Transforming Pain Into Purpose
The Silent Emptiness Where Growth Begins After A Long Period Of Stagnation
Some moments change you quietly. They don’t come with fireworks or applause, just a deep, unshakable knowing that life cannot stay the same. And once you feel it, there’s no way back.
When I found out I was pregnant, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I would not go back to working for someone else.
It wasn’t just about leaving the company. It was about leaving a life that didn’t align with who I was becoming, and with the values I believed in.
Pregnancy changed me in ways I couldn’t have imagined.
My body was shifting, yes, but so were my mind, my heart, my priorities.
I wanted to grow, not just in the physical sense, but emotionally, spiritually, and personally. I wanted to see our son grow, not just through hurried snapshots on my phone during a lunch break I didn’t enjoy. I wanted to be there for the quiet moments, the messy moments, the real moments. I wanted a healthier, slower life, with less stress, more meaning, and more time together.
So I threw myself into learning. Hungry. Relentless. Determined. I studied until my eyes ached, read until my mind almost exploded, experimented, and pushed myself into new territories. I built skills that I knew could help people live better lives. I had the expertise, the research, the tools. I wanted to share everything I’d learned.
But here’s what they don’t tell you about changing paths:
When you step into a new domain, you are a beginner again, of course, no matter how much you’ve mastered before. Your old audience doesn’t usually follow you, and the new one doesn’t know you yet. You start from scratch.
And starting over is not easy. It’s sleepless nights bent over a glowing laptop, the hum of the fridge in the background because the rest of the house is sleeping. It’s hours of researching, rewriting, and pouring every drop of yourself into something you hope and pray will help someone else. It’s the weight in your chest when you hit “publish” and hear nothing back.
I wanted so badly to offer guidance: to help people release tension, to make their days a little lighter, to help them focus on what truly matters: their mind, their emotions, their families. I wished for them to see that parenting is not about fear or punishment, that raising a child is not about breaking their spirit, but nurturing their humanity. I wanted them to understand that many things our parents were taught, things that were normal decades ago, have no place in today’s world. I wanted to help people improve their emotional intelligence because, in most cases, it didn’t exist around.
I had all the facts, all the stories, all the evidence…
But the people I wanted to reach weren’t ready. Some didn’t want to listen. Some didn’t want to embrace the change. And I made a mistake trying to reach nationally, instead of internationally (online).
The environment we lived in was toxic: polluted not only by smoke, but by habits, beliefs, and pressures that slowly eat away at the soul. And when you’re surrounded by that kind of noise, it’s hard to hear anything new. Hard to believe another way is possible. That is why people were not ready or could not be able to understand this “language” I was speaking.
And then… One day… I stopped moving.
It felt like falling into a slow, silent void.
I felt exhausted.
I felt hopeless.
I felt overwhelmed.
Days blurred together. My thoughts felt heavy, as if wading through thick fog. The sadness was not loud. It was quiet. Steady.
Frustration coiled in my chest.
The dedication I had poured into my work for so long seemed to vanish into a black hole of indifference. I was trapped there for far too long, in that stillness where even hope feels tired. I was stuck for more than two years in that state.
It happens to the best of us.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
Even when your audience isn’t ready, even when the silence feels like failure, it’s not. In the end. Because growth is never wasted, but we don’t know this at first. The skills, the knowledge, the resilience; they don’t disappear. They stack up quietly, like bricks, even when you can’t see the structure yet.
A new beginning is never easy. The weight of a foundation being built. And one day, when the right people arrive, it will be strong enough to hold them.
I learned from those moments: every frustration, every silence, every interaction that felt like a closed door.
The past, instead of breaking me (even though it felt like it for a while), became a mirror, showing me the patterns I needed to change. I dissected my own approach, polished my skills, and rebuilt myself piece by piece.
It wasn’t quick.
It wasn’t painless.
But slowly, I came back stronger, sharper, more patient. I wasn’t just the person I was before with a few lessons under my belt. I was a reinvented version of myself, shaped by resilience and clarity, ready to step forward with purpose. And through it all, having my wonderful and thoughtful husband by my side, steadfast and patient, learning alongside me, was the main reason I was able to escape those void moments and keep moving forward.
I’m Andi. I'm endlessly captivated by the quiet dance between mind, body, and behaviour. With roots in economics and psychology, I listen for what’s felt but not always spoken: the gestures, the silences, the emotions we bear in our skin. My writing is where science meets soul, a space to give shape to what we hold inside. I hope you’ll find something here that makes you feel seen, and I’d love to hear what you carry, too.
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I'm in that spot of learning that growth is never wasted, so this piece resonated deeply with me.
Thank you for writing this! And thank you for challenging those simplified narratives of success in the self-help culture. So sick of them. This is so relatable and real!