I Am Not Who I Used to Be
I Am Not Who I Used to Be
The Quiet Art of Evolving, Aging Gracefully, and Coming Home to Myself
Sometimes I look at my life and wonder:
When did I change?
There wasn't one dramatic morning when I woke up and became a different person.
There wasn't a particular birthday.
There wasn't one defining moment.
I simply... changed.
Quietly.
Slowly.
Almost invisibly.
And perhaps that's why I didn't notice.
We Don't Always See Ourselves Changing
When you live in the same house for many years, something interesting happens.
The walls stay familiar.
The furniture becomes familiar.
The neighborhood becomes familiar.
The routines become familiar.
You see the same people.
You drive the same roads.
You go to the same stores.
You wake up in the same bedroom.
And because everything around you looks familiar, you assume that you are familiar too.
But you're not.
You have been changing the entire time.
Your environment may look almost exactly the same while the person living inside it has quietly become someone else.
That's why sometimes we need a moment—a conversation, a vacation, an old photograph, a memory, a difficult situation—to suddenly realize:
“Wait. I'm different now.”
We Don't Notice Improvement Because It Happens in Small Pieces
I used to think growth would feel obvious.
I imagined becoming wiser would feel like reaching some great milestone.
But most growth doesn't happen that way.
It happens in tiny moments.
The day you don't react to something that once would have destroyed your peace.
The day you finally say no.
The day you don't buy something simply because it's on sale.
The day you let your child choose her own style.
The day you walk away instead of arguing.
The day you listen without absorbing someone else's energy.
The day you choose rest instead of productivity.
The day you choose yourself without feeling guilty.
The day you recognize that something no longer belongs in your life.
The day you forgive yourself for something you once judged yourself for.
The day you realize:
“I handled that better than I would have before.”
And then you keep living.
You don't celebrate it.
You don't write it down.
You don't put a gold star beside your name.
You simply continue.
Until one day you look backward and realize:
I've changed.
Sometimes We Only Remember the Highlight Reel
When life becomes difficult, lonely or confusing, we often travel backward in our minds.
We remember the best years.
The laughter.
The adventures.
The beautiful photographs.
The first love.
The exciting beginnings.
The places we traveled.
The people we loved.
The moments that became core memories.
And suddenly the past looks almost magical.
We wonder:
“Why can't I feel that way anymore?”
But memory has a funny way of editing our lives.
We remember the laughter and forget the exhaustion.
We remember the adventure and forget the uncertainty.
We remember the romance and forget the difficult conversations.
We remember the freedom and forget the struggles.
We remember the beautiful photograph and forget what was happening outside the frame.
The past wasn't only beautiful.
It was also messy.
There were sad days.
There was lack.
There was confusion.
There were mistakes.
There were arguments.
There were disappointments.
There were things we didn't understand.
There were moments when we felt lonely.
There were moments when we were simply trying to survive.
And yet, somehow, those difficult days helped build the person who exists today.
I Don't Want to Go Back
For a while, I thought I wanted my old magic back.
I wanted the carefree woman.
The woman who walked around Hollywood with wide eyes and somehow found herself in unexpected adventures.
The woman who laughed easily.
The woman who didn't take everything so seriously.
The woman who felt spontaneous.
The woman who was curious about everything.
But now I understand something.
I don't want to go backward.
I want to bring the best of that woman forward.
I want her curiosity.
Her laughter.
Her playfulness.
Her openness.
Her sparkle.
Her willingness to be surprised by life.
But I also want the wisdom I have earned since then.
I don't want innocence without discernment.
I don't want openness without boundaries.
I don't want freedom without responsibility.
I don't want excitement at the expense of peace.
I want both.
The woman I was and the woman I have become.
Aging Is Not Losing Yourself
There is another thing I am learning:
Aging is not the disappearance of beauty.
It is the deepening of it.
We live in a culture that often makes women feel as though getting older is something we should fight.
Hide the years.
Hide the changes.
Pretend nothing happened.
Try to look like the person you were twenty years ago.
But what if I don't want to fight time?
What if I want to meet it?
What if I want to age gracefully with awareness?
What if every line on my face can simply say:
I lived.
I laughed.
I cried.
I loved.
I struggled.
I raised a child.
I built things.
I lost things.
I began again.
I survived.
I became wiser.
There is beauty in that.
I Am Evolving
Maybe improvement isn't even the word.
Because improvement suggests that there was something wrong with the person I used to be.
There wasn't.
She was simply at an earlier point in her journey.
The word I like better is:
Evolution.
I am evolving.
My ideas evolve.
My boundaries evolve.
My relationships evolve.
My style evolves.
My priorities evolve.
My definition of success evolves.
My definition of love evolves.
My definition of vacation evolves.
My relationship with home evolves.
My relationship with motherhood evolves.
My creativity evolves.
My understanding of myself evolves.
And that's okay.
I don't owe anyone the same version of me forever.
Even the People We Love Are Evolving
This realization has also changed the way I look at other people.
My husband has changed.
My family has changed.
