The Truth About Starting Over: 5 Steps to Begin Again

I once cried in a Target parking lot because I forgot to buy toothpaste. Not dramatic, right? Except it was the third time that week I’d forgotten. And I wasn’t really crying about the toothpaste. I was crying because my life had just exploded—career on hold, apartment lease ended, love life curled into a ball and rolled away. Everything I had been building felt like it had ghosted me overnight. And there I was, starting over… with no dental hygiene and a bag of discounted trail mix.

Let’s talk about that phrase: starting over. It sounds cute in rom-coms. New job. New haircut. Maybe a dramatic plane ride to Bali. But in real life, starting over often means lying on your kitchen floor, wondering if you should just live there now. It means feeling 19 again, except your knees hurt more and your student loans are still active. It means looking around and going, “Okay… now what?”

And yet—there’s also something wild and raw and oddly holy about it. Because when everything falls apart, it also clears. You don’t have to carry things that don’t serve you anymore. You get to ask big, brave questions. You get to become someone new—or more like yourself than ever.

This post isn’t a 5-step guide to glowing up overnight. (If you’re here for that, please know: I still own mismatched socks and eat cereal for dinner.) This is for the ones who feel like a shaken-up snow globe. The ones trying to remember who they are, or who they want to be, in the mess.

So if you’re in that awkward, blurry in-between—grieving what was, unsure what’s next—pull up a metaphorical chair. Or sit on the floor. I’ve been there. Actually, I am there, writing this in a hoodie that smells like three different eras of my life.

Let’s walk through five real, slightly-chaotic, gently honest steps to beginning again.

1. I Cried in Public (and That Was the Turning Point)

I used to think starting over meant putting on a brave face and strutting into the sunrise like some kind of emotionally resilient cowboy. Turns out, it actually meant sobbing into a Starbucks napkin while Googling “how to be okay again.”

The truth? Sometimes the breakdown is the beginning.

Starting over doesn’t announce itself with a glittery newsletter. It sneaks up on you mid-panic spiral. One moment you’re clinging to the old life, the next you’re a puddle with a Wi-Fi connection. But here’s where it shifts: if you can let yourself fall apart, you can also start to rebuild—not in spite of the wreckage, but because of it.

It’s okay if your new beginning looks nothing like a glow-up montage. Sometimes it looks like asking for help. Or crying on your bathroom rug. That’s still a beginning. That still counts.

“Crying in public doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re awake in your life.”

2. The “Clean Slate” Is a Lie (But You Get Something Better)

Ah yes, the myth of the clean slate. The idea that you can erase the past and start fresh like a shiny new notebook. Cute in theory. In reality? We carry our pages with us—creases, coffee stains, heartbreak doodles and all.

But here’s the twist I didn’t expect: you don’t need a clean slate to start over. You just need a clearer one. One where you can look at what you’ve learned, scribble out the parts that don’t serve you, and start writing again anyway.

Your story isn’t ruined because it took a weird detour. That detour probably taught you more than the tidy path ever would. And now, you’ve got a pen in your hand and the next line is yours.

Starting over isn’t forgetting. It’s remembering what still matters and choosing it on purpose.

3. I Wanted Clarity. I Got Confusion First.

I thought starting over would come with a tidy checklist:
Step 1. Know what you want.
Step 2. Go get it.
Step 3. Be fabulous.

Instead, I got a lot of staring at the ceiling and texting “lol I’m fine” when I absolutely wasn’t. I got seven different browser tabs open—“Best cities to move to” next to “How to be a barista.” And I got really, really good at doubting myself.

Here’s what no one told me: confusion is part of the process. It’s actually necessary.

You’re undoing parts of your life that weren’t working. Of course there’s static. That’s the sound of the old leaving and the new arriving. Confusion isn’t a lack of direction—it’s evidence that you’re deep in the middle of your becoming.

Don’t rush clarity. Sit in the blurry middle. It’s the birthplace of everything true.

4. Starting Over Isn’t Linear (So Please Stop Expecting It to Be)

One day I woke up energized, made a smoothie, journaled like Oprah, and thought, “Wow, I’m healing!” The next day I ate cold pizza in bed at noon and questioned all my life choices. This is what they don’t show in the montages.

Starting over doesn’t move in a straight line. It zigzags. It loops. It has weird Tuesday afternoons where you feel okay for five minutes and then spiral because someone said “take care” and you took it personally.

This isn’t a setback. It’s just the process being real with you.

So if you’re judging yourself for still crying, still floundering, still unsure—you can stop now. This is still progress. This is still the path.

“Healing doesn’t look like climbing a mountain. Sometimes it looks like napping under it.”

5. The New Beginning Is Already Happening (You Just Can’t See It Yet)

You don’t need a major milestone to confirm you’ve started over. You don’t need a new job, a romantic partner, or a yoga retreat in Sedona. Sometimes the most profound shifts happen quietly—inside.

Maybe the new beginning is the moment you finally said “no.” Or the second you deleted the number you swore you’d keep. Or when you started to imagine more for yourself again, even if you have no idea what that looks like yet.

Starting over doesn’t wait for you to feel ready. It starts the moment you decide to live your life forward, even if you’re still crying about what you left behind.

You’re not behind. You’re on the first page of something new.

Why This Really Matters

Because starting over isn’t just about external changes. It’s about inner liberation.

It’s that quiet moment when you realize you’re not obligated to keep living a story that doesn’t fit. It’s the courage to walk away—not because it’s easy, but because staying stuck would cost you more.

When we talk about starting over, we’re not talking about wiping away the past. We’re talking about reclaiming your agency. Your tenderness. Your voice.

And let’s be honest—it’s easy to look like you have it all together on the outside. It’s harder to tell the truth to yourself: that maybe you’re not okay, and that’s okay. That maybe you don’t know the next step, but you’re brave enough to take one anyway.

You’re not starting from nothing. You’re starting from experience. From survival. From soul-scraping honesty.

And that? That’s power.

Conclusion

Remember how this started? Me, in a parking lot, sobbing over toothpaste? (A high point, truly.)

That girl didn’t know what was next. She just knew she couldn’t keep pretending. And somehow, through the mess and the silence and the tiny little wins (like finally flossing again), a new chapter began to shape itself.

So if you’re in the middle of your own shaky restart, here’s your permission slip:

You don’t have to glow up. You don’t need a master plan. You just need to stay in it—in your truth, your grief, your wild hope.

The truth about starting over is this: it’s never too late to begin again. Not at 22. Not at 35. Not even when your entire wardrobe is just depression hoodies.

Be messy. Be confused. Be someone who still believes they can change everything.

Because you can. You already are.

“You’re not lost. You’re just on a road no one’s mapped yet.”

Now go drink some water and make a playlist for this new season of yours. I’ll meet you there.