Since my blog on January 1 — “A Year of Letting Go, Learning and Slowly Landing” — a lot has shifted.
Not with fireworks or loud announcements, but in the kind of movement you only notice when you pause for a moment. Like the tide pulling back, suddenly revealing an entirely new landscape.
The biggest realisation?
Things had to change. The balance between work and caregiving, as it was, was no longer sustainable for me.
That insight didn’t arrive like a lightning strike. It came as a quiet but persistent voice, whispering more and more often: this can’t continue like this.
And in the end, listening to that voice turned out to be braver than simply pushing on.
What that meant in practice was that I started to share the care more — involving people and organisations who are there to help. Not just for my housemate, but also for myself. That last part felt unfamiliar at first. Almost like I was letting go of something that was part of my identity.
But sharing care is not losing care. It’s creating space.
I received help.
And maybe even more importantly: I received time.
Time to understand what had actually been happening. Time to feel what drains energy and what restores it. Because, honestly, this process can be exhausting at times — conversations, arrangements, breaking patterns.
But it also brings something that’s hard to put into words: insight.
Insight into what can be different.
Insight into who I am.
And perhaps even more exciting: who I want to be.
For the first time in my life, I walked into a psychologist’s practice. That felt like a quiet shift — as if I was allowing myself not to do everything alone. After several sessions, I can already feel change. Subtle, but real.
I’m beginning to understand that letting go is not failure. It’s not a white flag. It’s a way of taking care of yourself. A way of not just surviving, but truly living.
I’m taking time to look inward. Why do I do certain things? Why do I avoid others? Which beliefs am I carrying like an overfilled backpack? It can be confronting, but also freeing.
One concrete result of this renewed attention to myself: I’ve started exercising again. Feeling my body move, sweat, grow stronger. And I choose to walk more often instead of taking the bike — not because I have to, but because I can. Because movement clears my mind.
Since the beginning of January, I’ve also started reintegrating into work. First within a different team, which felt surprisingly good. Fresh energy, a different dynamic, without old expectations immediately weighing on my shoulders.
Slowly, I’m building up my hours again. Step by step. And within those hours, I’ve now started supporting my own team again as well.
But at a pace that feels right for me.
And that might be the biggest change of all: I decide the pace. Not the agenda. Not external expectations. Not the old habit of “just pushing through.”
The challenge now?
Finding the right balance between work, personal life, and caregiving. Planning time for exercise and rest — and not letting those be the first things to disappear when life gets busy. Protecting space as if it’s something valuable.
Because it is.
For now, there’s still plenty of room to keep building. To keep exploring how things can fit just a little better. Not perfect. Not finished. But more aligned.
Slowly landing turns out not to be a destination, but a way of travelling.
And maybe that’s exactly what I’m learning:
that caring for others can only be sustainable if I don’t lose myself in the process. 🌿
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