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For now, I am still.

And I think I needed to be.

The past year has been the craziest year of my life. There were moments where it felt like everything was happening at once, and moments where it felt like nothing was happening at all. My health. My grief. My relationships. My faith. My understanding of myself. My entire life seemed to be rearranging itself without asking for permission first.

For the last ten months, grief has felt debilitating. So has my body. There were days when simply existing felt like work. Days when I didn’t recognize myself, and days when I wasn’t sure there was much of a self left to recognize.

Everything was deteriorating in some way.

And now, somehow, things are quiet. Not perfect. Not figured out. Just quiet. There is something sacred about that. I’ve been finding my way back to God, and in doing that, I’ve been finding my way back to myself—or maybe that’s not quite right.

I’m not getting me back.

I’m meeting a version of myself I never knew existed. She is softer in some ways. Stronger in others. She has survived things the girl from a year ago couldn’t have imagined. She thinks differently, moves differently, carries her body differently. She sees people differently and sees herself differently.

I’m still learning her. I’m still learning how to live in this body, in this mind, after everything I’ve experienced.

There are parts of my old life that I don’t want back. There are parts of me and people that I miss. Importantly, parts of me I’m grateful I had to lose. For a long time, I thought I was lost because I couldn’t find my way back to who I was. But maybe I wasn’t supposed to go back, this was never about returning.

It was about becoming.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what happens when you live too far from what you know God is asking of you. When you spend too long moving in a direction that doesn’t feel aligned with the life you’re meant to be living. Even when you’re not intentionally turning away, sometimes you can feel it—the distance. The coldness. The lack of wholeness.

At least, that’s how it has felt to me and lately, I’m starting to feel the warmth again. Not because everything is suddenly good, but because I’m facing the right direction.

There is something different about uncertainty when you aren’t afraid of where you’re going. I’m uncertain about a lot. I don’t know exactly what the next year looks like. I don’t know what this new version of my life will ask of me. I don’t know who I’ll be six months from now, or what I’ll outgrow, or what I’ll discover. But, I don’t feel lost and that feels like a miracle in itself.

I’m so far from the person I was a year ago. Six months ago. Hell, even three months ago.

And I’m proud of her.

I’m proud of the girl who made it through the mess. I’m proud of the girl who kept getting up when she didn’t understand why she had to. I’m proud of the girl who was hurting and still tried to find meaning in it.

But I’m also excited to leave some of that behind. Not with resentment, with gratitude.

The grief has changed shape. The pain is still part of the story, but it isn’t the entire story anymore. There is room now for peace.

For faith.

For curiosity.

For laughter.

For becoming.

For now, I’m letting life be quiet.

I’m letting myself breathe. I’m letting God lead without needing to know every turn. I’m learning that stillness isn’t the absence of movement. Sometimes stillness is where the movement begins.

So no, I don’t have it all figured out. I don’t think I’m supposed to.

For now, all I know is that I’m here.

I’m softer. I’m wiser. I’m still becoming. And above all else, I’m unwavering.

For now, that’s enough.