I Had Forgotten Myself
After writing about coping, I started thinking about the deeper question underneath it.
Why did I need so much comfort in the first place?
Yes, I was tired.
Yes, I was stressed.
Yes, I was doing too much.
But there was something else happening too.
Somewhere along the way, I had stopped feeling connected to myself.
It happened slowly.
So slowly that I did not fully notice it while it was happening.
It looked something like this:
The kids need X, Y, and Z. Let me take care of that.
The hubby is catching an attitude about A, B, and C. Let me take care of that.
The boss is all worked up about that project. Let me get that done.
Life did not prompt me to ask myself any questions.
So, I didn’t ask myself any.
I just kept meeting the expectations of others.
The Quiet Disappearance
Losing yourself does not always look like falling apart.
Sometimes it looks like being incredibly responsible and dependable.
And listen, being reliable is not a bad thing.
Caring for people is not a bad thing.
But there is a difference between caring for others and consistently disappearing from your own life.
That difference can be hard to notice when everyone benefits from you being the one who holds it all together.
Including you.
Because being needed feels good.
Being needed can give us purpose.
But being needed can also keep us too busy to ask the questions we do not quite know how to answer.
My kids were getting older. They needed me less and less.
The job I was working from sunup to sundown fired me.
The marriage I was committed to working on was met with my then-husband’s inability to see that there was a problem.
So much for being needed.
As all the things I had built began to unravel, I found myself floundering.
I needed to find a new job, adjust to my children’s independence, and reassess what I wanted in a partnership.
I was finally forced to ask myself some hard questions.
Questions like:
What do I enjoy now?
What do I want?
What do I need?
What do I miss?
What am I tolerating?
What am I doing because it still serves me?
And what am I doing simply because I have always done it?
Those questions can feel surprisingly uncomfortable when you have spent years organizing your life around everyone else.
When Did I Stop Asking Myself?
At some point, I realized I had become very good at anticipating the needs of other people.
I knew what needed to happen at work.
I knew what needed to happen at home.
I knew what needed to be handled next.
But ask me what I wanted to do with a free afternoon?
That question felt harder than it should have.
Ask me what made me feel restored?
Also harder than it should have been.
Ask me what I enjoyed just because I enjoyed it, without turning it into a goal, a task, a side hustle, or a responsibility?
Unnecessarily difficult.
That was a clue.
Because somewhere along the way, I had started treating myself like the least urgent item on my own list.
The one that could always wait.
After the work was done.
After everyone else was settled.
After the house was handled.
After the schedule calmed down.
After life got easier.
But life does not usually get easier on its own.
And the list does not magically disappear.
There is always another task.
Another message.
Another responsibility.
Another reason to postpone yourself.
And if you are not careful, “later” becomes years.
I Thought I Needed to Try Harder
For a long time, I assumed the solution was effort.
Try harder.
Get more organized.
Wake up earlier.
Meal prep better.
Exercise more consistently.
Be more disciplined.
Be more grateful.
Be less tired.
Be less emotional.
Be less affected by things.
Basically, become a more efficient machine with a better attitude.
That sounds ridiculous when I write it out.
But I believed some version of it for a long time.
I thought if I could just manage myself better, I would finally feel better.
But what I was missing was that I did not necessarily need to become better at managing the life I had built.
I needed to get honest about whether that life still fit me.
That is a different question.
And it is a harder one.
When a Full Life Still Feels Empty
You can have a full life and still feel disconnected from it.
You can be grateful and still want something to change.
You can love people and still need more room for yourself.
You can be proud of what you built and still admit that parts of it no longer work.
You can appreciate the version of you who got you here and still realize she cannot be the only version of you allowed to exist.
That was an important realization for me.
Because I kept thinking I had no right to feel dissatisfied.
The boxes were checked.
The life looked fine.
Some parts of it were more than fine.
So why did I feel restless?
Why did I feel like I was missing from my own life?
Why was I Googling, “How to be a happy Black woman?”
At first, that feeling came with guilt.