Vela is changing.
Everyone is becoming someone new.
And sometimes we struggle because we continue relating to the version of someone we remember.
My husband may still remember the woman who came from Bacolod, the City of Smiles, and joined him in Canada after we married.
My family may still remember the role I once played within the family.
And I may still remember who they used to be.
We all carry photographs of one another.
But photographs don't move.
People do.
Perhaps some of our conflicts happen because we keep asking present-day people to behave according to an old photograph.
Maybe relationships sometimes need to be renegotiated.
Not because the past was wrong.
But because the people in the relationship have changed.
The Quietest Changes Can Be the Most Powerful
I think about myself now.
I can sit quietly at home and enjoy my own company.
I can spend time with Vela and let her be herself.
I can create music.
I can write.
I can build businesses.
I can organize women's wellness programs.
I can choose what I buy.
I can choose what I eat.
I can decide when I need rest.
I can notice someone's energy without absorbing it.
I can be protective without becoming combative.
I can be angry without letting anger become my identity.
I can say no.
I can change my mind.
I can walk away.
And sometimes I can simply laugh and say:
“Return to sender.”
😂
These things don't feel revolutionary when I am living them.
They feel ordinary.
But they aren't.
They are evidence.
Evidence that I have evolved.
Maybe We Need to Stop Waiting to Feel “Transformed”
Perhaps we're looking for the wrong thing.
We expect transformation to feel dramatic.
But real transformation can be incredibly quiet.
You simply wake up one morning and realize:
The things that used to bother me don't bother me as much.
The things I used to chase don't interest me anymore.
The things I once tolerated no longer feel acceptable.
The things I once feared don't frighten me in the same way.
The things I once thought were boring now feel peaceful.
And suddenly:
You like being home.
You like your own company.
You don't need to buy everything.
You don't need to go everywhere.
You don't need to impress everyone.
You don't need to explain yourself.
You don't need to win every argument.
You don't need to be everywhere online.
You simply want to live.
I Am Better Today Than Yesterday
This is the promise I want to give myself.
Not:
“I will be perfect tomorrow.”
Not:
“I will never struggle again.”
Not:
“I will never be triggered.”
Not:
“I will always know what to do.”
Simply:
I am better today than yesterday.
Maybe I'm a little wiser.
Maybe I'm a little softer.
Maybe I'm a little more discerning.
Maybe I'm a little more courageous.
Maybe I'm a little more honest with myself.
That's enough.
Because tomorrow I may understand something else.
And that is beautiful.
I Don't Need to Fear Getting Older
I used to think growing older meant losing something.
Now I think it can mean gaining depth.
There are things I couldn't understand at twenty.
Things I couldn't understand at thirty.
Things I couldn't understand when I first arrived in Canada.
Things I couldn't understand when I became a mother.
Things I couldn't understand when I built my businesses.
Things I couldn't understand before I experienced disappointment.
Things I couldn't understand before I learned boundaries.
But now I understand a little more.
And I know there is still so much I don't know.
That doesn't frighten me anymore.
It excites me.
Because there is still room to evolve.
Coming Home to Myself
Perhaps this is what my Project 180 has really been about.
Not becoming someone completely new.
Not fixing myself.
Not going backward.
Not recreating my past.
Not chasing youth.
Not chasing destinations.
Not chasing other people's approval.
But slowly coming home to myself.
The woman who was there before.
The woman who grew through everything.
The woman who changed.
The woman who survived.
The woman who laughed.
The woman who cried.
The woman who became a mother.
The woman who became an artist.
The woman who built businesses.
The woman who learned to protect her peace.
The woman who learned to enjoy solitude.
The woman who is learning to be feminine again.
The woman who still wants to play.
The woman who still wants glitter.
The woman who still wants adventure.
The woman who also wants a quiet bath and an early morning at home.
She is all of them.
Maybe This Is Grace
Perhaps aging gracefully isn't about accepting that we are getting older.
Perhaps it's about embracing that we are becoming.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until the very end.
We don't have to remain the same person just because other people remember us that way.
We don't have to return to old versions of ourselves simply because they were happier in someone's memory.
We don't have to romanticize our past.
We can honor it.
We can thank it.
We can carry its wisdom.
We can laugh at it.
We can grieve it.
And then we can keep walking.
Forward.
And Today, I Am Grateful
I am grateful for the woman I was.
I am grateful for the woman I am.
And I am curious about the woman I will become.
I don't know exactly who she is yet.
But I know she will be wiser.
And perhaps softer.
And perhaps freer.
And perhaps more playful.
And perhaps more courageous.
And I know she will still have difficult days.
Because being alive means continuing to change.
So I no longer need to ask:
“Where did my old magic go?”
Maybe the magic didn't disappear.
Maybe it evolved.
Maybe I evolved with it.
And maybe the most beautiful thing I can say to myself today is simply:
I am not who I used to be.
And thank goodness.
Because I am becoming someone I genuinely love.
I am better today than yesterday.
And tomorrow...
I will have the privilege of becoming again.
— Julie
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