5 Ways I Found Purpose in Life’s Toughest Moments

The Day I Ate Cold Pizza on the Floor and Called It Healing

A few years ago, I found myself sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, eating a slice of cold pizza at 10 a.m., wearing a hoodie that hadn’t been washed in… let’s say “a season.” I wasn’t sad per se, but I wasn’t exactly thriving. I was somewhere between “just surviving” and “could probably cry if someone looked at me too kindly.” My hair was in that existential-crisis bun. You know the one.

The truth? I didn’t know what the heck I was doing with my life.

It wasn’t a single tragic moment that brought me to that spot. It was the slow, subtle erosion of meaning—little heartbreaks, a career that felt like wearing someone else’s shoes, and this heavy question that haunted my mornings: “Is this it?”

I tried everything to outrun the question. Productivity hacks. Gym memberships. Reading books with titles like Atomic Something That Will Definitely Fix You. I became the queen of trying. And nothing stuck. The glittery affirmations I taped to my bathroom mirror just mocked me while I brushed my teeth like, “Hey sweetie, still lost?”

Finding purpose in life’s toughest moments wasn’t some clean, three-step process I found on Pinterest. It was gritty and slow and deeply inconvenient. It came in weird ways—like through a panic attack in a Target parking lot or during a two-hour call with my mom where we only said, “yeah, same” on loop.

But it did come.

And not because I figured everything out. Honestly, I think purpose doesn’t wait for you to be ready—it just kind of taps you on the shoulder while you’re knee-deep in emotional laundry and says, “Hey, I’m here. Wanna walk for a bit?”

Looking back, there were five surprisingly human ways I found my way back to purpose. No fancy retreats or vision boards. Just small moments of clarity in the middle of life’s very real messes.

So if you’ve ever stared at your ceiling wondering if your life is just one long existential episode with snack breaks, welcome. You’re in the right place. Grab your metaphorical blanket. I’m about to share the five ways I stumbled into purpose while absolutely falling apart.

1. I Broke Down Over a Spoon (and That Was the Start)

One night, I cried because all the spoons were dirty. That’s it. Not a breakup. Not an eviction notice. Just—no clean spoons.

But the thing is, the spoon wasn’t the problem. It was the build-up of everything I hadn’t said out loud: the burnout, the loneliness, the weight of constantly pretending I was “fine.” That tiny collapse over a utensil cracked something open. It gave me permission to admit that I wasn’t okay—and that maybe being not-okay was actually a weird kind of doorway.

Finding purpose in life’s toughest moments doesn’t always look like some powerful realization. Sometimes it looks like crying over silverware and then deciding—maybe I need help. Maybe I need rest. Maybe I need to stop performing “okay” and actually start being real.

And that honesty? That was the beginning of everything.

2. I Stopped Looking for a Grand Life Mission and Started Looking for Small Reasons

I used to think “purpose” meant having a huge, soul-defining goal. Like, I’d wake up one day and just know I was meant to open an alpaca sanctuary or become the next Brené Brown. But nope.

Instead, I found purpose in making tea for someone I loved. In texting “thinking of you” without needing a reply. In writing a blog post like this one, not knowing if anyone would read it, but still writing because it helped me breathe.

Finding purpose in life’s toughest moments often means shrinking your definition of purpose down to the size of your own heart.

Not what looks impressive. Not what gets applause. Just what makes you feel… grounded. Kind. A little more human.

3. I Let Myself Be Bad at Things (Like, Really Bad)

I took up painting during a particularly lost phase. And wow—was I terrible. Like, “a raccoon dipped in ketchup could do better” terrible.

But I loved it. For two hours, I wasn’t trying to fix my life or optimize my healing. I was just smearing color on canvas like a kid with no concept of results. And in that mess, I found peace. I remembered that life isn’t always about being good at things. Sometimes it’s about being in something, fully.

Letting myself suck at something was oddly freeing. It reminded me that purpose can live in process. In play. In the joy of doing something with no performance attached.

So yes, I’m a bad painter. But those weird flowers and lopsided moons? They helped put me back together.

4. I Grieved the Life I Thought I’d Have

No one tells you that grief isn’t just about death. It’s about expectations. The version of your life you thought you’d be living by now. The relationship you thought would last. The job you thought would light you up.

One of the hardest but most healing things I’ve done? I let myself grieve those lives. I sat with the versions of me that didn’t make it and said, “Hey, I’m sorry it didn’t go that way.”

It sounds dramatic. But it gave me space to forgive myself for not being who I thought I’d be. And that space? That’s where purpose started breathing again.

Because once I stopped chasing a life I’d outgrown, I could finally build the one I actually wanted.

5. I Let People See the Real Me (Even the Soggy, Unfiltered Version)

This was the hardest one.

I used to curate the heck out of my life. Only show the polished bits. Smile through the hard stuff. But the more I did that, the lonelier I felt. It’s exhausting being a highlight reel.

Eventually, I started showing up messy. I texted friends when I felt low instead of waiting to “feel better.” I cried in front of people who loved me. I stopped hiding my hard days behind sarcastic memes (well, I still use those—but now they come with real talk).

And something beautiful happened: I was met with kindness. Connection. Realness.

Letting people see the full picture—soggy eyes, tangled thoughts, and all—made me feel seen. And in being seen, I started to remember I had value. Not because I was perfect. But because I was me.

Why This Really Matters

It’s easy to think that purpose is something you find once you’ve fixed yourself—once the mess is cleaned up, the tears are dried, the therapist signs off, and your skincare routine includes at least three serums. But I’ve learned that purpose doesn’t wait for the glow-up. It shows up in the mess. Right there between your 2 a.m. breakdowns and the awkward laughs that follow them.

It matters because the narrative that you have to be okay before you can do anything meaningful is a lie. You’re allowed to be falling apart and still doing something beautiful. You’re allowed to be figuring it out and showing up with heart. You’re allowed to find purpose not in your highlight reel but in the blurry, unfiltered parts of your story.

“Purpose doesn’t need you to be perfect—it just needs you to be present.”

Conclusion: You’re Not Behind. You’re Becoming.

If you’re in one of life’s toughest moments right now—whether it’s loud and chaotic or just quietly hollow—I want to say this: You’re not lost. You’re unfolding. There’s a difference.

Your pain is not proof that you’ve failed at life. It’s just proof that you’re human. And in that very human, very real space, purpose has a way of whispering to you—often when you least expect it.

So don’t wait until everything’s fixed or you finally “figure it all out.” Let the cracks be part of the story. Let the cold pizza on the floor be part of the healing. Let yourself grieve, laugh, paint badly, and ask for help.

You don’t need to chase purpose like it’s hiding somewhere on a mountain you haven’t climbed yet. It’s already walking beside you. And every hard moment? It’s shaping a version of you who knows how to hold purpose even when her hands are shaking.

You are not behind. You are becoming. And that, my friend, is more than enough.