Shedding My Identity

I’ve been struggling…a lot. These past few years have set me on a dark path of self-discovery, self-destruction, and self-sabotage.

I know a metamorphosis when I see one, but no one wants to report from inside the cocoon. It’s messy as fuck, dark, and full of terrors. And because I’ve been properly conditioned to neglect my wellness, I self-soothed with entrepreneurship.

I remember participating in a group where we had to explain why we were in the coaching program. I was in my mid-30s, and I talked about how I am searching for purpose.

Fast forward to a decade later, and I realize now that I wasn’t on a quest for purpose. I was on a journey of acceptance.

I know who I am, and yet I second guess it constantly. The less I speak with others, the more I hear myself. But living in solitude is not sustainable, and eventually, I need to engage with the outer world.

So I returned to my circle of peeps and projected my resentment because the disconnect is palpable, and I assume it was all me. In many ways, it still is. The growth I’ve experienced gives me clarity and enough awareness to recognize the patterns I hold onto and also attracts people who resonate with the version of me that no longer serves the vision I want to experience.

I wanted purpose but need a community with people who are not only aligned with who I’ve grown into but also embody the energy I want to vibe with moving forward.

I’m not a “girlboss” anymore. I’m a “girl” who believes in taking naps.

I’m not looking for productivity hacks. I’m embracing leisure.

I’m not a type-A go-getter anymore. I give myself permission to be imperfect.

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