From Unraveling to Rebirth: Summer Renaissance 2023
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In my very first blog, Finding Forward: The Art of Starting Again, I share the why and how behind this blog’s creation. Towards the end, I touch on what I call the “unraveling”—the total deconstruction of my secure, comfortable, conventional life in the early summer of 2023. A friend, who had both read that blog and had a front-row seat to this chaotic chapter (which I affectionately refer to as my renaissance, though to some it probably looked more like an existential crisis), recently asked if I planned on writing more about that time in my life.
“Definitely,” I replied. “When the time is right.”
In the two years that have passed since that tumultuous time, I can see that period with a bit more clarity. I’ve learned that it’s okay to sit in uncertainty for a while, even when it feels like your entire world is coming undone. Sometimes, you just have to hold on, push through, and trust that things will eventually come together—not always as quickly or neatly as you’d like, but they do come together nonetheless.
Breaking the Beta Trap
I lay on a hammock in my best friends’ backyard— the ones who had graciously let me crash at their place until I could get my feet back on the ground. The sun was warm against my skin. I was reading The Alchemist—one of many spiritual, self-help, soul-seeking books I would turn to that summer (and one I would highly recommend). I set the book down and stared up through a canopy of shifting leaves, the sunlight filtering softly through the branches.
I had just recently quit my stable, full-time job to start my own interior design business, and ended my five-year relationship—two of the most difficult choices I had ever made. In the intensive process of coming to these decisions, I had come across a theory: the Region Beta Paradox. It’s the idea that we often get stuck in not-so-bad situations simply because the discomfort isn’t severe enough to push us to act. When things are just uncomfortable enough to cause some dissonance, but not so painful as to be intolerable, we tend to stay put, convincing ourselves it’s better than the terror of the unknown.
This hit close to home. I had moved through my mid-late 20s, making decisions based more on convenience, comfort, and the expectations of others than on my own true desires. I realized that I had settled into a life that was fine—stable, predictable, even comfortable at times—but not truly fulfilling. I had spent years in relationships that didn’t align with who I was—or who I wanted to become, jobs that no longer fit, and routines that dulled my sense of wonder. They were safe, and I had built my life around that safety, believing it was the responsible thing to do.
“In those moments, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life I wanted to look back on one day.”
Though there were many reasons, two things happened that I believe ultimately nudged me toward making those difficult decisions.
First, my grandpa passed away in early spring of that year from a rare, aggressive form of cancer. My sisters and I traveled to Arizona to be with him in his final days, joining other family members who had gathered to say their goodbyes. There’s something about witnessing a loved one at the end of their life that forces you to reflect on your own. I watched as he shared stories from his youth, expressed his gratitude for his family, and never missed an opportunity to crack a joke, even with the weight of his situation: “You’re not allowed to cry,” he said with a wink. In those moments, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life I wanted to look back on one day.
The second push came with the approach of my 29th birthday. While still young by most measures, I felt the passing of time more keenly than ever. Even if you’re fortunate enough to live a long life, it moves faster than you expect. I realized I had a choice: I could continue drifting passively through my days, clinging to the comfort of the familiar, or I could start taking risks and be more intentional about the life I wanted to build. I needed to start choosing growth over comfort—to let go of the good for the possibility of something truly great.
So, I did the hardest thing. I left. I unraveled the life I had spent years weaving together, stepping into a chaotic, uncertain, but strangely hopeful new chapter.
Got by with a little help from my friends :)
Sifting Through the Rubble
Making that decision was hard—but what came afterward was much harder.
I remember a great deal of outpouring through journaling during this time—a tool I had relied on to process my emotions since my late teens. Day after day, I lamented in the pages of my journal and Notes app. Did I make the right choice? Am I really strong enough to build a life on my own? Am I really smart enough? What was so wrong about my past life, anyway? Was I just being ungrateful? Did I need a new perspective? Or was I truly meant for something more?
