Rebranding Myself — Not for Business, for Survival

Have you ever looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back? Not because of age or exhaustion, but because somewhere along the way, you became someone you didn’t choose. Someone you no longer even liked. I used to have this picture of what life would be — soft-focus, Brady Bunch vibes. I'd raise my kids with calm wisdom, the house would be warm, I’d always have a handle on things. It wasn’t perfection I wanted — just peace.

But reality?

Reality came in messy, loud, and unrelenting. Somewhere between trying to keep everyone else afloat and suppressing every version of myself that didn’t “fit,” I burned out. Not loudly. Quietly. In the kind of way where your smile still works, your calendar is full, but you feel nothing. Or worse — you feel rage, and then guilt, and then nothing again. Lately, I’ve felt like I’m carrying a dozen versions of me — mother, fixer, creator, emotional first responder. Everyone’s “strong one. The one who’s always got an idea, a plan, a damn quote to make someone else feel better.

But me?

I felt cracked open.

Empty.

And tired of being the wise one, the responsible one, the woman who’s supposed to have it all sorted just because she’s in her thirties. Here’s the truth I’ve been scared to admit: I didn’t want to level up. I didn’t want a glow-up, or a new habit tracker, or a makeover. I wanted to survive myself. The Moment I Realized I Was Done. It didn’t happen in one big, cinematic breakdown. No glass-shattering moment. No dramatic walk-out. It was smaller than that. It was a Tuesday — the kind where nothing technically went wrong, but everything felt wrong. I remember standing in the kitchen, dinner half-burnt, my kids arguing in the next room, and this thought hit me like a whisper: I don’t even know who’s living this life anymore. 

I wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.

I had built this version of me that was so good at keeping things running that she forgot to feel anything while doing it. And that scared me — because when you stop feeling, you stop living. You just perform. That night, I sat in the dark after everyone went to bed and decided: I can’t keep performing a life that doesn’t feel like mine. So I started peeling it all back — painfully, messily, like skin that’s grown too tight.

The “always strong” one.

The “always composed” one.

The “you’re so inspiring” one.

Each version had served me once. But now, they were walls I’d built to survive seasons that had already ended. I wanted softness again. Not the weak kind — the honest kind. The kind that lets you cry without apologizing, rest without guilt, and rebuild without needing permission. And maybe that’s what rebranding really is — not changing who you are to impress people, but returning to who you were before the world told you who to be. Maybe these are just the scattered thoughts of my chaotic mind. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel different. But tonight, this is the truest thing I know: I’m not rebranding for likes, or for business, or for anyone else. 

I’m rebranding for survival.

For softness.

For me.