The Version of Me I Almost Forgot

Sometimes rediscovering yourself isn’t about becoming who you used to be. It’s making room for all the versions of you that life asked you to become.

Some versions of ourselves never really leave us.

There are versions of ourselves we remember clearly.

The girl we were when we were young.

The woman we thought we would become.

The mother.

The wife.

The woman building a career, raising a family, keeping a home, paying bills, solving problems and trying to keep everything moving.

And then there are the quieter versions.

The ones we don't realize we've stopped visiting until something unexpectedly brings them back.

A song.

A photograph.

An outfit that suddenly feels like you.

A place you want to see.

The desire to create something.

The realization that you miss doing something simply because you enjoyed it.

Lately, I've been noticing pieces of a woman I almost forgot.

And the interesting thing is, she isn't someone I need to become.

She was already me.

I Didn’t Lose Myself All at Once

I don't think most women wake up one morning and suddenly realize they've disappeared from their own lives.

It happens much more quietly than that.

You do what needs to be done.

You take care of people.

You work.

You make decisions.

You solve problems.

You build a home, a family and a life around the people you love.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, your own wants can become very small.

Not necessarily because someone took them away.

Sometimes you simply stop asking yourself what they are.

Over the years, I became very good at becoming whoever that season of life needed me to be.

And I don't say that with regret.

Some seasons require that version of us.

But when you live that way long enough, something can happen without you even noticing.

You become so good at managing your life that you forget to ask whether you're still experiencing it.

I didn't think I had lost myself.

I just hadn't realized how many parts of myself I had stopped making room for.

Every Season Asked Me to Become Someone New

Motherhood changes you.

It has to.

Suddenly your days, your decisions and even the way you think about the future are no longer centered only around you.

Another person's needs become woven into nearly everything you do.

You become responsible in ways you weren't before.

You worry differently.

You love differently.

You begin measuring time in school years, birthdays, doctor appointments, practices, holidays and all the ordinary little moments that somehow become a life.

And then life can change you in ways you never asked for.

Losing a spouse created a version of me I never imagined I would have to become.

There are moments when life doesn't ask whether you're ready.

Something happens, and suddenly you're standing inside a life that looks completely different from the one you were living the day before.

I adapted because I had to.

You become stronger in places you never wanted tested.

You learn how to keep moving when part of you would rather stand still.

And then other changes arrive more quietly.

And then my children grew up.

They began building lives of their own.

The house changes.

The rhythm changes.

The people who once needed you for almost everything still need you—but differently.

And that creates another version of you.

For so many years, motherhood can give your life a very specific rhythm.

Then gradually, space begins appearing where there wasn't space before.

And I don't think we always know what to do with it at first.

Because after spending years becoming the woman each season required, eventually you're left with a question you may not have asked yourself in a very long time:

Who am I when no one is telling me who I need to be?

There Was a Woman I Used to Know Very Well

She liked beautiful things.

Not necessarily expensive things.

Just things that made her feel something.

Clothes that felt a little different.

Makeup because it was fun.

Music that could change the mood of a room.

A beautiful hotel.

A new place.

A long drive.

Decorating a corner of the house simply because looking at it made her happy.

She was curious.

She noticed things.

She loved putting things together—an outfit, a room, an idea, a story.

And she wasn't always asking whether something was practical.

Sometimes she simply liked it.

I don't think I consciously decided to put that woman away.

Life just became louder.

There were children to raise.

Losses to survive.

Work to do.

Responsibilities to carry.

People who needed me.

And when life becomes very full, the things that exist purely for pleasure can be the easiest things to decide we can live without.

So you stop doing some of them.

Then you stop missing them.

And eventually, you can almost forget they were part of you at all.

Being Needed Can Become an Identity

There is something deeply meaningful about being needed.

I've spent much of my life taking care of things.

Taking care of people.

Figuring things out.

Being responsible.

Keeping things moving.

And for a long time, I think I measured a lot of my value by how useful I could be.

Could I fix it?

Could I handle it?

Could I make it easier for someone else?

Could I keep everything from falling apart?

There is strength in being that woman.

I'm proud of her.

I needed her.

My family needed her.

My life would not look the way it does today without her.

But she isn't the only woman I am.

That's something I'm beginning to understand.

There is a difference between being dependable and believing your only purpose is to be useful.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped making enough room for the parts of myself that didn't serve anyone else.

The parts that simply made me feel alive.

Rediscovering Yourself After Life Changes Can Happen Quietly

I’m learning that rediscovering yourself after life changes rarely happens in one dramatic moment.

There wasn't one dramatic moment when I suddenly thought, There I am.

It happened in smaller ways.

I started paying attention again.

To clothes.

To beauty.

