The Shame of Starting Over... Again
This Is Not a Setback. It’s a Rebirth
You thought you'd be further by now.
Not because you didn’t work hard, not because you didn’t want it badly enough—but because somewhere deep inside, you believed that doing everything "right" should have secured you a guarantee.
But here you are. Again.
Packing your bags. Updating your resume. Closing your heart just enough to stop the bleeding. Starting over—again. And the hardest part isn’t even the restart itself. It’s the shame. The questions from others. The whispers in your head. The haunting thought: "Why am I back here?"
Let’s tell the truth.
Starting over isn’t glamorous. It’s gritty. It’s grieving. It’s relighting a fire you thought would burn steady forever. And yet—it is also sacred. Because starting over is where we learn what we’re really made of.
The Holy Ground of Rock Bottom
I’ve started over more times than I can count. New cities. New jobs. New versions of me. And every time felt like a funeral and a birth.
But this time? This one feels like a medical emergency. Like if I don’t leave, something in me will flatline. I’ve been in one place for nine years—the longest ever in my adult life. And now, the walls feel like they’re closing in. My spirit is restless. My body is aching for movement, for fresh air, for new.
And yet, the shame still whispers: "You should have been further. You should have had more saved. You should have been settled by now."
But here’s what I’ve learned: the shame is a liar. The shame is a distraction. The shame is a weight you were never meant to carry.
Because the truth is, starting over is not a sign of failure. It’s evidence of courage.
When the World Calls You Crazy (and You Answer Anyway)
They say it like a question cloaked in a compliment:
"I don’t know how you do it. That’s just Dre."
As if my restarts are a personality trait instead of sacred rebellion. As if leaving behind what's killing you slowly is some kind of character flaw.
I used to be energized by starting over. It felt like adventure, like possibilities. I carried the badge of "reinventor" with pride.
But now, in midlife, when I should be coasting or collecting dividends or whatever grown women are supposed to do, the stakes feel higher. The grief is heavier. The rebuild feels lonelier.
And yet—I choose to begin again. Because staying stuck in something that no longer fits is the slowest form of death.
Failure Is a Lie We Learned in Capitalism
Let’s unlearn the lie that failure is the opposite of success. Failure is not the enemy. Timelines are not gospel.
Sometimes starting over is your success. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say no to the version of you that settled.
And yes, I worry about time. Will there be enough? Did I wait too long? Will I have to start again after this next start?
But here’s what I know deep in my spirit: as long as there is breath, there is possibility.
And I’m not here to just survive.
What Starting Over Taught Me About Power
Every rebirth taught me I was never stuck.
The job didn’t own me. The city didn’t define me. The relationship wasn’t my only shot at love.
Every time I started over, I proved to myself that I had the courage to rewrite the story. That I wasn’t just a chapter—I was the damn author.
And sometimes, you write the next page not because the last one was bad—but because the plot has shifted. The lesson is complete. The girl has grown.
And that growth? It is holy.
Rebirth Isn’t Pretty, But It’s Divine
Rebirth doesn’t happen in spa days and vision boards alone. Sometimes it looks like crying in your car. Calling your sister and saying, "I can't do this anymore." Writing the resignation letter with trembling hands. Saying goodbye to someone who didn’t do anything wrong, but just didn’t do right by you.
Rebirth is not polite.
It disrupts. It demands. It delivers.
It forces you to see that the version of you you’re mourning is not the final draft. That the woman rising now—bruised, barefoot, bold as hell—she is the miracle.
You Are Not Behind. You Are Becoming.
Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them misunderstand your sacred exit.
You don’t owe anyone a final destination.
You owe yourself a life that feels like breath. Like ease. Like something more than just surviving.
Starting over is not the enemy. Stagnation is.
Your Next Chapter Is Waiting. Don’t Be Late.
Pack the box.
Book the flight.
Delete the number.
Open the journal.
Say the thing.
Cry if you need to. Scream if it helps. But do not stay stuck because of shame.
You are not starting over. You are rising. Again.
You are the fire. You are the author. You are the answered prayer.
This? This is not a setback. This is your rebirth.
If this moved you, share it. Let it be a hand on someone else’s back whispering: You are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not behind. You are beginning—and beginnings are sacred.