The Beautiful Struggle of Becoming: How to Embrace Your Next Self
Growth is messy, stretching, and sometimes uncomfortable, but it’s also beautiful. Here’s what I’ve learned about embracing change, evolving into your next self, and showing up even when no one’s watching.
The Paradox of Becoming
Lately, I’ve been living in a strange paradox. On one hand, I look at my life and think, Wow, I’ve come so far. On the other, I think, not even close.
It’s like living in two realities at once. Gratitude and hunger. Contentment and longing. Loving the life I’ve built while knowing it’s only part of the story.
I don’t believe in regret—it feels like wasted energy. But I do believe in versions of self. At this point, I’m probably on version 23.5. Every version carried me here, even the messy ones. Sometimes I catch glimpses of her—the next me I’m becoming—and she feels both familiar and wildly intimidating.
The funny part is, I’ve always loved the idea of aging. I welcome the laugh lines, the scars, the proof that I’ve lived. What I wasn’t prepared for was the consciousness of it. The sensation of molting out of one skin and into another. Noticing every crack, every ache, every belief that doesn’t quite fit anymore.
It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. And it’s exactly what growth feels like.
Crisis or Evolution?
Some people call this a midlife crisis. That feels dramatic. I call it an evolution.
Yes, my health crisis lit the match. Trauma has a way of rearranging priorities with the bluntness of a wrecking ball. Suddenly, I could see all the places where my foundation was cracked. And while I wish illness hadn’t forced my hand, I can’t ignore the spotlight it shone on what needed to change.
So here I am—70 percent through this evolution, fully aware, and therefore fully raw. Awareness is both a gift and a curse. You can’t unsee what needs to be rebuilt.
Trying On Selves
No, it doesn’t feel like middle school when my “friend” told me to stop copying her handwriting and find my own style. (As if hearts on your i’s were groundbreaking intellectual property.) But she was onto something—sometimes we have to try on different versions of ourselves before we land on the one that feels true.
The same is true of identity. We try on selves through jobs, relationships, even heartbreak. Some versions fit for a while. And then life asks us to evolve again.
That’s the part no one tells you: there’s no final landing place. We are always becoming.
But here’s the thing—we can’t always do it alone. Sometimes we need mirrors. Friends, mentors, uncomfortable conversations that hold up a reflection and ask:
What do you actually want?
What does your future look like if you let yourself dream beyond the version you’ve been told to want?
The Ache of Becoming
Becoming who you’re meant to be hurts.
It’s not the sharp pain of failure. It’s the slow, stretching ache of outgrowing an old life before the new one is fully here.
That’s exactly what building this business feels like. Writing into the void. Creating when no one’s clapping. Putting your heart out there when you’re not sure if anyone’s even watching.
The question I’ve had to ask myself: Would I still do this if no one ever paid me a dime?
And the surprising answer is yes.
Because when you do something purely for yourself, you create from the rawest, most honest part of who you are. That vibration can’t be copied. It’s contagious. It pulls people in.
Becoming Anyway
We romanticize overnight success stories, but most of them started in obscurity. The OG bloggers, the early Instagrammers—they created because they loved it. The world simply caught up to their joy.
We forget that vision takes sacrifice. Sometimes it looks like shutting your laptop at midnight when everyone else is asleep. Sometimes it looks like saying no to the easy option so you can say yes to your future self.
Fast forward ten years. Imagine looking back at this exact moment. You’ll laugh at the thought of quitting. Because by then, you’re the one on stage. You’re the one speaking truth to a room full of women who needed to hear it. And they’ll cheer not because you had it easy, but because you didn’t give up when it was hard.
Life is short, but it’s also long. We overestimate what we can do in one year and underestimate what we can do in five. And those five years? They’ll pass no matter what. Whether you try or don’t. Whether you evolve or stay the same.
So picture yourself ten years from now, looking back at this season. You’ll laugh at the fact that you almost gave up, because you’ll see it clearly—this wasn’t failure, it wasn’t struggle.
It was the becoming.
And your future self will thank you for not walking away from her.