Here’s something I didn’t realize I’d need to learn as an adult: I am not just one version of me. I am a whole collection. Let me explain.

There’s the version of me who used to love a color-coded plan and felt very accomplished when everything fit neatly into a box. There’s the version of me who thought motherhood would be hard…. but manageable. There’s the version who googled “is this normal?” at 2 a.m. more times than she’d like to admit. And there’s the current version of me, standing in the kitchen, reheating her coffee for the third or fourth time while someone needs a snack, someone needs help, and someone is narrating their entire existence.

For a long time, I treated those older versions like they were mistakes I needed to outgrow. Like the goal was to become the most put-together version of myself and pretend the rest never happened. But that mindset is exhausting. Because every version of me was doing the best she could with what she knew at the time.

The teacher version of me still shows up when I’m planning lessons, organizing chaos, or explaining something for the fifteenth time. The overwhelmed mom version of me is the reason I notice when my kids are maxed out before they melt down. The version of me who felt behind learned how to slow down and stop racing imaginary timelines.

None of those versions failed. They adapted. And if you’re reading this thinking… “Yeah… I used to be more patient/more organized/ more confident/ less tired,” – same.

Holding space for every version of myself looks like this in real life:

It looks like not beating myself up when today doesn’t look like yesterday. It looks like acknowledging that I can miss who I used to be and still love who I am now. It looks like letting myself rest instead of proving I can “handle it”.

And for you? It might look like: – Giving yourself grace for the season where you’re surviving, not thriving – Letting go of who you thought you’d be by now – accepting that growth doesn’t always look like progress on paper. It’s realizing that the version of you who once had more energy, more time, or more clarity didn’t disappear – she just changed roles.

Holding space means I don’t have to choose between being capable and being tired. Or faithful or unsure. Or grateful and still overwhelmed. I get to be all of it.

Some days, holding space looks like homeschooling that happens between snacks and side conversations. Some days, it looks like laundry half folded, dinner improvised, and grace doing the heavy lifting. Some days, it looks like saying “This is enough for today,” and meaning it.

And maybe for you, it looks like: – a sink full of dishes and choosing rest anyway – a career path that doesn’t look like you planned – a body, a family, or a life that changed in ways you didn’t expect

Growth doesn’t always mean moving forward. Sometimes it means widening the table. Pulling up a chair for who you were. Making room for who you are. And trusting that who you’re becoming doesn’t require you to erase the past versions to earn it. I’m learning to hold space for all of me. And if you’re in a season where you feel like you don’t quite recognize yourself anymore? You’re not broken. You’re evolving.

And honestly that’s a pretty solid place to be.