The easy answer is that I started losing pieces of myself when my mom died.

But, that’s not true.

I started losing pieces of myself when I started acting out of who I thought I was supposed to be, who people needed me to be vs who I actually am.

I’ve always felt a bit like I’m a doormat.

I don’t have preferences I often blurt out. I’m not the first to state an opinion. I’d rather blend into the background and not be a burden.

I’d rather someone else get their choice than me.

Part of that isn’t bad. I’ve perfected the art as a teacher of picking battles. I’ve learned that if I chose to make something a thing with a three year old I have to follow through.

Even if I realize about a minute in that it isn’t worth it- I chose it so I gotta keep going.

So, in life, if I really don’t care, then I’m not going too.

But, I think because of that, without realizing it, I’ve dropped pieces of myself along the way. 

I’ll never forget the moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I needed to leave the Y. I was in the backseat of our rental car in Hawaii. We were making one of our many drives back to the north shore from Waikiki. Shawn and Tori were chatting in the front and I was sitting there with the page open to the job application for the program supervisor job that was about to be available.

I clicked apply.

Then I promptly threw my phone across the car.

Because for so long in my life all I had been was Teacher Meg. 

Miss Meg.

I didn’t know how to be anyone else.

And I truly didn’t know if I liked teaching the tiny humans or if I was just a random person who had lucked into a job that I wasn’t qualified for but just good at.

Sitting in the backseat of the rental car I realized I needed to move. I needed to make a change.

I needed to jump off the cliff or I might completely lose all that I was.

It was terrifying to leave the Y. Potentially one of the scariest things I’ve ever done; and I’ve argued in Spanish with a border guard in Bolivia who had multiple guns strapped to him.

I just knew that this would be a part of finding who I was again.

I was burnt out, was surviving teaching in a global pandemic, had gone through a couple devastating friend break-ups, had just visited my parents for the first time in almost two years and bottom line- I was very, very tired.

And then, as I’ve said many times, five weeks after making the life change I thought would save me; my mom died.

I have absolutely never been the same.

In the last four years of my life, I’ve allowed things and people to take pieces of myself. I got really sick and it physically took a part of myself that I’ve loved about who I am. 

I’ve allowed myself to drop pieces of myself that feel too big or too much.

But, sitting on my couch, cozy, reading by the fire on Friday, I realized beyond a shadow of doubt it’s time to reclaim them again.

2024 my word was again. I trudged into things and places and jobs and moments I’d done before and I needed to do again.

I think I realized the things I didn’t want to do again weren’t as scary as I thought. Or I was able to realize I didn’t need them.

I don’t think again is going away. I don’t think the words that pepper our hearts each year ever do. I think they build and layer in a lovely way- not like layering wallpaper over other wallpaper, but like modge-podging words on top of each other so you can see where they connect and where they need each other.

Reclaim already feels scary.

But like all the things I’ve done in my life that have been scary- I know I’m brave enough to handle it.

So here I am in 2025;

I’m gonna reclaim.

With love,

Meg