the sacred strength of starting again

you're not behind. you're becoming.

There is something sacred about a restart.

This past week, in Nashville, the storms have been relentless.

Since Wednesday evening, they’ve rolled in, one after another, after another. I woke at 3 am on Thursday to the emergency alert blaring from my phone: “Tornado Warning. Seek immediate cover.”

At first, I was groggy. Then it went again. Then I could hear the kids’ phones buzzing too. By the time I sat up, the sirens began to blare.

view from my dining room window at 3:30 am after the warning passed

Five years ago, in the middle of the night, a tornado raced through our town, destroying the middle school and grade school. That night was similar — being woken to alerts, hearing the sirens, but that time also the unrecognizable roar of a tornado.

Everything shut down as the school board scrambled to figure out the next steps and where these now-displaced students would attend school. But then, less than two weeks later, the pandemic took over, and the schools never reopened after that early March thunderstorm day.

For several years, the middle school, visible from the main street, sat in ruins. Red tape. Insurance. Debates over who was to pay and who would rebuild. One of my kids, now in college, once looked at the rubble and said, “That was my science room, Mom.”

That science room, with lessons still on the board, sat exposed to the sky.

So when the sirens wailed this past week, we all woke up, went downstairs, and waited. (Thankfully, it was just radar-indicated upper atmosphere rotation and no tornado touchdown near me. Though sadly, many others across the South were not as fortunate.)

In the days since, the storms haven’t stopped. More sirens, winds, flood warnings, and roads closed. The sky just keeps opening up.

And I keep thinking how it’s kind of like life and progress.

We set these grand and powerful goals. We make plans and spreadsheets.

And then something interrupts.

Sometimes it’s just life, and sometimes something unexpected crashes in, and instead of moving forward, we’re soaked by what we didn’t see or didn’t expect was coming.

We sit in our proverbial cars, wipers on overdrive, waiting to see, waiting for a break until we can move forward. But, friends, what if our invitation isn’t to wait until the skies are cleared?

What if progress, at times, is movement within the storms or while the thunder still echoes?

I am the queen of starting over.

In fact, I’ve probably started things over more times than I can count. Honestly, for a long time, that frustrated me. I used to see it as proof that I was behind. That I hadn’t figured out life like everyone else seemed to.

But here’s the thing: I didn’t say I’m the queen of quitting.

I said I’m the queen of starting over.

Which means deep down, there’s grit in me.

There’s a thread of hope I keep grabbing, even when I’m tired. There’s a part of me that realizes that even the label — starting over — is discrediting how far I’ve already come. That negative to the label misses the growth that came before or the storms weathered or the courage to step up and start again.

We don’t talk about it enough:

Starting over isn’t a failure.

It’s a rebellion against shame.

It’s a quiet, powerful act of hope when everything inside says it doesn’t matter.

It’s a brave whisper that says, “I still believe there is good ahead. The sun is coming.”

It’s not easy. I know. I get it. (Remember the queen of starting over?) It’s hard because sometimes we carry these identity beliefs. They show up as whispers in the middle of the storm and instead of helping us stand, keep us stuck. Waiting.

I’m too much.

I’m not enough.

I always mess it up.

I should have it together by now.

They sneak in, those whispered lies in the storm, trying to convince our hearts that we’re not worthy of a new beginning or starting again. Sometimes they try to tell us we’ve used up our chances or that it’s too late.

Friend. Listen to me — those are outdated scripts.

It’s like turning on Hulu with last night’s tornado or flood warning still flashing across the screen. Even though it’s sunny outside, the warning is still there. But it’s not active, not accurate, and not needed.

the last several days

You are allowed to rewrite your script. To look outside (or in your heart) and to reassess. You’re allowed to believe new things about yourself, to move forward in a storm, and to yes, begin again. Without shame in starting again, but with pride in your strength, tenacity, and grit. You’re allowed to look at your life with fresh eyes and say, “This is not where my story ends.”

Now, listen, one more thing — beginning again doesn’t need to look super grand, sparkly, glittery, and amazing. It might be drinking a cup of water instead of coffee. Or running to the stop sign and walking the rest of your mileage. It might be writing one paragraph instead of a whole chapter. Or even a line. It might be saying, “I’m sorry,” or “I forgive you,” or “I’m trying my best.” And it might be deciding to do one thing today that moves you forward.

It might not feel big, but it’s brave.

You know why? Life isn’t about perfection. Life is about becoming.

And becoming means giving yourself permission to start again — even if it’s the 5th, 15th, or 50th time. You’re not behind, my friend, especially when you’re still trying.

Here’s what I really want you to remember: You’re not starting from scratch.

You’re starting from experience. You have wisdom, courage, perspective, grace, humility, knowledge, and grit.

And if right now is a stormy season, remember what we’ve learned from sirens, schools, and skies torn open: eventually the clouds part, the sun returns, and we rebuild.

Stronger.

We’ve got this. You’ve got this.

And you, my friend, are always allowed to begin again.

~Rachel

This is part of an ongoing series on rebuilding from the inside out.
In the full edition (for members), you’ll get six more guided journal prompts + powerful mini activities to help you reframe “starting over” — not as failure, but as proof of your resilience.

These prompts are designed to help you shift your identity beliefs, uncover your grit, and move forward with more clarity and self-trust.

Here’s one to begin with…

1. Ponder & Journal: When you’ve had to start over before, what did you tell yourself — and what would you love to believe instead?

   Even the quietest inner phrases shape the way we see ourselves. Think of a line you’ve repeated during restarts (like “I never get this right”), then write a new one grounded in grace and growth. Your words matter! Let’s work this week to choose ones that help you move forward.

   Because here’s the truth: That old phrase might’ve helped you survive once, but it doesn’t get to shape where you’re headed next. You do.

   Activity: Write your new identity truth (e.g., “I keep going” or “I’m learning as I grow”) on a sticky note and place it somewhere you’ll see it daily. Then go one step bolder: Set a recurring phone alarm with that phrase as the message. Let it gently interrupt your day with truth. Think of it as a little reminder from you to you that you’re doing better than you think, that you can do hard things, and that you are strong.