But over time, I started to understand that dissatisfaction is not always ingratitude.
Sometimes it is information.
Sometimes it is the part of you that has been ignored for too long finally asking to be acknowledged.
The Things We Stop Doing
Sometimes we do not realize how disconnected we have become until we start thinking about the things we stopped doing.
Things we enjoyed before we became so busy.
Things we used to make time for.
Things that made us feel light.
Things that made us curious.
Things that made us feel like ourselves.
Maybe you used to read.
Maybe you used to dance.
Maybe you liked getting dressed up for no particular reason.
Maybe you used to take yourself somewhere nice.
Maybe you used to create things.
Maybe you liked music, writing, gardening, traveling, decorating, painting, cooking, or sitting outside with no agenda.
Maybe you were funny and playful.
Maybe you had dreams that had nothing to do with being useful to anyone.
And maybe those parts of you are not gone.
Maybe they have just been waiting.
Relearning Yourself
I wish I could say reconnecting with yourself is one grand, beautiful moment.
A long walk on the beach where everything suddenly becomes clear.
But often, it is much less glamorous.
Sometimes it is noticing what you like now.
Not what you used to like.
Not what you think you should like.
Not what looks good online.
What you actually like.
Sometimes it is giving yourself permission to want something different.
Sometimes it is making a decision based on what feels supportive instead of what keeps everyone else comfortable.
Sometimes it is saying:
“I do not want to do that.”
Or:
“I actually would like to do this.”
Small sentences.
But powerful ones.
Because after years of adapting and accommodating, having a preference can feel almost rebellious.
For me, relearning myself came with a lot of revelations.
I loved singing and songwriting, but I wasn’t doing it.
I loved connecting with my patients, but the job I got fired from never gave me the space to do that.
And believe me, my kids are a riot. We created some great memories while they were growing up.
But now?
Now they are young adults with lives of their own that they are starting to build.
There is less time for those moments.
And that meant I had to think about what I wanted to do with the space that was opening up.
This Is Not About Blaming Anyone
I want to be clear.
This is not about blaming your family.
Or your partner.
Or your job.
Or your children.
Or every person who ever needed something from you.
Sometimes people ask because we keep saying yes.
Sometimes people rely on us because we have trained them to.
Sometimes we step into roles that feel natural at first, then stay in them long after they stop feeling sustainable.
Sometimes life is simply demanding.
And sometimes no one else realizes how depleted we are because we have become very skilled at hiding it.
Even from ourselves.
This is not about blame.
It is about honesty.
And honesty gives us options.
The Reconsidered Part
So, I started with honesty.
I honestly wanted to connect with patients again.
So, I used my newfound unemployment to find a job that offered me that.
I honestly love to create music.
So, I started writing songs again and told my family I was taking voice lessons. I would not be available at certain times on certain days.
Midlife honesty does not have to be some whirlwind crisis that upends your life.
It can be a simple return.
A return to the parts of ourselves we placed on hold.
Or maybe it is an invitation to something new.
An invitation to be curious.
An invitation to rediscover joy.
An opportunity to find our voice again and use it.
An opportunity to say yes because we mean yes.
And no because we mean no.
Maybe this phase of life is not about becoming someone completely new.
Maybe it is about remembering the person who was there before life became so full.
Not going backward.
Not trying to recreate a younger version of ourselves.
But making room for the version of us who exists now.
Not the shrunken, contorted version we put on so that everyone around us can feel comfortable.
The full you that your lived experiences, from happiness to heartache, have created.
The woman who has lived some things.
Learned some things.
Lost some things.
Built some things.
And maybe forgotten herself a little along the way.
She is still there.
And she deserves to take up the most space in her own life.
With zero apologies.
ZERO.
This week, ask yourself one simple question:
What is something I used to enjoy before life got so full?
Then ask another:
Would any version of that still feel good now?
You do not need to overhaul your life.
You do not need to figure everything out today.
You do not need a perfect plan.
Just start by remembering.
And then, slowly, begin making room for yourself again.
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