It's Monday night, 9th of February 2026...just before 9PM.
The boys are asleep (finally) and I can see their feet from where I’m sitting. One small arm flung dramatically over a pillow, the other curled inward like he gave up halfway through the fight with sleep. This is my favourite time of day. Not because it’s productive, but because it’s quiet enough for honesty. This is usually when the real thoughts arrive.
Not the dramatic ones. The true ones.
Lately, I’ve been sitting with a single question I can’t shake:
"Who am I becoming as I step into this next season, and can I let it unfold without rushing it?
On paper, things are good.
I’m a few months away from graduation, something I worked hard for, something I should probably be planning more intentionally than I am. There are logistics I haven’t touched yet. Celebrations I haven’t visualized. Details I technically should be “ahead” on. And yet… I’m not panicking.
There’s excitement, yes, the kind that buzzes quietly beneath the surface. But there’s also postgraduate stress hovering in the background, reminding me that growth never arrives without pressure. I can feel it waiting. Not threatening, just present.
A new school environment is coming too. A whole Master's Candidate! In a new institution. New systems. New expectations. New versions of me that will be required. It’s scary in that grown woman way, the kind of scary that doesn’t mean danger, just change. The kind that asks you to trust yourself instead of your routines.
What I’m noticing most, though, is noticing myself. How much less interested I am in forcing things.
Friendships, for example. I’m not cutting people off. I’m not making announcements. I’m just… allowing things to be honest. Who feels easy. Who feels aligned. Who feels like effort I no longer want to perform.
Some friendships belonged to a version of me who was surviving. I’m grateful for them, truly, but I’m learning that becoming requires different energy. Flow matters now. Ease matters. Not because I’m avoiding depth but because I’m done confusing struggle with meaning.
This same gentleness is shaping the kind of mother I’m trying to be.
Not the loud, hyper-optimized version. Not the one constantly chasing improvement. The mom I’m becoming is calmer. More present. Less rushed. She builds habits that fit her real life. She doesn’t push harder just to prove she’s capable. She trusts that consistency can look quiet.
She still dreams. She still studies. She still wants more. But she rests without apologizing.
In the smallest, almost laughable ways, this softness is showing up. For example, I’ve been learning to do my own nails and lashes. Not for an event. Not for productivity. Not even for confidence. Just because it feels nice to take care of myself slowly. Because leaning into girlie energy feels like reclaiming something personal, something that exists outside of motherhood, academia, and responsibility.
This year also began without a physical vision board. Which, if you know me, is wild. I usually plan everything. Visualize. Map. Declare. Build a future I can see with my eyes before I trust it with my heart. This time, I didn’t. Not because I gave up, but because I decided to trust differently. No board on the wall. No aesthetic blueprint. Just a quiet willingness to walk forward and let the year reveal itself as I go. And surprisingly, it feels right. Like I’m finally allowing life to meet me halfway.
So tonight, sitting here with tired eyes and a steady heart, I realize this:
I’m not chasing who I’m supposed to be anymore. I’m listening. Listening to my body. To my energy. To my capacity. To the version of myself that wants to arrive gently but fully. The future doesn’t feel loud or demanding. It feels open. And for the first time in a long time, that openness feels like safety, not uncertainty.
If you’re reading this late at night too, wondering whether you’re behind or just becoming…
You’re not lost. You’re unfolding. And that is not random.
That is the work.
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