forgetting myself

I forget who I am a lot.
And I remember who I am a lot too.

One moment everything is crystal clear: I know my values, what I stand for, how I want to be seen, what I want. But in another I walk in fog without a compass. And I doubt, and I doubt, and I doubt.

Until I remember:
The point isn’t to never forget; it’s to cultivate ways of returning.

The point isn’t to never lose sight of my truth; it’s to create ways of learning new truths and coming back to myself when things get fuzzy.

I used to believe I was failing every time I forgot who I was or what mattered — every time I waded out into a mini-depression or experienced doubt — every time life felt hard.

Because strong women know who they are… Right?
Successful women know who they are… Right?
Healthy women know who they are… Right?

Yeah maybe. But there’s strength in changing, too.

Maybe I can flow like water.
Maybe I don’t have to fix it.
Maybe I can trust myself to return to my truth when I’m ready.

Maybe I can practice being with it all.

Lost & found.
Again & again.