Reclaiming the Pieces I Left Behind

There was a time I let other people define me.

Kudos to Husband for getting this photo at the hot air balloon festival. No edits…just the perfect shot.

I was working hard to build something bigger than myself. And in that environment, I believed that if I just listened more, became agreeable, and stopped voicing my opinion, allowing others to rewrite my words, I’d be seen as serious, capable, and valuable. I believed that this was what others needed to achieve success. What I needed. And maybe for a while, it was.

But somewhere in that constant adapting, I lost sight of who I really was.

I stopped baking. I stopped writing the way I used to. I ignored the creative urges that once grounded me, gardening, restoring old furniture, and even fun outings with my family, because I was too busy being who I thought I needed to be.

It wasn’t just the healing that pulled me away from myself. It was the slow, quiet trade-offs I made to fit into a version of success that was never fully mine.

And I don’t blame anyone. These are the choices I made, what I did to survive. To protect what I was building. But now that I’m rebuilding my life, my health, and my identity, I'm doing it on my terms.

And the wildest thing? I’m finding my voice again. Not because I’m pushing harder, but because I’m finally making time for the things I love. The rituals that remind me who I’ve always been.

It turns out, the more I get my hands dirty kneading dough, digging in the garden, sanding old wood, the more clarity I have. About my values. My boundaries. My purpose.

I’m not trying to reinvent myself. I’m just coming home to what was always there.

XO, Indie

PS If any of this resonates with you, hit the like button or leave a comment; I’d love to know that I’m not alone.