Learning to Step Forward Without My First Witness

There’s a certain kind of courage that comes with returning to something you once loved. Not trying something new — but stepping back into a part of yourself that already knows the way.

For me, that part has always been creative. Art. Expression. Making something out of nothing and trusting that it matters.

She was always there for it. 🤍

Every version of me that dared to create had her somewhere nearby — watching, encouraging, commenting, reminding me that what I was doing was worth doing. She didn’t just support the work. She witnessed it. Which, I’ve learned, is a different kind of love altogether.

Now, as I step back into visibility, into expression, into a new chapter that feels both thrilling and exposed — I feel her absence in a way that’s sharper than I expected. This was our terrain.

She would have been front and centre for this moment. Asking questions. Offering opinions. Hyping me up. Making it feel less lonely to put something tender into the world.

For the first time, I’m stepping forward alone.

People say time heals. I’m not sure that’s true. What time has done for me is clarify where she belonged. The more I return to my creative voice, the more I feel the space where she used to stand.

The strange thing is this: the more I commit to my work, the more I miss her belief in it. Not because I can’t do this without her — but because she believed in me before I learned how to believe in myself.

She gave the pep talks. She held the excitement. She carried the certainty. Now, I’m learning how to do that from the inside.

This year has been described as the Year of the Horse — a year of movement, creative energy and forward momentum. Not the reckless kind. The kind that asks you to trust your legs, your instincts, your ability to carry yourself where you need to go 🐎

That feels true for me.

Stepping forward doesn’t feel dramatic. It feels honest. Like answering a quiet internal call without looking around to see who’s watching.

Maybe that’s what growth actually asks of us.

Not to abandon the people who walked with us — but to carry their belief forward when they no longer can.

I don’t know exactly how this chapter will unfold. What I do know is that every time I create, I feel the echo of her presence — not beside me anymore, but behind me. Steady. Proud. Unmistakable 🤍

Even though I’m stepping forward without my first witness, I’m not starting from nothing.

I’m starting from everything she helped me become.

Who stood beside you when you first found your voice?