Since moving to Lisbon, I’ve been reflecting more than ever — not just on how I live, but how I feel living it. There’s something unfamiliar, grounding, and quietly powerful about the pace here. And it’s invited me into a version of health that feels a little less rigid… and a lot more real. I’m the same person — still passionate, still structured, still someone who finds joy in movement, food, and purpose.
But I’m also discovering a new part of myself. One that doesn’t feel guilty for not being “on” all the time. One that doesn’t think slowing down means I’m falling behind. One that’s starting to believe that life is meant to be lived — not just organized, optimized, and monetized. I didn’t realize how deeply rushing shaped my identity until I wasn’t in it anymore. The glorification of urgency, the constant low-grade anxiety that I needed to be doing more, the tight grip on time and productivity — it was so ingrained I barely questioned it. Now, even with the same responsibilities, time feels different. There’s more space between tasks. More quiet. More noticing. And without rushing, I’ve gained something I never expected: a deeper sense of meaning.
Before, if something didn’t go the way I planned — in life or business — it could knock me down hard.
I’d internalize it, let it spiral, question everything. Now? Not everything needs a reaction. Not everything means something. I still care. I still show up. But I don’t take every misstep personally. Well, not as much as before at least. I’m starting to trust the rhythm of things — and it’s changing how I carry stress, disappointment, and uncertainty. I haven’t let go of discipline or routines. But they no longer feel like survival mechanisms. They’re quieter now. Supportive. Not demanding. I used to feel like I had to earn the right to rest, play, or even enjoy a slow morning. That if I wasn’t consumed by work, I was falling short. Now I’m realizing something that feels obvious and radical all at once: Your life is your life. And for it to have meaning, it doesn’t have to be defined by your work. That’s been one of the hardest — and most freeing — things to sit with.
This version of me isn’t erasing who I was. She’s just unfolding into something more whole. Still driven. Still building something I care deeply about. But now also curious. Grounded. A little softer. And learning that fulfillment doesn’t always come from achievement. Sometimes it comes from sitting in the sun, walking without a time limit, or simply not needing a reason to enjoy your own life. It’s strange and beautiful to feel like I’m meeting myself again.
If anything in this hits home for you, maybe you’re in your own shift too. Maybe it’s not about reinventing yourself — maybe it’s just about giving yourself permission to grow beyond the roles and rhythms that once made sense.
And that’s not failure. That’s living.
