From Seedling to Self: Growing Because of Me

So what the hell happened to me? Excuse me, for me.

There was a time when I floated through experiences, absorbing the world as it came to me—a seedling nurtured by whatever light and water happened to be near. Like a fetus in the womb, my growth was shaped by the forces around me, not of my choosing or understanding.

I was in what I now call the “negligent fetus” stage of childhood, where I grew without purpose or intention, merely existing as life continued to shape me. I don’t see this stage with contempt but as a necessary foundation. After all, every seed needs time in the dark, nestled in soil, before it’s ready to sprout and seek the light on its own.

Have you experienced times when you were simply existing, not questioning the “why” of it all? What shaped you then?

For me, everything changed with a wake-up call—a literal intervention on my brain. Around this time last year, an emergency hydrocephalus surgery and a two-tumor cancer scare forced me into a terrifying intimacy with mortality. The cause of the fluid buildup remains unknown, but it felt as though the water pooling in my brain had transformed me into a surreal version of myself. Like a garden oversaturated, my mind struggled to absorb and process all that life was pouring in.

It’s funny, in a terrifying way, how quickly you start asking existential questions when there’s a chance you may never have the time to answer them. 

Would I come out on the other side? 

Would I be different, missing pieces of myself? 

I was shaken by the thought that maybe I’d never really known myself at all, that I’d only met the version of me who’d been reacting to life rather than living it. 

Imagine Carrie, in a moment of ultimate terror, finally asking if Mr. Big is truly good enough for her…nevermind, that’s a crazier reality than my brain surgery.

Here I was, wondering if I’d spent my entire life skirting around the real me.

For the first time, the fear of staying unknown, even to myself, was greater than any other fear I had. Carl Jung was right: “People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their souls.” And up until that point, I’d been doing just that—avoiding my own soul, living on the sidelines, and calling it survival.

Have you ever considered that the life you’re living might be more of a performance than a discovery? If you had to meet the real you, what would you see? These are the questions that provoked me.

It’s strange, though, what finally meeting yourself looks like. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. It means shedding layer after layer of the person you thought you had to be, letting go of the safety nets and the stories you once clung to. And it doesn’t happen all at once. I had to peel away each expectation, each “should,” each limiting belief I’d carried from childhood. I had to face my soul in all its imperfections, all its fears and dreams.

This wasn’t just growth; it was an excavation. And each time I confronted a part of myself, I came a little closer to the person I was meant to be.

It took time, and a lot of failed attempts, but I started to shift. It wasn’t about growing sideways, drifting along as I had before. 

And maybe you’re thinking, that sounds like hell. Well, you’re right (in some ways). “No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell”; I had to root myself in those uncomfortable truths, let my them extend down to my darkest parts, if I ever wanted to grow tall enough to reach the life I dreamed of. 

What roots might you need to plant in uncomfortable soil?

In time, I wasn’t growing into myself anymore—I was growing because of myself. I wasn’t passively letting life mold me; I was taking on the role of both the gardener and the garden. Every decision, every intention, was a seed I planted on purpose. I stopped running from myself, instead cultivating and watering the person I actually wanted to meet. 

And it’s incredible—when you start living for yourself, when you’re no longer relying on the world to define you, everything changes. Relationships shift. I found myself gravitating toward people who inspired me to keep growing, and away from those who wanted me to stay small. I stopped caring as much about external validation, realizing that self-approval had been the missing ingredient all along.

As I continue on this journey, I hold space for gratitude toward my past self. That “negligent fetus” phase wasn’t something to be ashamed of; it was a period of necessary growth, a time when I was gathering the nutrients and experiences that would one day shape me. I honor that version of me because, without it, I wouldn’t be where I am today. It was the soil, the darkness, and the waiting that allowed me to finally seek the light.

So here I am, growing not because life wills it, but because I do. I am no longer just becoming myself—I am creating myself. And as I look forward, I know the garden of my life will continue to grow, blossom, and evolve. Not out of necessity, but out of choice.