Doing Everything I Said I Never Would

For the past twelve months, I’ve been getting to know myself like one does a stranger.

I've surprised myself by saying yes to things past me would have rejected, experiences I believed weren’t for me, and choices I thought went against "my nature", only to find unexpected growth in pursuing them.

Some of it was deliberate, an experiment, a way to stretch without snapping. Other times, I was carried forward, caught in a current I didn’t see coming. And the water got too turbulent to fight.

There’s a particular internal silence that follows loss - not just of people or things, but of certainty. You think you’ve built something solid, and then, one day, you touch the walls and realise they’re thinner than you thought. The wind moves through them, rattling everything loose - including you

When the foundation feels that fragile, you have two choices: stay small so the house doesn’t collapse, or walk away. And staying small is no way to live

So, I left.

At first, I felt terrible. I didn’t know if I was pretending to be someone else or becoming more myself. But eventually, I felt lighter. I existed better without the things I let go of. It forced me to create a different dynamic with myself, one that wasn’t tethered to things that kept me "grounded".

If you’ve ever felt this way, know that you’re not alone.

If you're going to take one thing from this, please make it this:

The real skill is not in holding onto stability, but in cultivating adaptability.

Stability is comforting, but what good is a foundation if it limits how big you can go?

We act like certainty is the prize, but adaptability is what keeps us alive.

Adapting is what gave me my second life.

I learned this when I was standing at the edge of a plane, heart pounding, the wind roaring past me. I dreaded skydiving for weeks, convinced I would hate it. At the jump point, I screamed, I protested. Then, when I had no choice, I adapted and surrendered to the experience.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t bracing for impact. I was flying. The ground, the world, everything that had ever felt overwhelming was so small from up there.

The thing I thought would break me thrilled me instead. And when we glided over the sea, water that has always scared me, I found myself breathless, not from fear, but from beauty!!!!!!!

It made me wonder: how many things have I rejected simply because I was afraid? How much of life have I turned away from, mistaking it for a threat when it could have been the best part?

Uncertainty has a cost too. I miss when things felt easier. When I fit into spaces when my choices didn’t put distance between me and things I love. But I’ve changed too much. Those relationships will never be the same. I can’t give them the pride through representation anymore, only the relief that I didn’t do worse. And that is enough for me.

I never feared being stuck. I hungered for stability. At my lowest, it was all I wanted - to know where I’d be living, with whom, where I’d be working. Repetition felt like safety, like something I could cling to until I felt steady again. And I still love stability, but the only kind I ever needed was internal. The stable belief that I can overcome anything.

I have adapted before. Every time I thought I’d hit a dead end, I carved a door. Every time I lost myself, I found someone new. And so can you. That’s what matters, not preserving what was, but knowing you will find a way through what is.

If, right now, you find yourself standing in the wreckage of what you thought was yours, don’t be in a hurry to rebuild.

Let the space stay empty for a while.

Try things that don’t fit neatly into the person you were before.

Be unrecognisable for a little bit. See what happens.