A few days ago, I found a portrait of myself from 2021.
It was drawn after an innovation, art, and education event where an artist sketched the speakers.
When I first received it, I quietly put it away.
I never posted it.
I never framed it.
I barely looked at it.
At the time, I told myself a simple story:
"It looks sad."
The eyes were not bright.
The smile was barely there.
It did not look like the version of me I wanted the world to see.
So I chose the event photo instead.
The smiling version.
The confident version.
The energetic version.
The visible version.
And I left the portrait behind.
Five years later, I found it again.
This time, I did not see sadness.
I saw someone carrying many things.
Someone building programs, communities, opportunities, and dreams.
Someone supporting leaders, founders, professionals, and students.
Someone learning how to hold responsibility, uncertainty, ambition, contribution, and humanity all at once.
I saw someone strong.
And perhaps a little tired.
Not tired because she had failed.
Not tired because she was lost.
Simply tired from carrying so much for so long.
And as I looked at the portrait, I realized something that surprised me:
The portrait had not changed.
I had.
…
There comes a stage in many people's lives when they become very good at seeing everyone else.
They see opportunities.
They see problems.
They see potential.
They see what others need.
Leaders do this.
Founders do this.
Parents do this.
Coaches do this.
Caregivers do this.
And somewhere along the way, often without realizing it, they stop seeing themselves.
Not intentionally.
Life simply becomes full.
The mission becomes important.
The business becomes important.
The family becomes important.
The future becomes important.
And the person carrying all of it slowly disappears behind the roles.
Sometimes this appears as burnout.
Sometimes as restlessness.
Sometimes as a quiet feeling that everything looks successful from the outside, yet something feels missing within.
Often, what is missing is not another strategy.
It is the ability to pause and say:
"I see me."
Looking at the portrait now, I wonder whether the artist saw something I could not.
He did not draw the speaker.
He did not draw the achievements.
He did not draw the role.
He did not draw the smile from the event poster.
He drew someone quieter.
Someone softer.
Someone more inward.
Someone who seemed to know something.
A woman who was not performing.
A woman who had stopped proving.
At the time, I thought she looked sad.
Today, I think she looked honest.
And perhaps that is why I was uncomfortable.
Because honesty often reveals parts of ourselves we are not yet ready to embrace.
Over the years, through coaching, leadership, research, difficult conversations, and life itself, I have come to believe that rebirth is often misunderstood.
Many people think rebirth means becoming someone new.
A stronger version.
A more successful version.
A more confident version.
A more evolved version.
But increasingly, I see something different.
Perhaps rebirth is not becoming more.
Perhaps rebirth is becoming whole.
Not loving only the ambitious part.
Not loving only the successful part.
Not loving only the strong part.
But learning to sit beside every version of ourselves.
The afraid one.
The grieving one.
The uncertain one.
The lonely one.
The waiting one.
The hopeful one.
The one who still has questions.
The one who does not always know the next step.
The one who simply wants to be seen.
This is not only a personal journey.
It is a leadership journey.
Many leaders become exhausted not because they are carrying too much work.
They become exhausted because they feel they can only carry certain versions of themselves.
The capable one.
The responsible one.
The resilient one.
The strong one.
While quietly leaving other parts behind.
Yet the parts we leave behind do not disappear.
They wait.
Patiently.
Not demanding attention.
Not forcing their way back.
Simply waiting for an invitation.
Waiting for the moment we are finally willing to welcome them home.
The portrait sat in a drawer for five years.
Waiting.
Not unlike the woman inside it.
And perhaps that is why it feels different now.
The drawing did not change.
I did.
And for the first time, when I look at her, I do not see sadness.
I do not see weakness.
I do not see someone who needs fixing.
I simply see a human being.
And somehow, that feels more beautiful than the smiling version I was trying so hard to protect.
Because perhaps the deepest form of healing is not becoming someone else.
Perhaps it is finally allowing ourselves to see who has been here all along.
❤ Reflection Corner
What part of yourself have you been leaving in the drawer because it does not match the image you want the world to see?
What would become possible if you stopped trying to improve that part, fix that part, or hide that part...
and simply allowed yourself to see it?
"We do not become whole by loving only our light.
We become whole when every part of us finally has a place at the table."
#1000SoulsInMe #RebirthLeadership #ISeeMe #ProfessionalIdentityLearning #HumanEvolution #GPS2034 #Jen2034
