It was May, the kind of sticky Alabama evening that makes everything feel like it's melting: your patience, your makeup, your capacity for rational decisions. I remember standing on the front porch of my childhood home, suitcase in hand, wondering what on earth had led me there. Three months earlier, I had walked out of my job as an archivist, ended a relationship that was more stale than last year’s fruitcake, and decided to press the giant red button labeled RESET. That button wasn’t neatly labeled on a dashboard, mind you. It was more like a last-ditch exit ramp on a highway I had lost control of, and I was gripping the wheel with sweaty palms.

I started over. Maybe you have, too. Or maybe you’re standing at the edge of your own metaphorical porch, nervously eyeing that heavy suitcase and wondering if it’s time. Reinventing yourself can feel like skydiving without a parachute, except with more existential dread and way worse snack options (seriously, how many half-eaten bags of rice cakes can one kitchen hold?). But sometimes, starting over isn’t just a choice. It’s a lifeboat you didn’t know you needed.

Here’s what I’ve learned from my crash course in mid-20s reinvention—and why you might not just survive the leap, but thrive once you land.

The “What Now?” Moment: Listening to Your Gut (Even When It’s Screaming)

You know that scene in every rom-com where the plucky protagonist stares into the middle distance, realizing that something has to change? Sometimes, that moment doesn’t come with soft lighting or a quirky soundtrack. Sometimes, it’s quieter—a nagging whisper that you’ve outgrown your reality and it’s time to step into something new. Other times, it kicks you straight in the shins.

My “what now?” moment wasn’t particularly cinematic. I was reorganizing a set of artifact boxes in the museum basement, sweating through my blouse, and thought, “Is this what I’m meant for? Am I going to spend the rest of my life cataloging other people’s stories while mine gathers dust in the corner?” Those questions weren’t revolutionary, but they wouldn’t leave me alone.

If you find yourself in the middle of your own “what now?” moment, start by asking these questions:
- What am I most afraid of losing if I make a big change?
- What would I regret not doing five years from now?
- What has my gut been trying to tell me while I’ve been ignoring it for Netflix and takeout?

Spoiler: Your gut voice doesn’t go away. It waits for you to stop scrolling and start listening, even if it feels inconvenient or scary.

Reinvention Comes in Stages (And Yes, Lattes May Be Involved)

Before you imagine reinvention as some grand Eat, Pray, Love adventure, let me clear the air. I didn’t trek through Italy eating pasta or meditate in Bali (though, let’s be real, that would’ve been nice). Reinvention can look less like an Instagram highlight reel and more like baby steps on a wobbly, uneven staircase.

Stage 1: The Ugly Cry Stage
Accept that things may get messy. When I moved out of my cushy little one-bedroom apartment and back into my childhood home, I cried so hard I scared my parents’ dog. I labeled this phase “Sob Through Your Sweatsuit,” and yes, it’s a necessary part of the process. Let yourself mourn what you’re leaving behind, but don’t set up camp there.

Stage 2: The Grasping-At-Straws Phase
This is where you try everything—kickboxing classes, gluten-free diets, journaling by candlelight like you’re the hero of a Nicholas Sparks novel. During this phase, I got a wild idea to lead oral history workshops at community events, drawing on my academic background. Did my first attempt at this bomb because I stammered through it? Absolutely. But it planted the seeds for something bigger later on.

Stage 3: The Slow Growth Stage
Reinvention rarely comes with fireworks—it’s more like planting a garden. You show up, you dig deep, you sweat under the sun, and then one day, you see tiny green sprouts poking through the soil. For me, this has looked like writing more—short stories, personal essays, even a relationship advice column (how’s that for irony, given how my last breakup went?).

Wherever you start, be patient. Even Beyoncé didn’t wake up flawless. It’s a process, not a race.

The Art of Letting Go: Losing the Deadweight to Move Forward

Look, we’ve all carried baggage heavier than a discount suitcase from Target. For me, it was the idea that my worth was tied to what I’d achieved—or worse, what other people thought of me. Starting over meant shedding some of those beliefs and ditching the expectations I’d been dragging around like emotional barnacles.

If you’re in a reinvention phase, ask yourself:
- Is this thing I’m holding onto still serving me? Whether it’s a toxic friendship, a draining job, or even a belief like, “I’m not good enough to do XYZ,” it’s worth reexamining. - Am I prioritizing growth over comfort? Spoiler: Comfort zones are cozy, but they can also turn into cages.

It helps to let go of smaller things first—like those cringe-worthy old Facebook photos or that grudge you’ve been holding against your high school lab partner. Letting go doesn’t happen all at once, but with each step forward, you’ll feel lighter.

Finding New Ground (Even When It’s Wobbly)

Here’s an odd thing that happens after you leap. You land. Maybe not gracefully, maybe not where you expected, but eventually, your feet meet the earth again. And it’s a beautiful moment, even if it’s also terrifying.

My new “ground” looked like teaching community college courses to students who reminded me why I fell in love with stories in the first place. It looked like writing down my own narrative instead of just preserving others’. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it turned out to be better than the one I had clung to so stubbornly.

For you, that might mean starting a new job, moving to a new city, or simply waking up every day determined to put one foot in front of the other. Reinvention isn’t about completely erasing your past self. It’s about gathering up the pieces you want to keep and building something new.

Your Permission to Begin (Right Where You Are)

So, if you’re standing on your own figurative porch, staring at your suitcase and wondering if now is the time: lean into the uncertainty. My advice? Don’t wait for perfect conditions or a clean roadmap. Life isn’t a Pinterest board, and reinvention isn’t about perfection—it’s about possibility.

Start small. Leave space for messiness. Celebrate the tiny wins. And most of all, give yourself permission to believe that your next chapter might just be your best one yet.