Can I tell you something I’m learning to give myself permission to do?
Change my mind.
That sounds incredibly simple.
But for someone who has spent a lot of her life second-guessing herself, worrying about disappointing people, and trying desperately to prove that she can follow through…
changing my mind can feel a lot like failure.
If I said I wanted something, shouldn’t I keep wanting it?
If I started down a path, shouldn’t I finish?
If I invested time, money, energy, or emotion into something, shouldn’t I make it work?
If other people know about the plan, what will they think if I change it?
And underneath all of those questions is usually another one:
What if changing my mind means I can’t trust myself?
But lately I’m beginning to see it differently.
Sometimes changing our minds isn’t evidence that we don’t know who we are.
Sometimes it’s evidence that we’re finally listening to who we’re becoming.
I Thought Commitment Meant Staying
I used to believe strength looked like staying.
Push through.
Try harder.
Make it work.
Don’t quit.
Don’t disappoint anyone.
Finish what you started.
There is absolutely a place for perseverance.
Recovery has taught me that.
There have been plenty of times when I desperately wanted to run from something simply because it was uncomfortable.
Hard conversations.
Consequences.
Accountability.
Repairing relationships.
Sitting with feelings I would rather escape.
Growth requires us to stay when running would be easier.
But I’ve also learned something else.
Staying and being faithful are not always the same thing.
Sometimes faithfulness means recognizing that something no longer fits.
Sometimes courage looks less like holding on…
and more like releasing our grip.
We Make Decisions With the Information We Have
I think I used to judge my past decisions using information I didn’t have when I made them.
I would look backward and think:
“How did I not see that?”
“Why did I choose this?”
“I should have known.”
But that’s not fair.
We make decisions from where we are.
With the information we have.
With the emotional capacity we have.
With the needs we have.
With the person we are at that moment.
Then life happens.
We learn.
We heal.
We experience things.
Our priorities shift.
Our values become clearer.
We discover parts of ourselves we couldn’t access before.
Of course some of our decisions are going to change.
That’s not necessarily inconsistency.
Sometimes that’s growth.
The Woman Who Made That Decision Wasn’t Wrong
This has been important for me.
I don’t have to make my past self foolish in order to honor who I am today.
Maybe she really did want that.
Maybe that dream genuinely mattered to her.
Maybe that friendship was important.
Maybe that job was exactly what she needed.
Maybe that goal gave her something to move toward.
Maybe that identity helped her survive a season.
Maybe she wasn’t wrong.
Maybe it was right…
for then.
Something doesn’t have to have been a mistake just because it isn’t meant to come with us forever.
That’s a very different way of looking at our lives.
Not everything that ends failed.
Not everything we outgrow was bad.
Not everything we release was wasted.
Some things simply complete their purpose.
Sometimes We Stay Because Other People Know the Plan
This one is uncomfortable.
Sometimes the hardest part of changing direction isn’t actually changing direction.
It’s telling everyone else.
Because once we’ve said something out loud…
“I’m going to do this.”
“This is what I want.”
“Here’s the plan.”
…it can start feeling like a contract.
Now people are watching.
Maybe they encouraged us.
Maybe they invested in us.
Maybe they’re proud of us.
Maybe they have opinions about what we should do next.
And suddenly we’re not asking:
“Is this still right for me?”
We’re asking:
“How embarrassing will it be to admit that I’ve changed my mind?”
I’ve learned that embarrassment is a terrible reason to build a life you don’t want.
So is pride.
So is proving a point.
So is avoiding disappointing someone.
Other people are allowed to have feelings about our decisions.
But their feelings don’t automatically become our instructions.
Changing Your Mind Isn’t the Same as Running Away
This is where honesty matters.
Because sometimes I do want to quit because something got hard.
Sometimes I want relief, not redirection.
Sometimes fear tells me to leave something that actually requires courage to stay.
That’s why I don’t think every uncomfortable feeling means:
“This isn’t meant for me.”
Sometimes discomfort means we’re growing.
Sometimes discomfort means we’re out of alignment.
Learning the difference requires patience.
Prayer.
Wise counsel.
Time.
Honesty.
I’ve started asking myself questions like:
Am I moving away from something because I’m afraid—or because it genuinely no longer aligns with who I am becoming?
Have I given this enough time to know the difference between difficulty and incompatibility?
Am I leaving because I need immediate relief, or because staying requires me to continually abandon something important about myself?
There isn’t always an immediate answer.
