N8tivegirl

Choosing Me Is Holy

I’m finally choosing me.

For years I put everyone and everything before myself, believing that was love, believing that was what God required. I poured, I served, I showed up—often at the expense of my own rest, my own healing, my own becoming. Somewhere along the way, I learned that self-neglect can disguise itself as sacrifice.

But I’m learning now that choosing me is not selfish—it’s stewardship. God entrusted me with a life, a heart, a calling, and I can’t honor what He placed in me if I keep abandoning myself.

The funny thing about life is that eventually, after the kids are grown and the noise quiets, it’s just you. We raise them. We nurture them. We watch them stretch, stumble, and soar. And while we’re busy helping them become who they’re meant to be, we often put our own becoming on hold.

Motherhood—and life itself—feels a lot like being a caterpillar longing to be a butterfly. The calling to transform is there, but the process is anything but gentle. There is rough terrain. There are storms you didn’t plan for. There are seasons where growth feels more like breaking than blooming. And yet, God does some of His most sacred work in the hidden places.

The cocoon is uncomfortable, but it is not punishment—it’s preparation.

Eventually, you reach the other side. Not because the storms never came, but because they didn’t stop you. And one day you realize you can breathe again. You’re not rushing. You’re not striving. You’re no longer surviving—you’re living. Free, not because life is perfect, but because you finally gave yourself permission to become.

This season of choosing me isn’t about walking away from love—it’s about walking toward wholeness. It’s about trusting that the same God who carried me through the storms is also inviting me to rest in the freedom on the other side.

And maybe that’s the miracle: realizing that after all the pouring out, God is still calling me to rise—wings formed, heart intact, finally free.