Fantasy of the Perfect Return
So here’s how I thought this would go.
I’d disappear for a while, maybe post something vague and poetic about “recalibration,” take a soulful break from creating, and then, at the perfect moment, return with an absolute banger of an article.
My triumphant comeback.
Viral on impact.
The words would pour out of me, polished and profound. Readers would whisper, “They’re back,” as if I were some literary phoenix.
Spoiler alert: that didn’t happen.
What actually happened was much quieter and, honestly, much more interesting.
No applause.
No inbox full of Medium notifications.
Just me, staring at a blinking cursor, trying to figure out if I had anything to say that hadn’t already been said a thousand times.
And yet, that anti-climactic silence turned out to be the beginning of something more honest.
Not Trending, But Deeply Necessary
Let’s be real.
Slowing down is not a hot lifestyle trend.
No one’s bragging about their “Season of Stillness” on LinkedIn. No one’s monetizing their pause.
You don’t get a certificate for deciding to rest.
But maybe you should.
Lately, it seems that everything is optimized, branded, and algorithmically positioned for maximum engagement.
Doing less, or worse, nothing, feels like sacrilege.
You start to wonder if you’re lazy, broken, irrelevant. You question your ambition, your discipline, your drive.
Because resting? That feels like quitting.
Except it’s not.
Rest is rarely glamorous, but it is instructive.
And if you can shut off the part of your brain that demands a productivity ROI on every minute of your existence, you start to hear other things.
Like the parts of yourself that got drowned out in the noise.
The quieter truths.
The unmarketable ones.
In my case, I didn’t find clarity or divine creative inspiration.
What I found were questions. Invasive ones. The kind that don’t politely knock, but show up uninvited with coffee and an existential crisis.
Was I actually growing, or just avoiding hard things with increasingly poetic language?
Was my “pause” a sacred act of self-preservation, or just me hiding under the very chic blanket of burnout?
Where Clarity Goes to Die
Let’s talk about this delightful place, the murky middle.
You know, the part no one writes about because it doesn’t photograph well.
Not the “before” of pain and definitely not the “after” of triumph.
Just the mushy, grey purgatory of becoming.
No aesthetic.
No hashtags.
Just Goo!
Yes, goo.
That weird phase in metamorphosis where the caterpillar dissolves into unrecognizable slime before it becomes a butterfly.
That’s the vibe. Highly relatable.
We romanticize growth after it’s over.
We love the “look at everything I overcame” energy.
But when you’re in it, growth feels more like unraveling.
And introspection?
It’s not a peaceful spa day for your soul.
It’s a chaotic internal focus group with no moderator.
Some days you’re journaling like a philosopher; other days you’re watching an 18-minute video essay on why early-2000s TV was more emotionally honest than your last relationship.
The twist: that mess?
That discomfort?
That resistance to pretending you’re fine when you’re not?
That’s the actual work.
It’s not that the answers arrive. It’s that you stop demanding them on schedule.
So… Is This the Comeback?
If it is, it doesn’t look like I expected.
There’s no cinematic montage.
No massive life change.
No grand revelation.
Just me, writing again, but differently this time. Without performance. Without pressure. With more reverence for the pause than the pivot.
I’m not returning with a plan.
I’m returning with a pulse, a willingness to be where I am, which feels like an underrated superpower lately.
So if you were expecting a success story, sorry to disappoint.
If you’ve been orbiting your own return, whatever that looks like, and feeling like it has to be dramatic or impressive or perfectly timed, let this be your permission slip to drop the theatrics.
Come back, awkward.
Come back, unsure.
Come back because you miss yourself, not because the world expects a narrative arc.
The Uncool, Underrated Power of Questioning Everything
People love a story with a clean lesson.
Something that can be summarized in a tweet or turned into a carousel on Instagram.
The real stories?
The kind that shapes you, not your brand, is rarely that cooperative.
The real stuff happens when you question your own narratives, when you start to wonder if your productivity is just a more acceptable form of avoidance.
When you ask yourself if the things you’re chasing are even things you want.
When you stop measuring your worth by how many people “clap” for your vulnerability online.
The pause doesn’t give you answers.
It gives you perspective.
And from there, if you’re paying attention, it might just give you your voice back.
And If You’re Still Reading…
Then maybe this hits a little closer than you expected.
Perhaps you’re a fellow creative, an overthinker, or an accidental burnout survivor.
Perhaps you’ve been crossing your own weird middle space and trying to decide if it’s a breakdown or a breakthrough.
Perhaps you’re trying to write again.
Or start again.
Or figure out if you still fit into the story you were trying to tell last year.
If that’s you, I’m not going to tell you what to do next.
The pause is not wasted time. It’s the most honest space you can stand in.
And if you ever need someone to help shape your story, reflect your mess, or sit with the questions, I’m here as a coach or someone to rewrite your story with you.
Together, we find answers with curiosity.
Together, we create a plan, but with presence.