Working On It (And Weirdly, Loving It)

There’s this strange joy I’ve been feeling lately — not because everything is done, or clear, or figured out… but because I’m working on it.

My days aren’t perfect. My systems glitch. My body gets tired. My mind still spins sometimes. But underneath it all? There’s this steady rhythm forming. This pulse. This proof that I’m moving — even when it’s slow.

I used to crave the finish line.

Now I crave the feeling of being in motion.

There’s something deeply healing about seeing a mess, realizing it’s mine… and then choosing to clean it up, one breath at a time.

From my credit score to my closet to my nervous system — I’m organizing what I once avoided. I’m not waiting for some magical version of myself to take over. I’m being her, now, in tiny, practical, powerful ways.

I’ve started calling it the “becoming era.”

Not because I’m trying to be something other than me, but because I’m finally stepping into what was always underneath. And weirdly? I like it here.

Some days it’s soft. Quiet. A playlist in the background. A face mask. Me, folding laundry like I’m tending to my future.

Other days? It’s a little chaotic. I’m running behind, chasing down paperwork, realizing I skipped a meal and maybe forgot to breathe until 2pm.

But it all still counts.

That’s the part no one tells you — the work still counts, even if it’s not aesthetic. Even if it’s a little messy. Even if you’re crying while doing it.

The magic isn’t in how clean it looks.

It’s in the fact that you kept going. Kept choosing yourself.

I used to be addicted to extremes.

All-in or all-out.

Crash diets, full sprints, complete silence or total breakdowns.

If it didn’t feel like a total reset, it didn’t feel real.

But healing — real healing — is actually a lot more boring than I thought.

It’s brushing your teeth when you’re sad.

It’s walking instead of spiraling.

It’s making your bed while the world feels uncertain.

It’s saying, “I’m doing the best I can,” and actually meaning it.

And then doing it again tomorrow.

This version of me isn’t perfect — she’s just honest.

She’s building slowly, but intentionally.

She still wants rest more than results some days. She still scrolls too long sometimes. Still needs to talk herself down from the edge of doubt.

But she shows up.

To her tasks.

To her routines.

To her healing.

To her joy.

She’s not waiting for a permission slip or a breakthrough. She’s not asking the universe to fix it all. She’s rolling up her sleeves and meeting life where it is — and making it better from there.

Lately, I’ve noticed something kind of wild:

I like who I am when I’m being consistent.

Not perfect. Not productive for productivity’s sake.

But consistent in a “my life deserves structure” kind of way.

When I keep promises to myself — even tiny ones — something clicks inside me. I don’t spiral as much. I don’t feel behind. I feel… held. By me.

There’s freedom in structure.

There’s peace in knowing what comes next.

It’s not rigidity. It’s rhythm.

It’s routine that serves the real me, not the imaginary one I thought I had to become to be worthy.

I don’t know what the next season of life looks like yet.

I’m not sure where all this work will lead.

But I do know this:

• I’m not scared of myself anymore.

• I’m not trying to escape my own company.

• I’m not numbing through every discomfort.

• I’m not waiting for the “right time” to begin.

I’m in it.

And the “it” is not some grand reveal — it’s a Tuesday morning with warm tea and soft light and a to-do list that feels like a conversation instead of a punishment.

It’s the way I stretch in the mornings.

The way I hold eye contact with myself in the mirror now.

The way I don’t hate the slow days — because they’re real days. Mine.

I don’t need to arrive somewhere to feel proud.

Because honestly?

Being in it — being present, being real, being accountable — feels more powerful than anything I’ve ever rushed toward.

So if you’re working on it right now too — whatever “it” is —

just know that this part matters.

Even if you’re moving slow.

Even if your systems aren’t perfect.

Even if you still forget to text people back.

Even if your goals aren’t in color-coded folders yet.

It matters.

You matter.

And all of it? It’s becoming something beautiful.