There’s been a noticeable shift in me lately — not dramatic, not euphoric, but steady.
A quiet easing of anxiety that feels rooted rather than forced.
I think a big part of it is this:
my long-term direction feels secure in a way that short-term uncertainty can’t really touch anymore.
My sense of purpose — particularly around counselling — isn’t something that can be taken away by delays, comparisons, or external outcomes. If anything, it’s becoming more apparent that this is not just possible for me, but something I can genuinely flourish within. That kind of clarity changes how pressure lands.
Anxiety without collapse
Take placement, for example.
On the surface, I can feel anxious — the waiting, the comparing, noticing that others seem more forthright or intense, already locked into opportunities. But when I’m honest, the adult part of me sees the situation clearly:
I’ve only applied to one placement because it’s the only one I genuinely wanted.
I might get it.
If I don’t, it’s highly likely I’ll still find a placement or enough hours to progress.
The anxiety isn’t telling me something is wrong — it’s just old energy moving through a new structure.
Comparing myself to people who operate very differently doesn’t help anyone. It’s not a moral failing to be quieter, more selective, or less driven by urgency. It’s just a different way of moving through the world.
Alone — but by choice
One of the biggest internal shifts has been realising that I’m alone right now by choice, not because I’m avoiding connection or failing at it.
I no longer tolerate relationships that aren’t reciprocal. Not out of bitterness or superiority — simply because I don’t see the point. If a connection consistently costs more than it gives, I’m willing to let it go.
There is a risk in this. I might filter out people who are somewhat reciprocal but not perfect. That’s real. But when I listen honestly to myself, I enjoy my own company deeply. And when that’s true, I’m not going to force connection just to feel less alone.
There are relationships slowly deepening — ones that feel mutual and alive — and I’m letting them unfold without pressure. That feels new, and it feels right.
Not needing — without closing off
As an adult, I don’t really need anything in the way I once did. I can’t be abandoned in the same way anymore.
And yet, I still need human contact — just not desperately.
Between my relationship with myself, my son, the connections I do have, and ongoing therapy, my needs feel more met than they ever have.
Therapy now feels like something I choose rather than rely on. I don’t attend because I’m falling apart — I attend because it continues to improve my life.
That distinction matters.
Being seen — and mis-seen
I’m also aware of how I land with people now.
I notice moments of pity, discomfort, or misunderstanding. I can rub people up the wrong way when I’m being authentic. I may come across as arrogant or overly confident at times.
But what I recognise more clearly now is that this isn’t arrogance — it’s integration.
I’m no longer shrinking, explaining, or softening myself to manage other people’s reactions. That doesn’t always feel comfortable socially, but it does feel honest.
Groundedness, not escape
There’s a quiet fear that sometimes surfaces — a worry about slipping into something ungrounded or unstable, given my history. But when I look at my life realistically, that fear doesn’t hold up.
I’m methodical. Balanced. Present.
I don’t have coping mechanisms I’m ashamed of anymore.
What’s changed most is how I relate to coping itself.
I made a promise to myself: I can use a coping mechanism if I choose — but I still have to sit with the feeling underneath. No bypassing. No escape.
What’s happened naturally is that I now sit with the feeling first. It’s easier. More honest. There’s no real benefit in avoiding it anymore.
That feels like a quiet form of freedom.
Coming into my own
I’m not claiming this will last forever. Life will change, stress will return in different forms, and I’ll meet new edges.
But right now, I feel more myself each day — not because everything is perfect, but because I trust myself to meet whatever comes next.
Not urgently.
Not performatively.
Just steadily.
And that, for me, feels like coming into my own.