There comes a moment — sometimes quietly, sometimes all at once — when you realize you’re no longer who you used to be.

 

Not in a dramatic way. Not because something broke. But because something softened.

 

You notice it in the way old explanations no longer fit. In how certain roles feel heavier than they once did. In how your body asks for more honesty and less performance.

 

For a long time, we learn how to become capable, resilient, accommodating, and strong. We learn how to keep moving, keep giving, keep showing up. And often, that becoming is necessary. It carries us through families, work, loss, love, responsibility, and survival.

 

But there is a season when becoming gives way to remembering.

 

Remembering what matters. Remembering what costs too much. Remembering what feels true now — not ten years ago, not for who you were expected to be.

 

This realization doesn’t always come with answers. Sometimes it arrives as a gentle discomfort. A refusal to keep rushing. A desire for quieter conversations and deeper listening.

 

Sometimes it shows up as grief for versions of yourself that worked hard to hold everything together. That grief deserves respect.

 

You’re not failing when you outgrow what once sustained you. You’re not lost when the old language no longer works.

 

You’re listening. And listening is not passive. It’s an act of courage.

 

There is wisdom in pausing long enough to hear yourself again — without urgency, without fixing, without needing to announce the change.

 

Just noticing. Just allowing.

 

If you’re in that in-between space — no longer who you were, not yet naming who you’re becoming — you’re not behind.

 

You’re right on time.

 

— KAT