I felt the nauseating push and pull of fear and doubt in the rising tides of uncertainty.
My life had suddenly turned into a pile of rubble I was sifting through each day, searching for pieces of myself—my dreams, my goals, who I was, and who I wanted to become. I was constantly digging through layers of fear, grief, doubt, insecurity, and comparison, hoping to find clarity amid the chaos. But most of all, hoping to answer the ultimate question: What do I want?
“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”
The famous line from The Alchemist echoed in my mind, settling somewhere deep in my soul.
“I felt the nauseating push and pull of fear and doubt
in the rising tides of uncertainty.”
I had recently turned 29. I’m supposed to settle down now, right? Find my life partner, start a family. That must be what I want. That must be my purpose, my treasure—the whole reason I walked away from my former life.
I threw myself into researching healthy relationships, understanding my values, and figuring out what traits often make for lasting partnerships. I studied compatibility, the qualities to look for in a partner, and the red flags to avoid—anything I could get my hands on to help me break old patterns and choose differently this time.
I even tried dating a different type. I looked for men who were emotionally available, took an interest in my life, showed a desire for personal growth, valued family and relationships, and had passion for their work. Each date seemed promising, and I tried to keep an open mind. But that “something special” was always missing. That something truly great.
I can buy myself flowers ;)
Befriending the Darkness
Perhaps the hardest thing I had to confront was the deep void of loneliness—something I had been running from for too many years. There were several moments throughout my life when I distinctly remember facing a choice: embrace loneliness and grow, or retreat to what felt familiar and safe. Each time, I chose comfort over growth, telling myself I wasn’t strong enough, that I couldn’t tolerate the unbearable weight of being alone.
I remember one day that summer, sitting on the edge of my bed. I had been journaling again, dissecting my past patterns, when it hit me—I had to face the loneliness. I had spent most of my life seeking out relationships and distractions to drown out that howl—hungry and relentless. I had never slowed down long enough to really sit with it, to let myself truly feel it.
“I told myself: There is only forward. You can’t go back. It’s okay to be lonely. You’re not going to die. And you’re not going to stay in this place forever.”
But this time, I let it creep in. I reached for nothing and no one, instead embracing the void like an old friend. I told myself: There is only forward. You can’t go back. It’s okay to be lonely. You’re not going to die. And you’re not going to stay in this place forever.
This was a process I would continue to work on. And what I eventually learned was that loneliness itself isn’t as terrible as the fear of being alone. That it’s crucial to fortify a relationship with myself—to make peace with boredom, not constantly chasing the next high or distraction—until I finally arrived at a place where I felt whole and content on my own. The beauty of emptiness, is that it allows space for something new to grow.
“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.” —The Alchemist
Having my own renaissance at Beyonce’s Renaissance World Tour concert with my sister, Ariel.
Betting on Myself
When I wasn’t busy laying the groundwork for a healthier future relationship and sorting my emotional wreckage, I was pouring my energy into building my new business—interior design. Or at least, what little energy I had. I wasn’t prepared for the waves of grief and the low, heavy feelings that followed the breakup. I know it seems obvious, but it took a long time to start feeling like myself again.
But still, I persisted. I focused on the few projects I did have, grateful for every opportunity, while also working on advertising and getting the word out. It felt like I had this enormous mountain to climb, trying to reach stability in both my work and personal life. If you’ve ever gone off on your own and tried to build a business from scratch, you know how hard it can be to find clients and keep steady work—especially in a creative field.
A reasonable question to ask is, why did I choose self-employment in the first place? Why not just find another job?
“But now, I was stepping out into an ocean of uncertainty, terrified but determined to create a life that felt like my own.”
I enjoyed the creative work of interior design, but I craved the freedom and flexibility that comes with being your own boss. I wanted the potential to earn more, set my own schedule, and work on projects that truly inspired me. Plus, there aren’t many design studios in the area where I live, so striking out on my own felt like the only real option if I wanted to stay in this field.
