never stop being willing to Think Again.
If you’re just joining the Think Again series, or there’s a chapter you missed, you can revisited the rest of the series:
When I Stopped Explaining - A reflection on communication, understanding, and learning when you no longer need to keep explaining your experience.
The Beauty of Not Knowing Yet - An exploration of uncertainty, the pressure to know what’s next, and what can happen when we leave a little room for the unknown.
What I Can Control - A reflection on where our time and energy go when we become consumed by things that aren’t entirely ours to control.
Finding My Way - A personal look at what it can mean to feel disconnected from yourself and begin searching for your own sense of direction again.
Who I Was All Along - A reflection on identity, growth, and questioning who we think we’re supposed to become.
Each chapter began with a different question, but together they’ve led me here, to More Like Myself. Now that we’ve reached the end, I want to turn the questions over to you.
What are you ready to think again about?
Maybe it’s an old expectation. A definition of success. Something you’ve always assumed about yourself. Or maybe you don’t know yet.
Share your thoughts in the comments, or simply take the question with you. While this may be the end of Think Again, it certainly isn’t the end off the conversation. So, stick around. There’s still plenty more to explore, question, create, and discover together. Until then, sending love, light, and laughter 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.***