That’s okay.
Not every decision needs to be made in a panic.
There Are Dreams I Don’t Want Anymore
This might be one of the strangest parts of getting healthier.
There are things I once thought would make me happy that I no longer want.
Versions of success that don’t appeal to me anymore.
Ways of living that once looked impressive but now look exhausting.
Things I thought I needed to prove.
Relationships I once believed I couldn’t live without.
Expectations I’ve realized weren’t even mine.
And there can be grief in admitting that.
Because sometimes we’re not just releasing a plan.
We’re releasing the woman we thought we’d become.
That’s a real loss.
We can grieve her.
We can honor what she wanted.
And then we can let her go.
What If the New Dream Is Quieter?
I think this matters because growth doesn’t always make our dreams bigger.
Sometimes it makes them simpler.
Maybe you once wanted recognition.
Now you want peace.
Maybe you wanted the impressive career.
Now you want meaningful work and enough time to live outside of it.
Maybe you wanted everyone to like you.
Now you want a handful of relationships where you can tell the truth.
Maybe you wanted a packed calendar.
Now you want room to breathe.
Maybe you wanted to prove yourself.
Now you want to know yourself.
Maybe you spent years believing more was the goal…
only to discover that what you actually wanted was enough.
That isn’t settling.
It may be the first time you’ve defined abundance for yourself.
We Are Allowed to Become New People
One of the things I love most about recovery is that it has given me permission to keep meeting myself.
I’m not obligated to remain the woman I was five years ago.
Or ten.
Or even last year.
I’m allowed to learn.
I’m allowed to discover.
I’m allowed to say:
“I thought I wanted this, but I don’t anymore.”
“I thought this fit me. It doesn’t.”
“I thought this was where I was headed. Something has changed.”
And maybe most importantly:
“I don’t know what’s next yet.”
We don’t always need a replacement dream before releasing the old one.
Sometimes there is an in-between.
We’ve been there before.
That uncomfortable space between what was and what will be.
It can feel disorienting.
But it can also be sacred.
An Invitation
Think about something you’re currently holding onto.
A goal.
A plan.
An expectation.
An identity.
A commitment.
A picture of what your life was supposed to look like.
Then ask yourself:
Do I still want this?
Not:
“Should I want it?”
Not:
“What will people think if I don’t?”
Not:
“But haven’t I already invested too much?”
Just:
Does this still fit the person I am becoming?
You don’t have to make a decision today.
You don’t have to blow up your life.
You don’t have to immediately act on the answer.
Just tell yourself the truth.
Sometimes honesty needs room before it needs action.
A Final Thought
For years, I thought knowing who I was meant having certainty.
I thought strong people knew what they wanted and stayed the course.
Now I think knowing ourselves sometimes sounds like:
“I don’t know anymore.”
“I’ve changed.”
“This doesn’t fit.”
“I need time.”
“I want something different.”
Those sentences don’t feel nearly as impressive.
But they feel honest.
And after spending so much of my life manufacturing experiences, hiding, performing, and trying to become whoever I thought I needed to be…
I’ll take honest over impressive.
I don’t want to spend my life faithfully pursuing a dream that belongs to a woman I no longer am.
I want to remain curious enough to ask what fits now.
Humble enough to admit when the answer changes.
Brave enough to disappoint people when necessary.
Wise enough not to confuse every difficult season with a reason to leave.
And secure enough to know that changing direction doesn’t erase everything that came before it.
Maybe the goal was never to perfectly predict the path.
Maybe the goal is simply to keep walking honestly with God as the path unfolds.
So yes…
I might change my mind.
I might outgrow things.
I might take a road and discover it isn’t mine.
I might release dreams I once prayed desperately for.
I might want things someday that I cannot imagine today.
And I’m learning not to be afraid of that.
Because I don’t need to remain loyal to every version of myself I’ve ever been.
I just need to keep telling the truth about the woman I am becoming.
Maybe changing direction doesn’t always mean we got lost.
Maybe sometimes we were supposed to walk that road long enough to learn what it had to teach us.
Maybe the closed door isn’t punishment.
Maybe the changed desire isn’t failure.
Maybe the uncertainty isn’t evidence that we’re doing something wrong.
Maybe we’re simply still being led.
So I can make plans.
I can dream.
I can choose.
I can change my mind.
And I can trust that God is not confused when I do.
I am allowed to grow beyond the plans I once made for myself.
And I think that’s another beautiful part of being fully alive.
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