The Beauty of Finding Yourself....

It didn’t happen all at once. 

There was no single day she woke up and thought, I’ve lost myself. 

It happened quietly, little by little, in the way women tend to disappear. 

Between morning alarms and grocery lists, between taking care of others and showing up for everyone but herself.

She didn’t mean for it to happen. 

Life just kept moving. 

There were things to get done, people to love, bills to pay, and birthdays to plan. So she pushed her own needs to the side, promising herself she’d circle back when things slowed down.

.....but they never really did.

When winter came that year, it brought with it a strange kind of stillness. The air outside felt colder, but what she noticed most was how heavy everything felt inside. The lights, the songs, even the sparkle of the holidays seemed to belong to someone else’s story….

The magic she used to feel….the warmth, the excitement, the joy….. felt like it had dimmed.

She told herself it was just age, or stress, or maybe grief that lingered from years that had been harder than she let on. 

But the truth was simpler and sadder. She had forgotten herself.

She used to love this season. The smell of cinnamon and pine, the crackle of the fireplace, the laughter that filled her mother’s kitchen. She’d stay up late helping wrap presents, sneaking cookies from the tray, humming along to songs she didn’t even like. Back then, she never thought about whether she deserved joy…..she just felt it.

But somewhere between then and now, something shifted.

People changed, traditions faded, and life got heavier. 

She learned how to hold it all together….the house, the family, the endless list of responsibilities

And she became so good at it that she forgot what it felt like to be held herself.

One night, after everyone had gone to bed, she sat alone in the quiet glow of the Christmas tree. The house was calm, the kind of calm that feels too quiet. Her hands were dry from wrapping gifts, and when she looked at them, she felt a strange mix of pride and sadness. These were the same hands that had cooked meals, braided hair, wiped tears, and worked late nights. Hands that gave and gave but rarely received.

That night, she decided to start small. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat by the window, watching snow fall in the soft light. She didn’t reach for her phone. She didn’t fold laundry. She just sat, quietly, in her own company. 

The world felt softer somehow.

The next morning, she made her coffee slower than usual.

She let the mug warm her hands. 

She brushed her hair with patience instead of hurry. She took a deep breath and realized it was the first time in weeks she had done something for herself without guilt.

And something about that shifted everything.

She began to notice how good it felt to take her time...to light a candle, to smell something fresh, to put on her favorite body oil without rushing, to actually look at herself in the mirror and smile.

It wasn’t vanity.

It was remembering.

 Remembering what it felt like to be alive in her own body.

She realized that when she felt confident, she moved differently.

Her energy changed.

She spoke with more warmth, laughed more easily, and her home even felt lighter. Happiness, she discovered, had a ripple effect. 

When she felt good, the people she loved felt it too.

So this year, she decided not to wait for someone else to make her feel special. If no one was filling her stocking, she would. If no one was spoiling her, she would.

Because maybe the real spirit of the holidays isn’t just in giving to others, but in remembering that we’re allowed to give to ourselves too.

She started doing small things that made her feel beautiful again… from little things to painting her nails to big things like ordering her dream set that's been in her cart for way too long. 

She didn’t need anyone’s permission to feel radiant.

And the more she did, the more she understood that confidence isn’t built in grand gestures, it’s built in quiet moments of self-respect. It’s built in saying yes to yourself when the world tells you to wait.

She stopped apologizing for wanting nice things.

She stopped downplaying the effort it took to care for everyone.

She stopped feeling guilty for taking up space in her own life.

And something incredible happened.

The holidays began to feel magical again.

Not because everything was perfect, but because she was present.

She could finally take a picture and love who she was seeing, she could laugh without thinking about what needed to be done next. She could sit in the glow of her tree and feel proud of the woman she was not just for what she gave, but for what she finally allowed herself to receive.

She learned that taking care of herself wasn’t a reward for surviving…. it was the foundation for living.

And when she walked through her home, something had changed. The same lights seemed warmer. The same songs felt softer. The same hands that used to ache with exhaustion now carried peace.

Maybe, she thought, that’s what it means to come home.

Not to a house, or a memory, but to yourself.

So this winter, she decided she would not wait for someone else to remind her of her worth. She would write her own reminders. She would fill her own stocking. She would honor her reflection and the woman she’s become.

Because when a woman remembers who she is, when she chooses to care for herself, to feel beautiful, to feel confident, the whole world around her brightens.

Her home feels lighter.

Her children feel calmer.

Her partner feels her energy shift.

When a woman feels happy, it spills out of her and touches everyone she loves.

This year, she won’t call it spoiling herself.

 She’ll call it what it truly is: returning to herself.

And in doing so, she’ll rediscover what she thought she’d lost... the joy, the warmth, the light that was never really gone. It was just waiting for her to slow down long enough to notice.

Maybe this winter isn’t about doing more. Maybe it’s about feeling again.