Perhaps Nothing Is Changing. Perhaps Everything Is
What looking back revealed about courage, self-trust, and quiet growth
A little more than two years ago, a friend encouraged me to share my story about living my life on my terms. So, I did. Then I rewrote it. Then I edited it. Then I put it aside. Then I sent it to HuffPost. Up to this point, I had never submitted anything. I mean, why me, right?
Looking back now, it was not “Go Big or Go Home” confidence that spurred me. It wasn’t that I thought it was HuffPost caliber at all. In fact, I chose HuffPost knowing they would never accept it. But I could still say I had tried while remaining safe and anonymous. I wouldn’t have thousands more people questioning choices I was tired of explaining and defending.
But the editor got back to me, asked for some updates and changes, and said if I were willing to make the changes (at least some of them), he would consider publishing it. Yikes! I panicked and put it aside. For the entire summer, it sat there, untouched because I was too afraid to make the changes and send it back. By the time I sat down with it in the fall, I figured I had once again shot myself in the foot and missed my opportunity. I mean, I had deliberately let months go by.
I’m still not sure what I was most afraid of: that he would choose not to publish it after all? Or that he actually would publish it?
Then it hit, and thousands of people from all over the world read it. I decided not to pay attention to the comments. I remember Brené Brown sharing that when she first started writing publicly, she struggled with the negative comments. Overly focused on them. I could imagine doing the same and promised myself that they wouldn’t take over my life. I will say that HuffPost is really good about managing the comments and quickly removed anything that was cruel or otherwise inappropriate. But, true to my word, I didn’t let the negative comments take over my life. I was actually really proud of that. I am to this day.
I decided that not everyone was going to agree, nor did I need them all in my corner. In addition, the public exposure didn’t feel as personal as I had expected. I didn’t know these people and kept myself at a safe distance by not responding to anyone, good or ugly.
But the biggest gift was that I found more people who related to living single than I had ever imagined. It’s funny how easily we allow the people closest to us to tell us what a successful or meaningful life is supposed to look like. But, beyond them is a world filled with people living their personal versions of fulfillment.
So, some understood exactly what I was trying to say and thanked me for putting words to a life they had chosen or were only beginning to imagine choosing for themselves. And to be honest, others were less generous. I’ll admit that I paused on a few. But only paused. And chuckled a bit. The ones who suggested I was single because no one wanted me. Or I was selfish. Or fat. Yeah, one guy looked at my picture and decided I was fat. But I didn’t stay there long. I knew what I believed, and I wasn’t going to allow strangers on the internet to make me question that.
It took courage to put myself out there in front of thousands of eyes and judgments. But it had also taken me a long time to get to where I believed that being single wasn’t a waiting room, a failure, or a minimizing life situation I needed to explain away.
Looking back. I was brave. But I read it differently more than two years later. I write differently more than two years later. I have changed more than I realized, and that has surprised me. I feel like I reveal more of the emotional costs in life’s choices, whether mine or others’, and sit in the contradictions more comfortably without running away. I used to worry about saying one thing and then saying something a bit different later. But that’s life. We learn and grow and change. Hopefully. Some things get fixed while others stay broken, and we move in, out, and around it all.
Two years ago, I tossed my essay into the air and turned to protect myself from what might happen next. Today. I would stand, arms full and wide, welcoming what comes. That’s big for me. And I only just realized right now that change in me and my writing and why I share what I write. I feel safer allowing people who live differently to misunderstand me or view my life through their own lens without feeling responsible for changing their minds.
None of this came from publishing one essay. It happened through everything I lived afterward. It was life continuing to move forward. It was the relationships I began to see more clearly, the boundaries I finally held, and the losses that forced me to confront how quickly life changes.
I see my relationships much more clearly. Two years ago, I was more willing to overlook behavior that hurt me if it helped me remain accepted or connected. I’m not willing to do that anymore. And I feel strong enough to actually set those limits and not continue to allow those who have gotten used to my doormat behavior to balk at the real me, however off-balance that makes their lives.
And I also lost someone whose steady presence had been part of my life for decades. I grieved him more deeply than I could have imagined, not because we had an emotionally intimate relationship, but because of the quiet security of his predictability. I didn’t notice its significance until it was gone.
The thing is. Life changes. We change. We grow. We learn. We struggle. We lose. We survive. We win. And what hit me, and I knew this already, of course, but living through these past two years made me face it again: life doesn’t remain the same from one year to the next, even when it feels as though nothing is changing.
Last year, I would have said I was afraid of what was ahead of me. I know we can’t predict and don’t really want to know, but I was afraid. I’m not afraid of what might be ahead of me now. I’m afraid I will miss what is most important by sitting and watching. I finally truly understand what my mother was trying to tell me when she said: “You think too much.”
I feel at the precipice of all that has been and what is yet to be. I can continue sitting, watching, and waiting, or I can stop treating my life as something that is about to begin. I want to be fully present for it.
Today, I trust the ground beneath me. I can admit that independence and loneliness can sometimes sit in the same room. I can love the freedom of my life while still wishing, at times, especially the challenging times, that someone was sharing that space with me.
Perhaps that’s what truly living fully and freely is about. I can value the life I chose without smiling through the tough times. I think that’s what confidence has become for me. Not the absence of doubt or the refusal to feel hurt. Nope! To those who doubted that I could ever be happy alone: you were wrong. I can be. To those who believed I would not always be happy: of course you were right. No one is.
Not every choice I make is perfect. But I’m confident in knowing that doubt can visit without leaving a mess in its wake. Someone can misunderstand me without shaking my conviction, and I can hear an opinion without surrendering my own beliefs.
Why did I feel this was so important to share? Because change happens whether we feel it, see it, or miss it completely. You may believe you are still struggling with the same fear, the same relationship, the same patterns, or the same questions. But stop and really take it all in.
What are you willing to admit now that you couldn’t admit two years ago? What still frightens you but no longer controls every decision you make? What behavior do you recognize sooner and maybe even stop now that you see it plainly? What would an earlier version of you be surprised to see you doing right now?
Perhaps the evidence of change is not found in how different your life looks from the outside. But instead how you stand in the center of it. I still have doubts. I still struggle to be understood. I still wonder whether I have shared too much or not enough. But I trust myself more than I did just two years ago. I’m less interested in proving that my life is right and more interested in living it fully. I’m no longer simply defending my choices. I’m living and expressing them. And that’s how growth happens. Quietly. Gradually. Invisibly. Continually.
Until one day, we look back and realize we have been moving closer to our truest selves all along.
This Week’s Invitation
This week inside Morning Pause, we’re exploring how often we push away the very things we say we want. Sometimes receiving begins with noticing what we’ve been refusing.
Our Wednesday Courage Conversation asks one simple question:
What do you find hardest to receive?
If you’d like to join us, we’d love to welcome you.
About the Author
Laura Johnson is the creator of Fearless Authenticity, where she explores self-trust, grief, growth, relationships, and stories that shape who we become.
Everything changes whether you want it to or not, your acceptance isn't necessary for change.