It all unraveled with a single clink—the sound of my laptop hitting the floor. Normally, this would’ve been just a blip in the day, a manageable headache. But as I stared at the shattered screen, I realized it was more than broken glass and frayed wires. It was a metaphor for the entire year. Everything—relationships, career plans, and even my sense of self—had been dropped, cracked, and scattered.
To call it “a rough patch” would be like saying the Titanic had a minor run-in with an iceberg. This was the year everything fell apart. But here’s the thing about being adrift: it teaches you to rebuild with more intention. And, despite everything, this was also the year I discovered how to piece myself back together—one lesson, one laugh, and one “why not?” at a time.
The Breakup: When the Lighthouse Goes Dark
Let’s start with the obvious casualty of the year: my relationship. Or, as I like to call it, “The Great Romantic Shipwreck of 2023.” You know that scene in every romantic comedy where the couple fights about the same thing for the fourteenth time, then someone shouts, “I just can’t do this anymore!” and storms out? Yeah, that, minus the gently falling snow and quirky best friend providing comic relief.
Looking back, it wasn’t just about us—it was about me clinging to an outdated map of what happiness should look like. Growing up on Nantucket, I was used to lighthouses guiding me home through the fog. The problem? I expected my partner to act like one, always steering me to safer shores. But people aren’t lighthouses; they’re ships, just like you, navigating their own storms. When two vessels can’t set their course together, they inevitably drift apart.
The lesson here? Stop looking for someone to rescue you. Don’t wait for a lighthouse—learn to read the stars instead.
The Career Detour: When the Compass Spins Wildly
As if a breakup wasn’t enough, this was also the year I hit a professional dead end. I had grown comfortable in my work—too comfortable. Writing historical fiction had always been my passion, but over time, it started to feel like I was endlessly repackaging 19th-century maritime drama for an audience that already knew their bowsprits from their binnacles. Worse, I didn’t feel like I was challenging myself anymore.
Then came the moment I knew something had to change: an email from a reader complimenting me on “never stepping out of my creative comfort zone.” Ouch. It stung more than a Nantucket nor’easter cutting through your favorite summer sweater.
The truth? Growth doesn’t come from comfort. Sometimes, you have to abandon safe harbors to find uncharted waters. So I took a hard look at what inspired me—human connection, finding meaning in life’s messiness—and decided to tackle a different kind of story: one about relationships, self-discovery, and navigating modern love. It terrified me to step into new territory, but it also pushed me to grow as a writer and, unexpectedly, as a person.
The Self-Doubt Spiral: When the Anchor Drags
Of course, no personal disaster story would be complete without a healthy dose of self-doubt. Picture me standing in my kitchen at 2 a.m., eating stale crackers and Googling, “Is it normal to feel lost in your 30s?” (Spoiler alert: It is. Also, crackers past their expiration date are basically shingles in snack form.)
For weeks, I wrestled with imposter syndrome. Why couldn’t I get relationships right? Why did my career suddenly feel so off course? Why was I, a grown adult who can explain whaling-era politics in excruciating detail, incapable of fixing basic things in my life?
Eventually, I realized that self-doubt is like a fog horn: loud, glaring, and impossible to escape. But it also serves a purpose. Doubt forces you to pause, reassess, and recalibrate your course. The key is not letting it paralyze you. Instead, acknowledge it, learn from it, and keep moving forward—even if it feels like you’re rowing against the tide.
How I Started Rebuilding: A Few Simple Truths
Rebuilding a life isn’t about grand gestures or sweeping overhauls (although I did try to Marie Kondo the heck out of my cluttered closet before realizing none of my historical costume pieces “spark joy”). Instead, it’s about small, deliberate steps. Here’s what worked for me:
-
Find Your Routine Buoys
When everything feels chaotic, anchor yourself in small rituals—morning coffee, evening walks, or even a quick gratitude list scribbled on a napkin. For me, it was returning to Nantucket’s beaches in the mornings, feeling the sand beneath my feet and reminding myself there’s constancy even in change. -
Let People In
Growing up in an innkeeper’s family, I should have known better than to shut people out. But after my breakup, I fell into hermit mode faster than you can shout, “Man overboard!” It was only when I started reaching out to friends (okay, fine, after my best friend essentially staged an intervention) that I realized how much connection helps in rebuilding. -
Laugh at the Mess
Not everything needs to be a poetic journey of self-discovery. Sometimes, life is just absurd. When my bread-making phase resulted in a sourdough loaf best described as “maritime weaponry,” I learned to laugh about it—and let it remind me not to take myself too seriously. -
Celebrate Small Wins
You don’t have to conquer the world all at once. Fixing my shattered laptop screen felt like a triumphant victory—because, for that moment, it was. Recognize your progress, even if it’s tiny, and let it fuel you for the next step.
The Takeaway: Your Ship, Your Journey
By the time the year came to a close, I realized something remarkable: falling apart doesn’t just reveal the cracks in your life; it also shows you the light creeping through them. Whether you’re washing up on the shores of heartbreak, career uncertainty, or plain old existential dread, remember this: You are not your failures. You’re the captain of your ship, steering towards whatever horizon you choose next.
Sure, life will get stormy again—you don’t grow up on Nantucket without learning that weather is unpredictable. But now, I feel better equipped to face the squalls because I trust myself to navigate through them. My world didn’t come back together the way it was before, but maybe that’s the point. Sometimes, the best adventures begin when the old maps don’t apply anymore.
So, if you’re reading this and feel like your life is adrift: Grab the wheel, look up at the stars, and start charting what’s next. I promise, the horizon is closer than it seems.