It was a huge risk—one that I’m surprised I actually had the nerve to take. But it was the same leap of faith in both my personal and professional life. I wanted to carve out my place in the world and strengthen who I was as an individual. I’d spent too many years relying on relationships for comfort and security, always building my life around someone else’s. But now, I was stepping out into an ocean of uncertainty, terrified but determined to create a life that felt like my own.
I was betting on myself, and believing that I would win.
Bedroom design project I worked on that summer.
Revelations and Rewards
Somewhere between deep chats around the bonfire with friends, concerts, lake time, one too many IPAs, soaking up every drop of sun, and living through the raw, unfiltered moments of my self-employed, post-breakup life, summer slipped quietly into autumn—almost without me noticing.
Another season, I thought, a bit apprehensively. And life still wasn’t quite making sense. I was still living in my friends’ spare bedroom. Still struggling to find my financial footing with my business. Still navigating the confusing waters of singleness and dating. The blown-up pieces of my world hadn’t settled back into place. I think, foolishly, I expected everything to come together right away. I made the hard decisions, took the risks—so where was the reward?
What I didn’t understand at the time, or maybe just wasn’t ready to accept, was that I was the reward. I had been so focused on external markers of success for validation… what society deems important and acceptable. But my business didn’t take off right away, and I didn’t find a partner. Instead, I found the pieces of myself I had so freely abandoned over the years—pieces I had given up to maintain relationships, survive grief, or meet other people’s expectations. Like my love for writing, which I had pushed to the back burner in favor of stability, or my sense of adventure, which I had traded for routine. Or even my voice, which I had muted to avoid rocking the boat.
That was the prize, the real success. The purpose for that season: unraveling to rebuild.
“If this were a movie, now would be the part where things start to turn around for you.” —Mom
September 2023, at the tail end of my Summer Renaissance.
Words I held onto until they became true.
Finding My Footing
Within a year of embarking on this solo journey—both in work and in life—I started gaining clients and projects on a regular basis. I moved out of my friends’ spare bedroom and into my own apartment. It took longer than I would have liked, but living in that space of uncertainty stretched my patience and faith like never before. It showed me just how resilient I could be. There were many times I thought, I could just get a job. I don’t have to keep agonizing over this instability. Or maybe I could just go back to my old life, it would be so much easier. But something inside urged me to keep moving forward—and this time, I listened. Instead of retreating into fear like I had in the past, I chose to trust that quiet instinct and see where it would lead.
Looking back, I’m glad I stuck it out long enough to see my persistence pay off. To prove to myself that I was strong enough. Smart enough. Capable enough. To gain ownership of my decisions, knowing that I was on the right path.
“But in choosing to bet on myself—in business and in life—I was rediscovering my voice, my direction, my purpose.”
Building my interior design business pushed me to step outside my comfort zone, to bet on my own ideas, and to trust my instincts. It taught me to advocate for myself, to navigate uncertainty, and to stand behind my creative choices. It was a powerful exercise in self-reliance, but it was only one part of the bigger picture.
The deeper work was rebuilding myself outside of a relationship. I had spent years making myself smaller to fit into someone else’s life, often compromising my own wants and needs. But choosing to bet on myself—in life and in work—meant rediscovering my voice, my direction, my purpose.
That whole process, as challenging as it was, paved the way for something even more special. It prepared me to pursue a passion I had long neglected—to write, to connect through shared experiences, and to hopefully inspire, encourage, and remind others that they’re not alone. To prioritize traveling and rekindle that sense of wonder that I once had and get the most out of life. To take a risk on something creative, something vulnerable. Something meaningful. Something truly great.
There were a number of books, podcasts, and other tools that helped me through this time. If any part of this blog resonated with you, and you’re interested in your own personal growth—whether that means making tough decisions, building healthy relationships, or pursuing your purpose—please check out my curated list of resources: