Still Becoming: Finding Purpose in the Middle of Everything

The last time I wrote here was September 2023. It feels like a lifetime ago, and in so many ways, it was. Back then, I thought I was finally getting my balance — working, being a mom, trying to piece my peace back together. I didn’t realize life was about to test every single piece of that balance.

Not long after, I lost a long-term friendship that meant a lot to me. It’s strange how people can become such a big part of your life and then, suddenly, not be there anymore. Ending that friendship wasn’t about anger; it was about growth. But it still hurts. Sometimes peace means walking away, even when your heart wants to stay.

When things got heavy, I moved back in with my mom. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was what I needed. Going back home as an adult is humbling. I had to sit with myself — with all my feelings, my mistakes, my hopes, and the parts of me that still needed healing. But in that space, I also found comfort. It reminded me that starting over doesn’t mean failure. Sometimes it’s just part of the story.

By February 2024, things started to shift again. I got my own apartment. It felt like breathing fresh air after holding it for too long. I finally had my own space again — me and my son. We laughed, decorated, and made it our little safe place. For the first time in a while, I felt proud. But life, as it does, came swinging again. I lost my car not long after. That moment tested my patience, my faith, and my strength. I was frustrated, but I kept going. I had no other choice.

Later that year, I went through radiation. That was something I didn’t talk about much. It was quiet, personal, and scary in ways I can’t fully explain. I had to face my body and my fears all at once. But through it all, I found strength I didn’t know I had. Healing wasn’t just physical — it was emotional, spiritual, and deeply personal. I learned to slow down, to listen to myself, and to appreciate every small sign of life and health.

Then, in January 2025, I started school. Something for me. It felt good — to learn, to grow, to plan for something new. But a few months later, in May, I lost my job. It felt like another rug being pulled from under me. There I was again, trying to stay strong for my son, figuring things out, praying for guidance, and holding onto faith that something better was coming.

And then September came. The hardest month of my life. My dad passed away.

There aren’t enough words for that kind of pain. Grief comes in waves — some days it’s gentle, other days it knocks you completely off your feet. I catch myself thinking about him randomly — something I want to tell him, a story about my son, or a moment I know would’ve made him proud. Losing him reminded me how fragile life really is, and how important it is to appreciate the people who love you while they’re still here.

Now, it’s October 2025. I’m standing in a place I never imagined I’d be — not broken, but rebuilt in quiet ways. I’ve lost so much this past year, but I’ve also gained a deeper understanding of who I am and what matters most. My son has been my anchor through all of it. Watching him grow reminds me that I can, too.

Finding purpose used to feel like something I had to chase. But now I realize it’s something I live, even in the chaos. It’s in getting up when I don’t feel like it. It’s in the way I show up for my child, even when I’m tired. It’s in choosing peace when everything feels uncertain.

I’m still becoming — softer, stronger, more aware, and more grateful. I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m learning that I don’t have to. My story didn’t end when everything fell apart. I was just becoming in silence.

So here I am — ready for a new start, not because I have all the answers, but because I finally understand that purpose isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about being here, alive, still trying, still believing.

If you’ve been through loss, heartbreak, or uncertainty, I hope you know you’re not alone. You’re not behind. You’re just becoming — just like me.

💛 With love,
Makayla