Still Becoming
A year of trying, throwing spaghetti on the wall, and discovering that the path reveals itself only when you start walking.
It’s been a few months since I last wrote here. Not because I didn’t have thoughts but because I was busy living them.
And somewhere in that living, over a casual coffee conversation with a friend, she reflected something to me that I didn’t quite recognize. She spoke about me as someone who is growing. Someone willing to try new things. Someone clearer about her interests and confident in the path she’s pursuing.
I remember listening and thinking: Who is she describing?
Not because it wasn’t true but because from the inside, it still feels like I’m becoming her.
When I think back to the beginning of last year… personally, professionally, mentally, I don’t see a master plan. I don’t see certainty.
I see curiosity.
I see discomfort.
I see a woman trying.
Trying to re-enter the workforce in a way that felt aligned.
Trying to reclaim parts of herself that had been quietly waiting.
Trying to understand what “work” even meant anymore.
And what I’ve learned this past year is this:
The first step isn’t actually the dramatic one.
Publishing your first post.
Hosting your first workshop.
Sending that first email to a recruiter.
Rewriting your profile after a long pause.
They feel monumental because you become your own harshest critic. You question everything. You imagine worst-case scenarios. You wonder if you’re too late, too rusty, too far removed.
But once you take that step?
Nothing explodes.
Nothing collapses.
The world doesn’t dramatically shift.
And that’s the point.
The first step isn’t about fireworks. It’s about movement. It’s about creating the possibility of a next step, no matter how small.
And then another. And another.
I’m still the woman discovering her path back to work.
Still figuring out what it takes to walk this road. Not by seeing the whole map, but by taking the step in front of me.
There have been moments when I’ve felt clear. And some moments, I’ve felt completely at a crossroads.
I’ve tried things that didn’t move forward.
I’ve pursued connections that quietly fizzled out.
I’ve fallen into doubt more times than I can count.
But every fall has taught me how to get back up with a little more resilience. A little more self-trust. A little more clarity about what feels right and what doesn’t.
Perseverance and passion. Those are the muscles that have grown this year.
Not certainty.
Not a perfect plan.
But a willingness to “just keep swimming.” (Hi, Dory)
And yes, sometimes that has looked like throwing spaghetti on the wall.
But not wildly. Not carelessly.
Intentionally.
Some of that spaghetti stuck.
Parent Pocket Guide started as a small experiment. A trial. A way to curate local events and make planning weekends easier for families like mine.
I thought it would be a simple side project, and knowing my history, I assumed it will fizzle out soon. Instead, it became something else.
A commitment to discipline.
A weekly rhythm.
A responsibility to provide a thoughtful experience to readers.
And, selfishly, a way for me to stay connected and inspired by what’s happening around me.
It taught me consistency.
It sharpened my ability to curate.
It reminded me that I love creating experiences - even in written form.
And from that thread came Makers & Minis.
Not because I had some grand strategy.
Not because I was chasing a trend.
But because I was paying attention to what felt alive.
The energy around gathering.
The joy in watching kids create alongside their grown-ups.
The magic that happens when strangers leave feeling connected.
When I zoom out, I can see the pattern more clearly now.
Newsletters.
Workshops.
Craft sessions.
Conversations.
They all point to the same thing.
Community.
Connection.
Bringing people together with care.
That clarity around my values — community, connection, love — is exactly where I started a year ago.
I didn’t know what form it would take then. And honestly, I still don’t.
Empower the Gap hasn’t disappeared in these past few months.
It’s grown alongside me.
It’s become less about having polished answers and more about holding space for the messy middle — the experimentation, the pauses, the re-tries.
Because that’s what returning to work really looks like for so many of us.
It’s not a straight line.
It’s not one brave leap.
It’s a series of small, sometimes invisible steps.
It’s trying.
It’s reassessing.
It’s getting back up.
It’s realizing that even when something doesn’t turn into a long-term venture, it still taught you something about yourself.
And for the most part? This year has been fruitful.
Not financially. Not cleanly. But meaningfully.
Every experiment has clarified something.
Every conversation has revealed a value.
Every step has strengthened a muscle.
If you’re in a season of trying (maybe it looks like sending that first email, starting that small project, or publishing that first post) of starting before you feel ready, I hope you know this:
You’re not behind.
You’re becoming.
You might fall. You might change direction. You might throw more spaghetti than you planned.
But perseverance and passion? They compound.
They help you hold your head high when doubt creeps in.
They remind you that momentum is built quietly.
They teach you that the path reveals itself only as you walk it.
I’m still walking mine.
And I’m grateful you’re here walking yours, too.