For much of my life, I believed the journey was about becoming something more.

More confident.

More accomplished.

More healed.

More evolved.

There was always a sense of forward motion, of adding layers, acquiring insight, refining rough edges. And for a time, that way of thinking served me well. It gave direction. It gave momentum. It gave hope.

But lately, a different understanding has been settling in — softer, quieter, and oddly relieving.

Maybe the journey isn’t about becoming anything at all.

Maybe it’s about un-becoming.

Un-becoming the roles we stepped into to survive.

Un-becoming the habits we adopted to stay safe or liked or needed.

Un-becoming the identities that were handed to us before we...

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