The past few months have felt like wandering through a house with the lights off. One that I used to know like the back of my hand, but suddenly felt unfamiliar. I’ve been lost, not in a dramatic, collapsing-on-the-floor kind of way, but in that quieter, heavier sense where you’re surrounded by your own life and still feel like a stranger in it. Especially inside my own head. It felt like I was in a big empty room that I couldn’t escape while be restrained by a straight jacket.

Some days, I felt like I was running in circles in my own head, chasing answers that wouldn’t come. I kept asking myself: What now? Where am I going? What if this is it? The questions didn’t scream. They hummed, low and constant, like background static. Always there. Always pressing. My thoughts were always fuzzy.

There were mornings when I’d wake up feeling like I was underwater—like I had to fight just to break the surface. Conversations became performances. Smiles started to feel like masks. And no matter how many to-do lists I wrote or how many times I said “I’m fine,” the truth was, I was just trying to keep from unraveling.

But even in the mess, something was shifting without me even realizing it.

Not with fireworks or some cinematic “aha” moment. It’s more like a crack in the wall letting in light. Quiet. Subtle. But real.

I started doing small things for myself—not because I wanted to, but because something inside me whispered that I needed to. I said no to things that drained me. I sat with feelings I normally would’ve run from. I stopped pretending I had to figure everything out before I could begin again. I realized that even a lost person is still moving, still breathing, still surviving—and that counts for something.

Now, September is here. A week into a fresh month. And it feels like the first deep breath I’ve taken in a long time.

This month doesn’t hold any promises, but it holds space—and that’s enough for me. Space to keep rebuilding. Space to get it wrong and try again. Space to grow into someone I haven’t met yet.

I won’t pretend I’ve got it all figured out because I don’t. I still have questions. I still have fears that crawl in when it’s quiet. But I’m learning that uncertainty isn’t a dead end—it’s a blank page just waiting to be written. It’s the space between who I was and who I’m becoming.

And maybe, just maybe, I don’t need to be “found” to be okay. Maybe being in the in-between is its own kind of becoming.

So here I am. Starting September with scarred hands, a softer heart, and no map—but a hell of a lot of hope. I’m not expecting it to be easy, but i am willing to put in the work. I’m just ready to meet whatever comes. And for the first time in a long while, that feels like enough.

Here’s to the fog lifting.
Here’s to the fight no one sees.
Here’s to September—and to me, still standing.