I’m Not Lost

There’s a quiet kind of fear that shows up when you wake up one day and realize you don’t recognize your own life anymore. Not because everything is falling apart in obvious ways, and not because there’s nothing to be grateful for — but because the life you’re living doesn’t look like the one you imagined when you were younger. The timeline feels wrong. The pace feels slow. The milestones feel misplaced or missing entirely. And suddenly, you’re carrying questions you never thought you’d still be asking at this point.

I used to believe being lost meant having no direction at all — drifting aimlessly with no goals, no plans, no sense of self. But now I understand it differently. Being lost feels more like standing at a crossroads with too many signs pointing in different directions, each one demanding a decision, each one asking you to commit to a version of yourself you’re not sure you’re ready to be yet.

Some days, I feel behind in a way that’s hard to explain. Behind people my age. Behind expectations I didn’t consciously choose but somehow inherited. Behind the person I thought I’d be by now — more confident, more settled, more certain. Comparison slips in quietly and takes up space in places it doesn’t belong, turning simple moments into reminders of everything I haven’t accomplished yet, everything I thought I would’ve figured out by now.

It’s exhausting to feel like you’re constantly trying to catch up to a life that keeps moving forward without waiting for you.

There’s a specific loneliness that comes with this feeling too. When everyone else seems to be reaching milestones — careers, stability, certainty — and you’re still navigating survival, healing, and self-discovery, it can feel isolating. Like you’re out of sync with the world. Like you missed a step somewhere and now you’re permanently behind the rhythm everyone else seems to understand.

But the truth I’m slowly learning — and often have to remind myself of — is that growth doesn’t follow a straight line. It never has. It loops. It pauses. It breaks. Sometimes it doubles back just to teach you something you weren’t ready to understand the first time. And sometimes it stops completely, not because you’ve failed, but because you’re exhausted and your body and mind need rest more than progress.

I’ve spent a long time feeling like I had to justify where I am. As if I owed explanations for my delays, my detours, my healing. As if struggling meant I wasn’t trying hard enough. As if surviving difficult seasons wasn’t an achievement in itself. As if rest was laziness and uncertainty was weakness. As if starting over meant the first version of my life was a failure.

It wasn’t.

Some seasons aren’t meant to produce visible success. Some seasons exist solely to keep you alive. To teach you resilience. To force you to slow down. To strip away versions of yourself that were built on pressure, fear, or other people’s expectations. And there is nothing shameful about that.

Becoming takes time. Real becoming — the kind that lasts — happens quietly, in moments no one claps for. It happens when you choose to get out of bed even though your thoughts are heavy. When you try again after disappointment. When you keep going despite feeling unsure, unprepared, or afraid. It happens when you decide to believe that this version of you, right here, is not the final draft.

I’m learning that I don’t need to have everything figured out to move forward. I don’t need a five-year plan or perfect clarity. I just need honesty. One honest step at a time. Listening to myself instead of the noise around me. Letting go of timelines that don’t fit. Trusting that confidence is built through action, not through waiting for fear to disappear.

Some days, I still doubt myself. Some days, I still feel unsure and overwhelmed and tired of starting over. But I’m beginning to understand that uncertainty doesn’t mean I’m doing something wrong. It means I’m growing into something new. It means I’m shedding old expectations and making space for a life that actually feels like mine.

So no, I’m not lost. I’m becoming. I’m learning, unlearning, and rebuilding pieces of myself I didn’t know I was allowed to change. I’m taking the long way, the quiet way, the honest way. And maybe — just maybe — that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Not finished. Not perfect. But moving forward anyway.