To places I wanted to see.

To how I wanted my home to feel.

To photographs.

To stories.

To writing.

To the things women say to each other when they feel safe enough to tell the truth.

I started caring about creativity again.

I started noticing what inspired me.

And maybe more than anything, I started letting myself follow those things without needing them to have some big purpose.

Sometimes I like something simply because I like it.

That sounds incredibly simple.

But I don't think it always is.

Especially for women who have spent years making decisions around everyone else's needs.

And I realized how long it had been since I’d asked myself something this simple:”

What do I like now?

Not what did I like twenty years ago.

Not what should I like at this stage of my life.

Not what makes the most sense.

Just—

What feels like me?

I’m Not Trying to Become the Woman I Used to Be

This part matters to me.

Because when we talk about finding ourselves again, it can sound as though the goal is to go backward.

To become twenty-five again.

Or thirty-five.

Or return to some earlier version of ourselves before life changed us.

I don't want that.

I wouldn't trade everything I know now for the woman I was then.

She was wonderful in her own way.

But she didn't know what I know.

She hadn't lived what I have lived.

She hadn't loved the people I've loved.

She hadn't experienced the losses I've experienced.

She hadn't made my mistakes or learned what I learned from them.

She hadn't raised my children.

She hadn't built this life.

I don't want to go back and become her.

I want to bring some of her forward with me.

Her curiosity.

Her playfulness.

Her willingness to try something simply because it sounded interesting.

The part of her that noticed beauty.

The part that didn't always need a reason.

Those are some of the pieces I almost forgot.

The Empty Spaces Aren’t Always Empty

There was a time when a quieter house might have felt like something was missing.

And sometimes it still does.

There are seasons we miss even when we're proud of where the people we love have gone.

I can be proud that my children have grown up and built lives of their own and still miss the version of life when they were all under my roof. I’ve learned those two feelings can exist together.

Both things can be true.

But I've started to see some of that new space differently.

Maybe it isn't only emptiness.

Maybe it's room.

Room to ask questions I haven't asked in years.

Room to become curious again.

Room to decide how I want the next part of my life to feel.

Not because motherhood is over.

Not because the people I love matter any less.

But because motherhood itself changes.

Life changes.

And we're allowed to change with it.

Maybe Every Version of Me Still Belongs

For a long time, I think I imagined identity as something more fixed.

As though somewhere underneath everything there was one "real" version of me that I needed to find.

I don't think I believe that anymore.

We're shaped by what happens to us.

Motherhood changes us.

Love changes us.

Loss changes us.

Work changes us.

Age changes us.

The people we meet change us.

The people we lose change us.

And none of that means the woman who existed before has disappeared.

Maybe becoming more ourselves is learning how to hold all of those women at once.

The mother.

The widow.

The wife.

The woman who has had to start again.

The woman who takes care of everyone.

The woman who sometimes chooses herself.

The practical woman.

The dreamer.

The woman who has survived difficult things.

And the woman who can still get ridiculously excited about beautiful clothes.

They don't cancel one another out.

They're all mine.

I’m Making Room for Her Again

I think that's what this season of my life is really about.

Not reinventing myself.

Not starting over.

Not trying to become somebody completely different.

Making room.

Room for creativity.

Room for beauty.

Room for travel.

Room for writing.

Room for things I haven't tried yet.

Room for ideas that don't have to become anything.

Room for clothes that make me feel good.

Room for quiet mornings.

Room for curiosity.

Room for the woman who doesn't always have to be productive in order to deserve the day she's living.

And maybe that's part of why creating LifeWithCates has felt so personal to me.

It gave me somewhere to put all of those pieces.

Beauty.

Style.

Stories.

Women.

Travel.

Home.

Reflection.

On the surface, they may look like different subjects.

To me, they're not.

They're pieces of the same woman.

Becoming Her Again

Maybe there is a version of you that you've almost forgotten too.

Not because she disappeared.

Maybe life simply needed other parts of you for a while.

Maybe motherhood needed one version.

Loss needed another.

Work needed another.

Raising a family needed another.

And now life is asking something different.

You don't have to become who you used to be.

You don't even have to know exactly who you're becoming next.

Maybe you can simply start noticing.

What are you drawn to?

What makes you curious?

What makes you feel lighter?

What do you miss?

What have you stopped doing that once made you feel unmistakably like yourself?

None of those answers has to turn into some huge life change.

Sometimes noticing is enough.

And lately, I feel like I've been opening a few of those doors.

Behind them, I keep finding pieces of myself.

Some familiar.

Some changed.

Some entirely new.

And one in particular feels like someone I haven't seen in a very long time.

The version of me I almost forgot.

I'm glad she's still here.

Until next time,

♡

Kelly

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