Today I Choose to be Evolving – How to be Evolving

Since beginning Enlightenzz, I’ve noticed a personal evolution I didn’t expect. Six months ago, I was someone who wrote in private, hoarded my thoughts, and believed my experiences were too ordinary to matter.

Now I publish my mess, share my failures, and discovered that ordinary experiences are exactly what matter.

The evolution hasn’t been smooth or pretty. It’s been more like those time-lapse videos of butterflies emerging—violent, messy, nothing like the graceful transformation you imagine.

The Unexpected Evolution

Writing publicly has changed me at a cellular level. Not just my writing—me. The person who hit publish six months ago isn’t the person typing this now.

Six months ago:

• I edited out all vulnerability
• I tried to sound professional, polished, wise
• I hid behind generic advice
• I wrote what I thought people wanted
• I apologized constantly for taking up space

Now:

• Vulnerability is the starting point
• Professional is boring; real is valuable
• My specific mess is more helpful than generic wisdom
• I write what needs to be said
• I own my space without apology

This evolution wasn’t planned. I didn’t set out to transform. I just wanted to write. But writing publicly does something to you—it evolves you whether you’re ready or not.

The Physical Changes of Evolution

Evolution isn’t just mental. My body has changed:

• My posture when I write—no longer hunched in apology but sitting straight
• My breathing when I hit publish—still nervous but no longer panicked
• My face when I read comments—open instead of braced
• My hands on the keyboard—confident instead of tentative
• My voice when I talk about writing—proud instead of dismissive

Even Curtis noticed: “You carry yourself differently now. Like you know something you didn’t before.”

He’s right. I know I have something to say. That evolution—from silent to speaking—changes your entire physical presence.

Evolving in Public

The terrifying thing about online writing is you evolve in public. People can scroll back and see exactly who you were six months ago, three months ago, last week. Your evolution is documented, searchable, permanent.

My early posts make me cringe. Not because they’re badly written (though some are) but because I can see myself trying so hard to be someone else. Trying to sound like the bloggers I admired instead of sounding like me.

But that visible evolution has become a gift. People message saying, “I love seeing how your voice has developed.” They’re watching me evolve in real-time, and somehow that gives them permission to evolve too.

The Stages of Writing Evolution

Looking back, I can see distinct stages:

Stage 1: The Imitator (Months 1-2)

Copying others’ styles, topics, even sentence structures. Playing dress-up in other writers’ voices.

Stage 2: The Apologizer (Month 3)

Finding my voice but constantly undermining it. “This might not be helpful but…” “I’m probably wrong but…”

Stage 3: The Tentative Truth-Teller (Month 4)

Starting to share real experiences but wrapping them in caveats and qualifiers.

Stage 4: The Emerging Authentic (Month 5)

Occasionally forgetting to apologize. Sometimes writing something raw without editing it to death.

Stage 5: The Evolving Voice (Month 6-now)

Writing from my gut. Trusting my experiences matter. Speaking without permission.

Each stage was necessary. You can’t skip from imitation to authenticity. Evolution requires the awkward middle stages.

What Triggers Evolution

Specific moments catalyzed my evolution:

The first negative comment that didn’t destroy me. I survived criticism and realized it wasn’t fatal.

The message from a reader saying my words helped them through a dark night. My ordinary experience mattered to someone.

The post I almost didn’t publish because it was “too personal” that became my most read piece.

The moment I wrote something that made ME cry and published it anyway.

The day I realized I wasn’t writing for everyone, just for the people who needed exactly what I had to say.

Each catalyst pushed the evolution forward, even when I wanted to retreat to safety.

Evolution vs. Improvement

Evolution is different from improvement:

• Improvement makes you better at what you are
• Evolution changes what you are
• Improvement is incremental
• Evolution is transformational
• Improvement is often visible
• Evolution happens underground first

My writing has improved—better structure, clearer sentences, stronger endings. But more importantly, I’ve evolved—from someone who writes to a writer. That’s a identity-level change.

The Resistance to Evolution

Part of me resists this evolution. The old me was safer. She didn’t put herself out there. She didn’t risk judgment. She didn’t have to own her voice.

Sometimes I want to retreat, to go back to private journals and safe silence. Evolution is exhausting. It requires constantly choosing growth over comfort, truth over safety, authenticity over approval.

But evolution is irreversible. Once you’ve tasted speaking your truth, silence feels like suffocation. Once you’ve experienced connection through vulnerability, surface-level feels hollow.

The Ripple Effects of Evolution

Writing evolution has triggered evolution everywhere:

In my marriage: I’m more honest about what I need

In my work: I speak up in meetings instead of editing myself

In friendships: I share the messy truth instead of the polished version

In parenting: I admit my mistakes to my adult children

In self-talk: I’m kinder to my evolving self

Once evolution starts in one area, it spreads like water finding every crack. You can’t evolve as a writer while staying static everywhere else.

The Discomfort of Becoming

Evolution is uncomfortable. Like a lobster molting its shell, there’s a period where you’re soft, vulnerable, unprotected. Your old identity doesn’t fit but your new one isn’t solid yet.

Right now, I’m between shells. Not who I was, not yet who I’m becoming. It’s uncomfortable and exhilarating. Every post is both a shedding and a becoming.

Evolving Without a Destination

The strangest part about evolution is not knowing what you’re evolving into. I didn’t plan to become someone who writes about menopause and marriage and messy truth. I was just following the evolution wherever it led.

Six months from now, I’ll probably look back at this post and see how much more I’ve evolved. That’s both terrifying and thrilling. I’m becoming someone I haven’t met yet.

The Community of Evolution

The most unexpected gift has been finding others in their own evolution. Readers message about their own transformations. We’re all becoming together, cheering each other’s molting, celebrating new shells.

There’s something powerful about evolving in community. When you share your transformation publicly, you give others permission to transform. Your evolution becomes contagious.

Still Evolving

I’m still evolving. Every post changes me slightly. Every vulnerable share stretches me. Every truth told makes the next truth easier.

Sometimes evolution is violent—a post that cracks me open, feedback that forces growth, a realization that shatters old beliefs.

Sometimes it’s gentle—a gradual opening, a slow strengthening, an almost imperceptible shift.

But it never stops. That’s what I’ve learned. Once you start evolving, really evolving, you can’t stop. You’re either evolving or dying. There’s no static state.

The Permission to Evolve

At 61, I’m giving myself full permission to evolve. To contradict my younger self. To change my mind. To become someone my family doesn’t recognize. To surprise myself with who I’m becoming.

Evolution doesn’t end at any age. If anything, it accelerates when you realize you don’t have unlimited time to become who you’re meant to be.

Your Own Evolution

Whatever evolution you’re in—career, relationships, identity, creativity—trust it. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when you can’t see where it’s leading. Even when you want to retreat to your old shell.

Evolution knows what it’s doing. Your job is just to not resist it too much. To let yourself become, publicly or privately, messily or gracefully, quickly or slowly.

Six months ago, I was someone who thought about starting a blog. Now I’m someone who writes publicly about the intimate details of life. That evolution happened one post at a time, one vulnerable share at a time, one small becoming at a time.

Your evolution is waiting. It might be writing. It might be something else entirely. But it’s there, pulling you toward who you’re meant to become.

Let it happen. Document it if you’re brave. Share it if you’re willing. But most importantly, don’t resist it.

Because evolution—real evolution—is how we become who we were always meant to be. Even if we don’t know who that is yet.

Especially then.