What happens when who you were no longer fits
Some say life moves in seven-year cycles, each one carrying its own physical, emotional, and spiritual lessons, a concept often attributed to Rudolf Steiner.
For me, it feels like every decade brings a major change. Something ends, something new asks to be born.
As my 30s were coming to a close, life unraveled in ways I never expected.
I went through heartbreak. My son left to join the Marines. I lost my job, and with it, the career I had built my identity around. That chapter closed abruptly, and I didn’t yet understand what was opening.
My 40s became a decade of transformation. Not the glamorous kind. The kind that strips you down.
I realized I had not loved myself, ever.
My childhood sexual abuse trauma had quietly shaped my reactions, my choices, and the way I moved through the world. It was then that I understood that I didn’t really know who I was, because I had never learned how to have a relationship with myself.
Those realizations came through pain. Looking back, I see how I had to be stripped of what was familiar to step into a new identity.
During that time, I faced old wounds I had avoided for years. I became an entrepreneur without knowing how. And somehow, in the middle of rebuilding my life, I was guided back to the basics. Back to art.
What began quietly, almost unexpectedly, became something I had always wanted but never fully claimed. I became an artist.
As my 40s came to an end, more layers fell away.
Friendships I deeply loved ended. That loss hurt, but it was different this time. It wasn’t confusion or heartbreak. It was the clear, bittersweet knowing that a chapter had closed, and it couldn’t come with me into the next one.
I found myself saying something I had said once before: “These have been the most painful years of my life.”
Except this time, it came from understanding that it’s not about ‘them’, it’s about me. Who I was has to die so the Claudia I envision can exist.
Funny enough, every piece seems to be falling into place, not because everything is perfect, but because I’m finally learning to trust myself to meet what’s next.
On December 19th, I closed my 40s and stepped into my 50s with gratitude.
Grateful to be alive, to enjoy my family. Grateful for my health. Grateful to have the courage it takes to be this honest and share it with you. Grateful for those who stayed, even when they didn’t have to. Grateful for the future I’m building.
I know this next chapter will bring even more changes. In my work. In my words. In how I show up and what I share. You’ll see that reflected in my emails and my posts as I continue to evolve.
For now, I simply want to say thank you.
Thank you if you’ve been following my journey for years. Thank you if you’re new here. Thank you if you quietly read and find something meaningful in what I share.
If you’re standing at the edge of your own transition, closing a chapter you never imagined ending, I hope this reminds you of something important:
Endings aren’t failures. They’re thresholds.
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