You're Not Falling Apart—You're Unbecoming Yourself

Last updated on November 25th, 2025 at 07:51 pm

You're Not Falling Apart—You're Unbecoming Yourself

There’s a moment in every woman’s life when she looks around and realizes the life she’s built no longer fits.

It’s not always dramatic. You just wake up one morning and the air feels different. Your favorite things don’t excite you. Your reflection looks familiar but not true. You can sense this quiet inner knowing that whatever this is, just isn’t it anymore.

That’s the whisper of unbecoming yourself.

For a long time, I thought unbecoming meant something was wrong with me. That I’d lost my spark, my direction, my purpose. That I was failing at the one thing I should be good at—being me.

But now I know: it was never about losing or fixing myself. It was about remembering who I was before I learned to perform.

What “Unbecoming” Really Means

Unbecoming is the sacred art of peeling back the layers of who you were told to be so you can return to who you’ve always been. It’s not about erasing your past or pretending it never happened. It’s about recognizing what no longer belongs to you and releasing it with compassion.

Those masks—the “good wife,” the superwoman, the emotional caretaker—may have once protected you. They helped you survive seasons you didn’t have the tools for. But survival isn’t the same as wholeness.

Unbecoming asks: Who am I when I’m not performing for love, approval, or safety? When I allow myself to just be?

It’s not fixing. Because you were never broken.
It’s not finding yourself. Because you were never lost.
It’s remembering. Reclaiming. Rediscovering and awakening to your truth. Returning.

What It Feels Like (and Why It’s So Messy)

Unbecoming rarely looks graceful.
It looks like crying for no reason. Like canceling plans because your body suddenly says no. Like staring at your closet and realizing half the clothes belong to an old version of you.

It feels like everything is falling apart. And in a way, it is.
You’re shedding identities that once defined you, and that kind of loss comes with grief.
Relief and terror will take turns sitting beside you—one minute you’ll feel free, and the next you’ll wonder who you are without the roles you used to play.

This is the cocoon. This is the fire. This is the in-between.
You’re not who you were, but you can’t quite see who you’re becoming yet.
It’s disorienting. But it’s also sacred.

The Truth About Change (Why We Resist It)

We talk about “changing your life” like it’s an action plan for changing our underwear. While we can all admit that change is inevitable (and necessary in the case of underwear), we can also admit that change feels heavy, doesn’t it? It sounds like effort. And that effort requires energy that’s already in short supply as we strive to prove we’re doing something.”

That’s why I stopped using that word.
Because when you tell a woman who’s already exhausted from holding everyone else together that she needs to change, her body hears: I’m broken. I need to fix myself. I failed.

But when you say:

“Don’t change. Just allow.”

Everything softens. Your body. Your heart. The harsh edges of heavy emotions.
You stop performing transformation and start living it.

Unbecoming isn’t about forcing yourself to let go.
It’s about allowing yourself to acknowledge what no longer serves you.
Allowing yourself to grieve what’s dying.
Allowing yourself to sit in discomfort without rushing to fix it.

That’s the medicine of the feminine — to allow without force. To grant permission to receive. To allow your becoming.

The Tattoo That Became a Promise

I have “Allow Your Becoming” tattooed on my left hip, as the body a butterfly.
I got it during one of the most uncertain chapters of my life — when I was trying to change the narrative of who I was outside of my marriage, outside of distorted roles I had played for so long.

At the time, it was a reminder to release the illusion of control over the outcome.
To trust that what was meant for me would stay and what wasn’t would gently fall away.
But now, years later, that tattoo has become a contract with my soul.

It means I will not perform healing.
I will not rush my evolution.
I will allow it.

It’s the embodiment of what I now teach:
Transformation doesn’t come from forcing change.
It comes from surrender — from allowing your becoming, even when it’s messy, even when it hurts, even when you’re grieving what you never imagined you would have to let go, even when no one else understands.

How to Walk This Part of the Journey

Here’s what unbecoming might ask of you:

Let it fall apart. Stop patching cracks in the crumbling foundation that reveal truth. Allow yourself to build from a stable foundation of authenticity, not forced roles.
Grieve the old you. She carried you as far as she could. Honor her, then allow yourself to release her. Trust me, she wants you to become the woman she needed.
Stop fixing. You’re not a project. You’re a beautiful process that you get to experience. You’re not the general contractor of others’ messes and unhealed wounds. Allow them to do the work.
Notice what feels constricting vs. expansive. Your body knows before your mind does. You are extremely capable of taking full control of your life. Trust and allow your intuition to guide you.
Allow rest. Integration is action and sometimes that action looks and feels like doing nothing at all.

And when fear whispers, What if I fail?
Answer with, What if I don’t? What if this time, I actually allow myself live free without the pressure of success needing to look a certain way?

From Falling Apart to Falling Open

It will feel like it, but you are not falling apart — you are falling open.
And there’s a world of difference.

Falling apart is chaos with no purpose.
Falling open is grace disguised as destruction.

The phoenix doesn’t rise from ashes she didn’t create.
She burns intentionally — knowing that from the ashes, she will rise truer, freer, more herself than ever before.
And the catepillar doesn’t create a chrysalis to be bound by it. She creates it to rest, to do the deep inner work, to integrate what it takes to fly, and she emerges as the butterfly.
That’s unbecoming.
That’s the beginning of your Becoming.

Your Invitation

If this resonates, if you feel the whispers of your own unbecoming, know this: you’re not alone, and you’re not crazy for wanting more. It is your soul reminding you that you came to evolve, to grow, to create a life that feels expansive. It is your invitation to become.

Allow yourself to acknowledge that invitation and to be open to what it is presenting to you. Allow the unraveling of what has been held together with duct tape disguised as hope to be revealed for what it truly is—a burden that has kept you in a cage with an open door.

If you’re reading this and nodding yes, you might be wondering: Okay, but what do I actually DO? How do I move through this without falling apart completely?

That’s the question that led me to create The Becoming Framework—a 6-phase roadmap for women navigating the sacred, messy journey from who they were told to be to who they’ve always been.

It’s not a quick fix. It’s not a 30-day transformation. It’s a framework for the REAL work—the kind that changes everything.

And I’m opening the doors to it soon.

Join my email list to receive updates, behind-the-scenes reflections, and be the first to know when the waitlist opens in late January.

Because when you allow your becoming, it deserves to be witnessed.

You’re Not Falling Apart—You’re Unbecoming Yourself