At 4:00 a.m., everything feels louder.
The alarm. The silence. The thoughts I try not to think during the day.
I get up in the dark, move through my routine half-awake, and leave the house by 5, at the latest 5:10. By the time most people are waking up, I have already been awake for hours. I have already driven through the dark, sat in traffic, thought about turning around, and talked myself into doing it anyway.
Life has been lifing.
A new job, although I am doing the same thing. A new location. A new routine that still does not feel like mine.
On paper, it sounds like progress. It is progress. I know that. I changed companies, stepped into something new, and kept moving forward. But there is a version of the story that does not make it into the announcements, the congratulations, or the “you should be proud of yourself.”
The truth is that sometimes change is hard, even when it is the right change.
Sometimes the thing you wanted still costs more than you expected.
No one really talks about the strange grief that comes with starting over. Even when nothing is technically wrong. Even when you chose this. Even when you are grateful.
I miss sleeping in a little later. I miss having time in the morning that’s mine. I miss not feeling rushed before the sun comes up. I miss the version of my life that felt familiar.
There is something about leaving your house before sunrise that makes you feel untethered. The world is still asleep. The roads are dark. Your body has not yet caught up to your decisions.
And maybe that has been the hardest part.
Not the work itself. Not even the drive.
It is the feeling of being between versions of myself.
I am not who I was before this change. But I do not fully feel like the person I am becoming either.
I know this feeling is not only about a job.
It is about what happens when life moves faster than your spirit can adjust.
It is about trying to be grateful and exhausted at the same time.
It is about knowing you are growing while secretly wondering why growth feels so lonely.
There are days when I sit in my car before work and ask myself if this is what “better” was supposed to feel like. Then you get text messages with good news, and you realize this may be what you are supposed to be doing.
And when I finally make it home, all I want to do is sleep.
So I do.
I come home exhausted in a way that feels bigger than being tired. I fall asleep for a few hours, wake up, try to salvage what is left of the evening, and then do it all again the next day. The things that make me feel like myself, writing, creating, resting, even just having a quiet moment, have started to feel farther away; it still gets done because that is me, but it still feels distant.
It is hard not to wonder where I went in all of this. I thought maybe a new opportunity would feel exciting every day. I thought I would feel more certain. More settled. More accomplished.
Instead, some mornings I just feel tired.
Tired of waking up before the sun.
Tired of pretending that being strong means never admitting when something is difficult.
Tired of acting like every new chapter is beautiful while I am still mourning the last one.
But maybe this is what no one tells you about becoming.
You do not become a new version of yourself all at once.
You become her slowly.
In traffic.
In exhaustion.
In the mornings, when you want to stay in bed but end up getting up anyway.
In the moments when everything feels unfamiliar, you keep going.
Every day I wake up at 4 a.m., I am starting over.
I am learning a new rhythm. A new route. A new version of what my life looks like.
And maybe I do not have to have it all figured out yet.
Maybe I am allowed to miss what used to be while still making room for what could be.
Maybe I am allowed to say this is hard without feeling guilty about it.
Maybe I am not failing to adjust.
Maybe this is just what becoming looks like when life changes faster than your heart can catch up.
And maybe one day, 4:00 a.m. will not feel like the middle of nowhere.
Maybe one day it will feel like the beginning.
xoxoxo
Meli Mel