Where Did I Go?

There wasn't a day I woke up and decided to lose myself. There wasn't a moment where I thought,
"I'd like to stop speaking my mind."
"I'd like to stop dreaming."
"I'd like to spend the rest of my life putting everyone else's needs before my own."

It didn't happen that way. It happened slowly. So slowly that I didn't even realize it was happening.
When did I stop laughing the way I used to?
When did I stop saying what I really thought?
When did I become the woman who apologized for taking up space?
When did I stop asking myself what I wanted?

And perhaps the hardest question of all...
Where did I go?

For me, the answer began in childhood. I was raised by a narcissistic mother. As a little girl, I learned very quickly that the easiest way to avoid criticism, manipulationor anger was to make myself smaller.
I learned to stay quiet.
I learned not to disagree.
I learned that being the outgoing, opinionated and happy would could create conflict.

So I adapted. Not because there was something wrong with me because that's what children do. We adapt to survive.

The habits that once protected me eventually became the way I lived my life.

That's what so many women don't realize.
We don't lose ourselves because we're weak.
We lose ourselves because we become incredibly good at adapting.
We adapt to keep the peace.
We adapt to avoid disappointing people.
We adapt because we want to belong.
We adapt because we want to be loved.

After years—sometimes decades—of adapting, we wake up one day and wonder why we don't recognize ourselves anymore.

The details are different for every woman.
Maybe no one told you to stay quiet or
Maybe no one criticized your opinions.
Perhaps you learned that everyone else's needs came first.
Perhaps you became the dependable one.

Our reactions are all very person, you become someone to protection yourself.
The capable one.
The woman everyone could count on.
The one who stayed late at work because she didn't want to let anyone down.
The one who rushed home feeling guilty because dinner wasn't ready.
The one who smiled through meetings after someone interrupted her... again.
The one who swallowed the comment that made her feel invisible.
The one who kept saying "yes" because saying "no" felt selfish.

None of those moments seem life-changing on their own. But together? They begin to shape the story you believe about yourself. Little by little, you stop asking,
"What do I want?"

And you start asking,
"What does everyone else need from me?"

That's how we lose ourselves. Not in one dramatic moment. Through thousands of tiny moments where we quietly put ourselves aside. I know there are women reading this who are thinking,
"I should have spoken up."
"I should have left sooner."
"I should have set boundaries years ago."

Can I gently offer you another perspective?

There is no shame here.

You were doing the best you could with the tools, awareness and life experience you had at the time. You adapted for reasons that made sense. Those adaptations helped you survive seasons of your life. The problem isn't that you adapted, it's that somewhere along the way, those protective patterns became your identity.

And maybe...

Just maybe...

The woman you've been searching for isn't gone at all.

Maybe she's simply been buried beneath years of responsibilities, expectations, people-pleasing, perfectionism and exhaustion.

Maybe she has been waiting patiently for you to come back.

I don't believe finding yourself is about becoming someone new, it's about gently uncovering the woman you've always been.
It's not quick.
It doesn't happen overnight.
And it certainly isn't about fixing yourself.

It's about finding your way home.

Over the next little while, I'm going to be talking a lot about what it means to come home to yourself—why we lose ourselves, why it happens so slowly and how we begin that journey back.

Because if losing yourself happened one small step at a time...

Maybe coming home can happen that way too.

T