Building a Life That Feels Like Yours: Week One of Self-Employment in Sobriety, Growing Slowly and Intentionally
One week ago, I stepped into a new season of my life.
I wrapped up my final day in full-time employment—quietly, without fanfare—and started walking toward the thing I’ve been circling for years. Not just self-employment, but something deeper: work that reflects who I really am and how I want to live. A business rooted in creativity, recovery, and honest connection.
And right alongside me, a six-month-old foster dog named Ayla arrived at our doorstep, terrified and unsure, slowly learning how to navigate a world that hasn’t always been kind to her.
The timing felt wild.
Tender.
Intentional, even if I didn’t plan it that way.
As I tiptoed into this next chapter of my own life, Ayla began taking her first steps, too—learning how to trust, how to explore, how to let herself rest. And every time I started spiralling about how far I had to go, she reminded me of something simple and profound: it’s okay to start small.
Rewriting the Script
On Monday, I wrote a sticky note and slapped it on the wall beside my desk. Four words: What if it all works out?
It wasn’t a polished affirmation or a plan. It was a quiet moment of possibility—a small glimmer that things could be different this time.
Because the truth is, hope hasn’t always felt safe for me. I’ve spent so many years bracing for impact, pre-disappointed just in case things fell apart. I’ve lived on high alert, convincing myself that expecting less meant I wouldn’t be let down.
But something softened this week, and the question I found myself coming back to again and again wasn’t, “What if I fail?” but rather, “What if I don’t?”
What if this isn’t naive or wreckless, but brave? What if I’m more ready than I’ve ever been?
Starting From Where I Am
The version of self-employment I’m building this time around looks nothing like hustle culture. I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m not looking for external validation or urgency or seven-figure promises.
What I want to build is steady. Rooted. Regenerative.
I want mornings that start with writing, not rushing.
I want afternoons with the dogs, slow walks, unstructured time.
I want to work with women who are in the messy middle of figuring themselves out—especially those in recovery—who are longing to make meaning of what they’ve been through, but don’t quite know how yet.
I want to guide writing workshops, support 1:1 coaching clients, and create resources that help people remember who they are—without pressure to fix or perform.
I want my business to feel like a space where we can all exhale.
And I want to grow it in a way that aligns with my actual life: my energy, my healing, my relationships, my capacity.
Learning From the Slow (and the Scared)
There’s been no shortage of impostor syndrome this week. That voice that says “who are you to do this?” has been loud, especially in the quiet. Especially in the moments where it would be easier to numb out or play small or wait for someone else to give me permission.
But then there’s Ayla—this shy, white shepherd with soft eyes and big feelings—doing something new every day.
On day one, she wouldn’t even leave her safe room.
By day four, she had zoomies in the backyard.
By day seven, she walked outside with confidence and let me slip her collar on without a second thought.
She’s still figuring things out. We both are. But she’s reminded me that healing doesn’t need to be fast to be real. That progress can be tiny and sacred at the same time. That some of the most meaningful growth is invisible at first.
Watching her has changed the way I talk to myself.
I’ve started asking: What would it look like to care for myself the way I care for her?
To be gentle with the setbacks.
To celebrate the little wins.
To trust that forward is forward, even if it’s slow.
What This Week Taught Me (That Might Speak to You Too)
This week has been less about outward success and more about recalibrating how I measure progress. Here’s what I’m taking with me into Week Two:
You don’t need a five-year plan to begin.
You don’t need to feel totally confident—just willing.
You can build a business (or a life, or a new identity) from the inside out.
Slowness is not the enemy. Slowness is sometimes the wisest pace.
You can move forward and be scared. One doesn’t cancel out the other.
And this one feels especially important to say, especially if you’re in that uncertain, shaky beginning stage:
You’re not behind. You might just be in the midst of an early draft—and that’s where all the good stuff begins.
A Journaling Invitation
If you’re walking through your own beginning—whether that’s sobriety, self-employment, healing, or something else entirely—I hope these questions offer you a place to land this week:
What does this next chapter make possible for me?
Who am I becoming as I build it?
What would it look like to honour this season, even if it’s messy or uncertain?
How can I care for myself as attentively as I would care for something tender and new?
Let your answers be imperfect. Let them change tomorrow. Let them guide you home to yourself.
Want a Companion on this Path?
If you’re in early recovery, craving clarity, and trying to figure out what’s next—I offer 1:1 writing coaching designed to help you reconnect with yourself, process what you’ve been through, and begin again from a place of self-trust.
Together, we’ll use writing as a tool to unpack your story, explore your identity beyond alcohol, and make space for what you truly want in this next chapter. It’s not therapy. It’s not a course. It’s a conversation with your own truth—and I’ll be right there beside you.