Stephen and I were sitting outside a cafe. We had both—a chilled slice of ice cream pie and a plate of soft, fluffy sponge cake. We joked about how sponge cake is just cake without a plan and how ice cream pie shouldn’t make sense—but somehow does.
Then, suddenly, Stephen looked down. “Bob,” he said slowly, “I’m still trying to cope. I gave up the one thing that ever made me feel alive—my passion for baking. I gave it up for a stable job to support my family. While I don’t regret doing right by them, I can’t help but feel like I betrayed myself. I don’t even know if I made the right choice. What scares me the most is that if this doesn’t work out, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.”
“Stephen,” I said, “sometimes we have to put parts of ourselves on hold. The truth is—you didn’t throw away your passion. You paused it and it’s still there, waiting. You made a choice from a place of care and commitment,” I continued. “That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you an adult. We adults stumble, adjust, sacrifice. That doesn’t mean you’re done dreaming or that it’s too late.”
“I just wish I could go back,” he said softly.
“You can’t go back,” I said gently. “You can go forward—with everything you’ve learned. And maybe your passion looks different now. Maybe it’s slower. Quieter. But it’s still yours. And you don’t have to earn permission to return to it. You just have to start.”
Stephen smiled, “Thanks, Bob,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d find a little healing but I did.”
To you, dear reader—if you’re grieving a version of yourself you had to set aside, know this: you are not too late, and you’re not alone. Life doesn’t move in straight lines. Sometimes healing means forgiving yourself. Sometimes hoping means believing that what’s meant for you can still find you.
You haven’t lost it. You’re just on your way back to it—one sweet step at a time.
