The space to grow

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life being extraordinarily good at surviving a life that doesn't fit me. I want to become extraordinarily good at creating one that does."

I think I'm standing between two versions of myself.

The woman who became extraordinarily good at handling whatever life put in front of her,

and the woman who wants to decide what she puts in front of herself.

Those are not the same thing.

And I think that's the real transition I'm in.

Something more fundamental than changing jobs, starting a business, or figuring out my next move.

It's moving from surviving the life I was given to deliberately creating the life I want.

For a very long time, I became incredibly good at adapting.

Whatever happened, I handled it.

Whatever needed to be done, I did it.

Whatever needed to be postponed, I postponed it.

Whatever needed to be sacrificed, I sacrificed.

And there is a certain strength that comes from being able to do that.

But there is also a cost.

At some point, constantly adapting to your circumstances can become a way of disappearing inside them.

And I think that's where I am now.

I'm trying to grow, but I'm doing it in an environment that keeps requiring me to shrink, pause, accommodate, or recover.

And that creates a very particular kind of exhaustion.

I am not lacking motivation.

I am experiencing grotesque misalignment.

I'm not just burned out.

I'm burned out from being unable to move forward.

And that's a huge psychological difference.

It's the difference between:

“I have nothing left in me.”

and

“I don't have much left for this.”

Those are profoundly different statements.

I don't think my creative energy is gone.

Actually, some of my most alive moments happen when I'm imagining what's possible, the storefront, the products, the names, the story, the customer experience, the next chapter.

I light up when I'm creating.

I shut down when I'm confined.

That's information.

Maybe I'm not failing to thrive.

Maybe I'm trying to thrive in an environment that doesn't have room for the person I've become.

Imagine a healthy plant that is alive, reaching toward the light, still trying to grow, but the pot has become too small.

The plant isn't failing.

It is outgrowing its container.

That's what this feels like.

I know where I want to go.

But I'm exhausted. I'm scared. I'm financially constrained. And I'm standing in a place that isn't helping me get there.

That's not being directionless.

That's being constrained.

And constraints can eventually be changed.

So maybe this isn't a story about getting my life together.

Maybe it's about creating circumstances where the person I've already become finally has room to expand.

Because I don't think I need to become someone completely different.

I think I need enough space to become more fully who I already am.

And maybe that's what this next chapter is really about.

I’m ten years older.

I've lived.

I've changed.

I've survived things I never anticipated.

I know things now that I couldn't possibly have known.

So maybe the question isn't:

“How do I finally make the dream happen exactly the way I imagined it ten years ago?”

Maybe the better question is:

“What does the dream become now?”

Because I'm not the woman who started this dream ten years ago.

And that's not a loss.

That's the point.

She had a dream.

I have a history.

She had hope.

I have experience.

She was trying to build something.

I've spent ten years becoming someone capable of building something different.

So perhaps this isn't about going backward and finishing an old dream.

Perhaps it's about taking everything I've learned, everything I've survived, everything I've created, and everything I now know about myself…

and finally giving it room to grow.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life being extraordinarily good at surviving a life that doesn't fit me.

I want to become extraordinarily good at creating one that does.

That's the transition I'm in.