I am not who I want to be

I'm starting to like who I am becoming

It’s January something, a little ways past the first. I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions—not because I’m above them, but because January has become a procrastination machine dressed up as productivity. We get so inundated with messaging about “new year, new you” that it makes us doubt where we already are. Is now ever good enough? I’ve used waiting on the “new” or the “start of the week” as an excuse more times than I’d like to admit. And I’ve had to sit with the truth that procrastination is really just the arrogant assumption that God owes me another opportunity to do what I had the chance to do today.

The middle sucks, but it’s where our best heart work takes place. In the waiting. A place where the becoming unfolds, messily. Sometimes returning to the starting line is the only way to see how far we’ve come. And the hardest lesson hasn’t been holding onto hope for the future—it’s been looking back at every decision that brought me here and realizing I’m not who I thought I was. I’ve given myself time to grieve an idea of myself that is not. I’m starting to like who I am, but she’s not who I envisioned before I surrendered my ambition for contentment. That surrender felt like a loss for a while, especially watching others step into what I once dreamed for myself. But I’m finding the language of relief now as I embrace motherhood and realize I want my daughter to learn what I’m still unlearning.

I write during the quiet of her naps because when she’s awake, she’s all curiosity and motion—I’m a human jungle gym the moment I open my laptop. Today she pulled off her sock in determination to chew on it. I put it back. She pulled it off again. Big emotions at just eight months old. I’m in awe that God gave me such a determined little one, and watching her fight for that sock stirred something in me. I used to be like that. Once determined, before defeat came in, I was willing to take the risk and walk in whatever direction felt right. Somewhere along the way, I started shrinking. Maybe it was the fast-paced transitions—new state, marriage, merging two lives and personalities, finding work, building a business, and then birthing a baby. It all came so fast. But her persistence, that refusal to stop reaching for what she wants, inspired me to dream again from who I am today.

I’ll admit, since losing my job in 2023, it’s been quiet in the space of dreaming. I tried to pivot. Constantly rebranding. Looking for the next now. I saw small glimmers of hope with each person who showed up in what I created. But momentum would build and then fall again once procrastination crept back in. Self-doubt got louder. Yet even in the fog, I could see God providing. He’s always providing, even when it’s hard to see. When I shift to a lens of gratitude for where I am today, I can see tangible proof of him in the details. My daughter is one of those details. She is evidence that he provided by allowing me to become her mom.

Baby is here and thriving. Now it’s time to build. Again. I realize it’s never been about a New Year’s resolution but a continuation of what God’s already doing and my willingness to keep taking steps forward. Daily steps that will one day form a larger picture. So here’s me locking in: I’m going all in with what sets me on fire, and that’s writing. I love making videos, I love using my voice, I love trying new ideas, but writing has my heart. This year, I’m putting everything behind it. And I need accountability. If you catch me signing up for a fitness certification or launching a candle business, you have permission to send this letter back to me. Unless, of course, God makes it clear that the path has a few detours I didn't plan for.

Since having a daughter, I see life through a renewed lens of wanting to be the best for her. Some lessons I already know I need to teach her. Others are revealing themselves as I mother her daily and watch her grow. One of those revealed lessons was rest before responsibility. It inspired me to dive deeper and build a series around it. This year, my focus is on writing letters to my daughter about what I’m unlearning. I’ll make space for spontaneous heart musings along the way, but this is where my attention lives. I want you to come along. Not just to read, but to consider your own unlearning. What are you holding onto that no longer fits who you’re becoming?

With Love,
Janae Carlee