The Quiet Shape of Freedom

I often see posts asking, What advice would you give your 20-year-old self?
They always feel relevant to me — not because I’m stuck in the past, but because the younger woman I used to be still drifts through my mind from time to time.

It’s never long.
Never heavy.

She appears the way a movie trailer does — a few fast scenes, a familiar feeling, and then she’s gone again.

Sometimes it’s a moment.
Sometimes it’s a decision.
And sometimes it’s the memory of sitting across from someone else, believing they were holding the map.

When she shows up, I don’t want to lecture her.
I don’t want to explain how everything turns out.

What I want to do is sit down at the table with her.

I want to pour us a glass of wine, put her face in my hands, look her in the eyes, and say:

You are going to be okay.
You don’t need to look so hard for the answers.
They’re already in your heart.

I would say it just like that — because details would be too much.
And because wisdom, I’ve learned, doesn’t arrive as instructions.
It arrives as trust.

Looking for the Answer Outside Myself

In my twenties, I was chasing something.
Success. Money. Achievement.

Nothing unusual for a young person trying to find her footing.

I watched what everyone around me was doing and mimicked it. That has always been my way of learning — observe, practice, do. I was good at it. I still am.

I remember sitting across from people I thought of as mentors.
Successful people — money, cars, careers, polished lives.

I’d meet them for coffee.
Go to happy hours.
Listen carefully… or at least I thought I was listening.

But the truth is, I wasn’t really hearing them.

I was waiting.

Waiting for the opening where I could say I wanted to work for them.
Waiting to see if they knew someone who could give me the job that would finally get me there — wherever there was supposed to be.

I believed there was a right job.
A right path.
A single door that, once opened, would set me free.

The Quiet Burnout of a People Pleaser

What I slowly realized — without fully naming it at the time — was that I wanted more than money or perceived success.

I wanted to be appreciated.

I worked hard. I never missed a day. I showed up early, stayed late, did more than was asked. I was — and still am — a people pleaser.

And a people pleaser burns out fast.

After ten years on the wheel, I didn’t crash.
I didn’t rebel.

I quietly bowed out.

I packed a backpack, paint brushes, and left for two years on the road.

What I Was Really Looking For

I wouldn’t be here now without that lost girl — the one who desperately wanted to find the job that would set her free.

Even then, I think I knew what I wanted.
Maybe subconsciously. Maybe consciously.

I wanted freedom.

The years of experimenting and exploring weren’t about finding the answer.
They were about discovering what I wanted to be free from.

Over time, I came to see something clearly:

There is no ending.

When I worked in sales, life was measured in months. You grind toward the goal, cross the finish line (or miss it), feel a rush of relief — and then the month resets.

The relief is brief.
And the wheel starts turning again.

Why She Keeps Appearing

I’ve written about younger Hanna a few times now.
And lately, as I’ve felt the urge to write about her again, I’ve started to wonder why she keeps popping up.

When I stop and reflect, I think it’s because I appreciate where I am so deeply.

Young Hanna did a lot of living to get here.
A lot of growing.
She endured pain, took risks, experimented, and wandered — sometimes willingly, sometimes because life pushed her there.

And I think, in her own way, she always wanted this.

A home.
A family.
A partner to build a life with.
A rhythm that feels grounded and real.

She was just in a hurry to arrive.

Along the way, there were moments that shook her — moments that made her question whether the life I’m living now was even the life she wanted. But time has a way of clarifying what fear can distort.

I think young Hanna keeps visiting because I finally understand what she was doing.

She wasn’t lost.
She was becoming.

And now, standing where I am — tending to a home, loving my children, building a life alongside my partner — I feel a deep gratitude for her.

I feel lucky.
And I think she wants to be seen for that.

Choosing the Wheel

Life is made of wheels.

Work has its wheel.
Motherhood has its wheel — meals, laundry, activities, cleaning, repeating again tomorrow.

Being on a wheel isn’t good or bad.
It just is.

What matters is which wheel you choose to stand on — and whether you’re awake to the choice.

Freedom, I’ve learned, isn’t about escaping the wheel.
It’s about stepping onto one consciously.

And maybe what we really need to free ourselves from aren’t the responsibilities or rhythms of life — but the ideas of what we think life should be.

We aren’t here to solve life.
We’re here to experience it.

So loosen your grip on the expectations.
Let go of the imagined finish lines.
And let it be what it is.

Young Hanna did find her way to freedom.
Not by escaping the wheel —
but by choosing it, with her eyes open. 💛