Starting Over after the Middle East

Somewhere in between my old life, and all I had built for myself, and the new life that is still under construction, I chased a man or two.

And this was the beginning of the crumbling.

For whatever reason, my life in the Middle East wasn’t meant to continue. When I went back, knowing what I wanted from my life and my lifestyle, it spat me back out when I spoke up in line with my values.

I can’t regret that.

But because of it I found myself back at the start again in the UK.

It takes years to rebuild, and that’s probably why so many avoid it.

It’s not easy. In fact it’s very risky, and it depends on your why.

But eventually, like any major internal or external change, the pain or longing becomes so sore or uncomfortable to ignore. It needs dressing.

It’s a courageous act to stand over that. And it doesn’t necessarily mean bringing it all down - every story is different - but often some form of action is eventually required.

I’ve started over voluntarily, and involuntarily. Voluntary plans fell through. What once felt safe no longer felt safe. Expectations weren’t met. Timing couldn’t have felt less wise.

And then there are moments when things work out perfectly - when it all lines up just right and you couldn’t have organised it better if you tried.

It can feel like a game of snakes and ladders.

Sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down.

It’s not the neat, linear line we often experience when we’re young. We don’t bounce back quite like we did.

And there’s a grief for the past, and for the lives I’ve had.

But there’s also a beauty in the rebuild.

A wonder in the unfolding, even when it doesn’t look like I expected - very different.

Some people wouldn’t understand it.

But there’s a strength, a wisdom, and a confidence that is born through rebirthing - something that brings the deepest satisfaction and gratification, the kind that only the deepest commitments and boldest steps could ever create.