Lost in the Goo

Rediscovering myself at 37

Did you know that when caterpillars transform into butterflies inside their chrysalises, they basically dissolve themselves into goo and completely rebuild?

That’s fairly good analogy for what my 30s have felt like.

Going in, I had no fear about turning 30. At the time I was a new mum to the world’s most scrumptious toddler. He had squishy croissant arms, an obsession with lawn mowers and the most extreme blueberry addiction anyone has ever known. He rarely slept and was glued to my hip at all times, but I was besotted with him, enamoured with the experience of motherhood and deliriously happy.

I thought my 30s were going to be my decade of babies. I was sure there would be at least one more baby to come (but, hopefully, two) and I would spend the next few years at home with them all, working at my little home business. My days would revolve around mothering and I would have enough time for all the little things that made me feel fulfilled; writing, baking, crafting, gardening.

Life at that time was a sparkly, hopeful thing; glittering with possibilities.

But then…

The much longed-for second baby never happened. We grieved many early losses. My little home business folded. We struggled financially, so I returned to an office job for the first time in years. I found myself with very little time or bandwidth for any of the things that brought me joy, and I battled with my mental health.

Everything I had imagined for my 30s crumbled.

Of course, it wasn’t all bad. We sold our (very rundown) first home and bought a cosy little house that is much better suited to our family. We planted a new veggie garden and fruit trees. We got on top of our finances. We adopted some more adorable rescue pets. We made lots of beautiful family memories and I continued to cherish my little boy and his dad, with all my heart.

But in terms of personal fulfillment, I struggled. I spent a lot of time feeling broken and lost in the metaphorical goo.

I have never thrived working a regular 9-5 and I have found it incredibly difficult to make time for any kind of personal fulfillment while navigating a traditional job, the needs of my family and home, and my flailing mental health. In order to preserve my sanity, I have had to make compromises on some of my ideals and radically adjust my expectations for myself. My desire to live simply and slowly has never wavered, but the way I define that has had to evolve.

Above all else, I have had to work hard let go of what could have been and learn to accept what is.

This year I have made a conscious effort to try to reconnect with myself and better prioritise the things that matter to me. I am pleased to say I am reading and writing as much as possible. I never stopped baking or gardening but I am trying to make more time for them. I am still struggling to make much time for craft, but I know I’ll get there in time. I am compiling gratitude lists and making a concerted effort to scroll on my phone less. I’m trying (and occasionally succeeding) to get enough sleep and drink enough water.

It hasn’t been an easy road to get here, but I’m finally starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel. Not every day is a good day, but there are good moments in every day. Glimpses of the sparkle and hopefulness are returning, and for the first time in while, I feel like I might almost be at the precipice of a new chapter.

For a long time I think I was waiting to feel like my old self again, but I realise now I probably never will. Because while i have felt lost in the goo, I see now I have actually been rebuilding.

Growth is often painful.

It is true I will never be that 29-year-old caterpillar again, but as I take my first shaky steps to emerge from the dark, perhaps I can be something even better.

I love it if you’d join me on this journey.

Katie xx