06/01/2026
I spend a lot of time wondering how to get back to a previous version of me. A wilder me, who drank coffee at ten pm, and sat up all night writing on the floor in my underwear, admiring the movement of my body, the intensity of my heart. The version that blasted music too loud in my car while going too fast down the highway, feeling the fire of freedom and ache of aloneness like a drug. A version before all the paperwork and responding to emails, and tap here and click that, before the exhaustion of early motherhood.
But what if it’s not about finding the older verisons of ourselves, but discovering the newer ones? Who is this me who lays in awe staring into my baby’s eyes and feels what love unencumbered by the need to be loved feels like for the first time. Or the version of me that feels liberated by breathing through discomfort and not burying it. The version of me that is willing to speak my shames, a little louder, so that those in the back can hear, and step a little closer.
What if the taste of the wildness ahead of us is more and deeper that the previous version of us could hold? What could be more interesting than discovering the undiscovered?
