I’ve Changed my Mind!
Plot Twist: I've Changed My Mind
I've changed my mind.
There. I said it.
Not I failed.
Not I couldn't stick with it.
Not I didn't try hard enough.
I've simply changed my mind.
And we need to get a lot more comfortable saying that out loud.
We make decisions based on who we are at the time. What we knew. What we needed. What we could manage. Sometimes those decisions fit beautifully for years.
Until one day, they don't.
That doesn't make the original decision wrong. It means something changed.
Maybe the circumstances changed. Maybe the dream changed. Maybe you changed.
The Plan Was Right. Until It Wasn't.
I've spent 30 years in finance.
I'm good at it. Qualified. Experienced. I can untangle a spreadsheet that makes other people want to cry.
For a long time, that was the whole plan.
Here's my current plot twist: I don't want more accounting clients.
There are plenty of sensible reasons to keep going. It's familiar. It's respectable. It pays the bills. I already know how to do it.
But being capable of something isn't the same as being obligated to build your whole future around it.
These days I come alive writing, speaking, running workshops, building Radiance resources, and helping women realise they were never broken to begin with.
That's not me rejecting my old career. Finance enabled me to raise my daughters, stretched me, taught me more than I expected.
It got me here.
It doesn't get a vote on where I go next.
We're Allowed to Gather New Information
Changing your mind gets treated like a character flaw. Like we're unreliable. Flaky. Can't commit.
So we stay loyal to decisions made by a woman with different information, different responsibilities, a different life entirely.
We keep wearing the clothes because they were expensive.
We keep the routine because it used to work.
We stay attached to the goal because we announced it publicly, and undoing a public announcement feels like admitting defeat.
But noticing what no longer fits isn't flaky. It's intelligent.
It's the same reason I looked at a wardrobe full of clothes recently and realised: my life had moved on. My wardrobe hadn't got the memo.
Some of those clothes suited me once. Some held good memories. Some were the woman I thought I'd become.
Keeping every past choice forever wasn't honouring her.
It was just crowding the woman standing here now.
Changing Direction Isn't the Same as Giving Up
There’s a real difference between walking away on impulse and changing direction because you finally understand yourself better.
Sometimes perseverance is brave.
Sometimes stopping is braver.
Sometimes the bravest sentence you'll ever say is: "This isn't what I want anymore."
You're allowed to decide the goal you once chased doesn't excite you anymore.
You're allowed to admit the routine everyone praises is quietly making you miserable.
You're allowed to change how you work, what you wear, where you spend your time, and what you'll put up with.
You're even allowed to change your mind about something you were once dead certain about.
None of that erases your earlier enthusiasm. It doesn't make you foolish for trying.
It just means you've learned something since, or become aware of something more.
This Is Not Starting Again
I'm not throwing away 30 years and starting from nothing.
I'm bringing all of it with me.
The finance brain that understands how a business actually runs.
The Toastmaster who knows how to stand up and speak without falling apart.
The writer who knows exactly how much weight the right words can carry.
The woman who's rebuilt herself more than once, and wants other women to see what's still possible for them, too.
Changing direction doesn't mean going back to the beginning.
It means starting from here — with everything I know now.
So, What Are You Still Doing Because You Once Chose It?
Maybe there's something you've quietly outgrown too.
A job.
A goal.
A habit.
A commitment.
A version of yourself.
What happens if you stop asking "But what will people think?" and start asking, "But what do I want now?"
That's the whole plot twist, right there.