Two Years in the Wilderness

I was at home when I found out.

And just like that, the ocean pulling back before a wave, it hit me.

The safety net disappeared.

It was like someone pulled the rug from underneath everything I had built, and I just stood there in the middle of it trying to remember what to do.

That was the beginning of two years I will never forget.

 

I had worked for everything I had. Fought through rejections. Kept educating myself. Kept advocating for myself. Kept pressing and pushing through every ceiling that tried to stop me.

And I had arrived. A career I had built from the ground up with my bare hands. 

My worth was wrapped in what I did. Not who I was. I didn’t know that yet. I would learn it the hard way.

The lowest point wasn’t the day I got laid off.

The lowest point was the months after. The bills that needed to be paid. The reaching out and hearing nothing back. The grasping at straws.

There is a particular kind of hopelessness that is empty and quiet and confusing all at once. Uncertain of everything. Even yourself.

I cried. I questioned. I wondered why. I sat with the silence and waited for an answer.

And slowly, slowly… I started to listen for it. 

The turning point wasn’t a single moment. It was a leaning.

I leaned into faith when I had nothing else to lean on. I leaned into creativity when the corporate path closed. And somewhere in that leaning, I started to find myself again, the self that had been buried under titles and achievements and the relentless pursuit of arrival.

I began rebuilding. New habits. Gratitude. Learning to be happier with less. I traveled. I loved. I found purpose in a space I was actually passionate about. I laughed and cried and had quality time with people who actually mattered.

Space was made for rest, for reflection, for rediscovery.

I found my voice. Connected to my true self. Explored what I actually wanted. Tapped into my real passion. 

It wasn’t linear. There were still hard days. There still are. But something was shifting underneath it all.

Here is what two years in the wilderness gave me that success never could:

Discernment. Resilience. Wisdom. Gratitude. A creativity born from necessity. A faith forged in fire. The ability to recognize true kindness. The people who showed up when I had nothing to offer them. Miracles I would have missed if life had stayed comfortable. And a strength I only discovered because I had no choice but to find it.

You cannot buy those things. You cannot shortcut your way to them. You can only live your way there.

It reminds me of Proverbs 19:21, “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails.” I lived that verse for two years. 

I needed the lesson. I needed to return to who I was before the titles told me who I was supposed to be. I needed to learn that my worth was never in the role. Never in the achievement. Never in the arrival.

It was always in me. 

I won’t tell you the wilderness wasn’t hard. It was. Some days it still is.

But I will tell you this, sometimes it has to be harder before it gets easier. Sometimes the redirect that feels like devastation is actually the most loving thing that could have happened to you.

The wilderness wasn’t a punishment. It was a preparation.

 And if you are in yours right now, if you are in the middle of the hard, the hopeless, the grasping at straws, I want you to hear this:

You are not lost.

You are being found.

Keep going. Trust the redirect. The wilderness always ends. 💕

If this resonated with you, you can support Amielle over on Buy Me a Coffee. Every little bit keeps the words flowing. ☕