The Journey to Self

It’s difficult to define ourselves—or at least, it has been for me. When we look back, with the benefit of perspective, it becomes easier to see who we’ve always been. Patterns emerge, connections form, and what once felt uncertain suddenly makes sense. But in any given moment, defining ourselves can feel nearly impossible.

I can look back now and see it clearly: I have always been a creative. There were seasons when I was creating people—quite literally forming them inside of me—and helping them grow into who they were meant to become. There were years when I was so busy being a mother that there was little time for much else, and yet I still found ways to make beauty: arranging flowers, building homes, dressing my children with care, writing poetry, inventing bedtime stories.

At the time, I wouldn’t have called myself an artist. But now I see that creativity was never something I did—it was who I was. It’s not the act itself that defines us, but the way we go about it. The attention, the intention, the curiosity.

As a child, I tried to be someone other than who I was. Many of us do. It’s hard to be oneself when we’re trying so hard to fit in. But if you want to truly know your passions, look closely at how you spend your time—even within the life you’ve constructed or the one that’s been built for you. Who you are has a way of showing up, quietly and persistently, in everything you do.

So no, I haven’t always thought of myself as an artist. But I have always been one. The proof is in the details—in how I see the world, in what draws my attention, in what makes my eyes widen. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine becoming a jewelry designer, and yet when I look back, the path is unmistakable. I see the hours spent studying my mother’s jewelry, noticing beauty in the smallest things, wondering how everything was made. Each of those moments led me here.

And I imagine you, too, have been on a path that’s leading you somewhere you’re meant to go. Maybe your road is winding, and you lack clarity about how one part connects to the next. I know how lonely that can feel. It’s easy to believe everyone else has already arrived, but I promise—they haven’t. I haven’t either. I hope I don’t for a long time. Arrival would mean the journey is over, and I’m not ready to stop learning, creating, or living.

There are stops along the way—some brief, some lasting years. Some filled with joy, others marked by pain—but all of them matter. I can look back at my time studying art, at my years of motherhood, at each person and place that shaped me, and see how they’ve all built the scaffolding for where I stand now.

The truth is, we carry every place we’ve been. Even the ones we wish we could leave behind. The shame, the mistakes, the moments of regret—they all belong to the story. I’ve learned to return the shame that was never mine to carry, to release what isn’t mine, and to keep what is. The peace that comes from that is extraordinary.

We can let life happen to us, or we can live it consciously, thoughtfully, and with purpose. I prefer the latter. Time is the great equalizer—rich or poor, young or old, joyful or weary, we all have the same hours in a day. We might as well live them fully and enjoy the journey we’re on.

A dear friend recently gifted me The Internal Family Systems Workbook by Richard C. Schwartz. I’ve been slowly working through it—reading, meditating, absorbing. It’s helping me understand all the parts of myself that have guided, protected, and shaped me along the way. If you’re on a similar path of self-understanding, it’s a beautiful place to start.

With love and light,