Serendipity

The more I explore the depths within myself, the harder it becomes to understand who I really am. I know how that sounds. It should be the opposite—the deeper I go, the more clarity I should gain. And yet, here I am, still wondering, who am I?

I spent the greater part of my 20s loving and providing for a family that wasn’t mine. I have no regrets—that’s what love is. But now, living in my 30s, much of what once kept me going is no longer here. And in that absence, I find myself overwhelmed—by anxiety, by depression.

I hesitate to even use those words. “Anxiety.” “Depression.” They’re heavy, and often thrown around. But this feeling, this void where purpose used to live—it’s real. What once motivated my every move is gone. And that’s the most terrifying thing: to wake up at 33 with no clear plan, no defined goals.

My life was once about loving and providing. And while that hasn’t entirely disappeared, I’ve come to understand something painful—we can only control what we can control. The rest? I have to let go of it. I have to walk away from what’s no longer mine to carry.

This is my struggle right now.

And yet, through pain and suffering, I’ve learned empathy. I understand where people are coming from. I don’t hold blame. Everyone has to grow. A tree’s trunk may rise tall and straight, but its branches twist in every direction. That doesn’t make it a lost cause. It just means we’re all growing in our own way.

And maybe this part of my life is about learning how to grow on my own terms.