And why getting back to normal may be the wrong goal

I took some time away this week to honor an important anniversary.

And this morning, I found myself thinking about how we return to “normal.” To our sense of self and the rhythm of those around us. To our routines.

After grief, illness, disappointment, or failure. After betrayal, a deep wounding, or a season that forever changed us, we often assume returning means picking up right where we left off, without missing a beat.

That’s not how it has ever been for me. The person who returns is a new version of myself. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. The person who comes back isn’t quite the person who left. She’s older, more experienced, often wiser and more confident. Her capacity may be different. Her priorities may have rearranged themselves. Things that once felt urgent may not feel particularly important anymore. Things barely noticed before can suddenly matter enormously.

I remind myself often that:

Companies close, relationships change, people die, babies are born. Opportunities appear and disappear without explanation. The future we were certain we were building can evaporate. So how do we talk to ourselves when the unexpectedly good or devastatingly bad happens?

Are we kind, realistic, understanding? Do we give ourselves time and space to process? Or do we demand the same pace, expectations, ambitions, and operating system we left with? Do we acknowledge the update, or do we expect ourselves to power back up exactly as we did before?

A client came to me after losing a position she’d spent years working toward. She expected the hardest part to be finding the next job. It wasn’t. The harder part was that she kept trying to become the person she’d been before it happened. She wanted her ambition back, her confidence. She wanted to show up confidently and with certainty about where she was headed. The problem was that she kept measuring her progress against a version of herself who existed before the loss.

At some point I asked her, “What if the previous version of yourself isn’t the person we’re trying to get back?”

There was a long pause. Because the truth dawned and she realized she wasn’t that person any longer. That’s why it felt so hard…so forced. And that didn’t mean something had gone wrong. It meant that she needed to accept the expanded, different version of herself who was here now. 

Eventually an opportunity showed up that she would never have envisioned for herself. What struck me was that when the opportunity appeared, she could see it. The person she’d been previously, that she was desperate to recover, might have dismissed it. The person she had become was curious and confident enough to say, “yes.”

I’ve spent much of my professional life helping people recognize the patterns that once helped them survive but no longer fit the life they’re trying to build. I’m realizing there are moments when life itself gives us an opportunity to do exactly that. Sometimes it gives it to us gently. Sometimes it dishes out a lesson we don’t feel ready for.

Either way, I think these questions are important:

What am I returning to?

Who am I today?

Who is here now?

And what does this returning ask of me?

Maybe returning isn’t about getting back to normal. Maybe it’s an opportunity to notice what is no longer normal for us.

I don’t think our longing to “get back to normal” is always a longing to feel like ourselves again. I think sometimes it’s a longing to feel in control again. Because disruption confronts us with something we’d rather not acknowledge:

So much of life is outside our control.

I’m returning to my work this week, but I’m not particularly interested in getting “back to where I was.” I’m much more interested in discovering where I am now, who I’ve grown to be, and what’s beckoning me forward. Maybe that’s the work after disruption. It’s not about controlling every aspect of what comes next. And it’s not about replicating what was simply to preserve the status quo.

I don’t want to recreate what was in my life last year, last month, or even last week. I want to engage fully with what shows up today. Now. And engaging with what shows up…while influencing what I can, requires me to let go of the illusion that I’m in control of all of it.

My successes and failures aren’t simply reflections of my performance, my decisions, or the risks I’ve taken. Outcomes are also shaped by things I didn’t choose, couldn’t predict, and will never control. That’s difficult to acknowledge in a culture that loves to turn both success and failure into evidence of individual merit or value. Sometimes we make excellent decisions and things fall apart. Sometimes we’re handed an opportunity we could never have orchestrated. Sometimes life simply happens.

So after an unexpected opportunity or an unexpected loss, perhaps the question isn’t: How quickly can I get back to where I was?

Maybe returning isn’t really returning at all. Maybe it’s meeting the person who is here now and asking: What does she need to move forward from here?

What about you? Who is here now and what does that version of you need?