Taylor Rose Unfiltered

I’ve asked myself that question more than I’d like to admit.

I feel like I’ve spent my entire adult life starting over.

And I don’t mean the cute kind of starting over people post about.

Not the fresh haircut, new planner, “new chapter” kind.

I mean the kind where life changes so completely that you look around and realize the future you thought you were building doesn’t exist anymore.

The kind where you don’t really have a choice but to pick yourself up and figure out what comes next.

I’ve done that more times than I can count.

And I’m tired.

My first beginning came before I was ready.

I got pregnant at 18.

And I had a baby at 18.

I was still trying to figure out who I was while suddenly being responsible for this tiny human who needed me for absolutely everything.

I was young.

I was scared.

And I felt alone.

Most 18-year-olds are figuring out college, friendships, relationships, and what they want to do with their lives.

I was figuring out motherhood.

There wasn’t some magical moment where I suddenly knew what I was doing because I became a mom.

I was still a teenager.

I just became a teenager with someone depending on me.

So I figured it out.

Because that’s what I learned to do very early:

Figure it out.

At 19, I got married.

I thought I was building the life I was going to have forever.

A marriage.

A family.

A home.

A future.

Eight years later, that marriage ended.

And when it ended, I felt like everything went with it.

I didn’t just lose a marriage.

I lost the life I had spent my entire adult life building.

I felt like I was left with nothing.

And once again, there I was.

Starting over.

Except this time I wasn’t an 18-year-old girl trying to figure out motherhood.

I was a woman trying to figure out how to rebuild an entire life.

So I did.

Slowly.

Messily.

Some days confidently.

Other days with absolutely no idea what I was doing.

But I rebuilt.

And eventually, I let myself believe in forever again.

I got remarried.

After everything I’d already been through, I allowed myself to believe that maybe this was it.

Maybe the hard part was behind me.

Maybe I had finally reached the chapter where I didn’t have to keep rebuilding.

And then, two years later, my husband died.

There aren’t enough words for what death does to the life of the person left behind.

One day you’re someone’s wife.

You’re making plans.

You’re thinking about tomorrow, next month, next year.

And then suddenly the person who was supposed to be standing beside you in all of those tomorrows isn’t there anymore.

I became a widow.

And there it was again.

That familiar feeling.

Start over.

Except I didn’t want to start over.

I wanted my life back.

I wanted the future I thought I was supposed to have.

I wanted someone to tell me this time I didn’t have to be the one who figured everything out.

But grief doesn’t ask whether you’re ready.

Life keeps moving even when you’re begging it to stop.

Then I lost another piece of myself.

I lost the job I’d been with for years.

That job wasn’t just a paycheck to me.

I had poured so much of myself into it.

My time.

My energy.

My ideas.

My work.

My identity became wrapped up in what I did and what I was responsible for.

And suddenly that was gone too.

Another routine gone.

Another piece of stability gone.

Another version of my future that didn’t happen.

So once again…

I had to figure out what came next.

Find another job.

Find another purpose.

Find another routine.

Start over.

Again.

Somewhere in the middle of grief, I found love again.

That’s probably one of the most complicated chapters of my story.

Because nobody gives you instructions for falling in love while you’re still grieving someone you lost.

There isn’t a timeline that suddenly says:

Okay, you’ve grieved enough. You’re allowed to love again now.

I was grieving and falling in love at the same time.

I could miss someone who was gone while caring deeply about someone who was here.

I could be happy and then feel guilty for being happy.

I could be building something new while still mourning what I’d lost.

Those feelings didn’t always make sense together.

But they were both real.

So there I was again—trying to learn a new relationship while learning who I was after loss.

Trying to find work.

Trying to be a mom.

Trying to build stability.

Trying to grieve.

Trying to love.

Trying to live.

Trying to start over.

And sometimes I don’t want to be told how strong I am.

People mean well when they say it.

“You’re so strong.”

“You’ve been through so much.”

“You always figure it out.”

I know.

I do.

But sometimes I don’t want to figure it out.

Sometimes I want the thing I built to simply stay.

I don’t want another lesson.

I don’t want another chapter about resilience.

I don’t want another opportunity to prove that I can survive something.

Sometimes I just want to live without wondering when the next thing is going to fall apart.

Because constantly rebuilding yourself is exhausting.

Every time I’ve started over, I’ve had to introduce myself to another version of me.

Teenage mom.

Wife.

Divorced mom.

Woman rebuilding.

Wife again.

Widow.

New relationship.

New job.

New beginning.

Again.

And again.

And again.

But maybe there’s something I’ve been getting wrong about starting over.

I’ve always looked at starting over like everything before it disappeared.

Like I was being sent back to the beginning.

But I’m realizing I’m not starting from the same place every time.

That scared 18-year-old girl didn’t disappear.

She grew.

The woman who survived her divorce came with me.

The wife I was still matters.

The widow I became is part of me.

The career I lost taught me things I carry into whatever I do next.

The love I lost didn’t become meaningless because I found love again.

None of those lives disappeared.

They’re all mine.

Maybe I’m not constantly starting over.

Maybe I’m constantly becoming.

And maybe that’s why this chapter feels different.

I’m not trying to erase everything that happened before it.

I’m carrying the pieces that still belong to me.

I’m leaving behind the ones that don’t.

And I’m trying to build something without demanding that I know exactly how the story ends.

Because if my life has taught me anything, it’s that plans change.

People change.

Relationships change.

Jobs change.

Life can change in a single phone call.

And sometimes you will find yourself standing in the middle of a life you never planned for.

Again.

But I’ve also learned something else.

Every version of me thought she wouldn’t know how to do what came next.

And somehow…

she did.

So yes.

I’m tired of starting over.

I’m tired of rebuilding.

I’m tired of being told that everything happens for a reason when sometimes things just hurt.

But I’m still here.

Still loving.

Still mothering.

Still grieving.

Still working.

Still dreaming.

Still trying.

And maybe I don’t need to call this another fresh start.

Maybe this is simply the next part of a life I’ve been building all along.

Not from scratch.

From experience.

— Taylor 🌹

Taylor Rose Unfiltered