Mojo and the Mess

I didn’t fall behind all at once.

It happened slowly.

Plans got postponed. Then canceled. Then stopped being made at all. Conversations moved faster than I could keep up with. People kept going—careers, trips, milestones—while my world got smaller without anyone really noticing.

Life didn’t stop.

It just stopped including me the same way.

There’s a strange loneliness in watching from the sidelines of your own age group. Everyone is moving forward, building, growing, busy. And I’m over here measuring my days by how I feel, how much I can tolerate, how long I can stay upright.

It’s not jealousy.

It’s grief.

I grieve the ease other people still have. The freedom to say yes without calculating consequences. The ability to plan months ahead without an asterisk. I grieve the version of myself who moved through life without this constant awareness of limits.

People don’t mean to leave you behind. They just don’t know how to carry you with them. So invitations get quieter. Updates come later. You become the person people think about fondly, but don’t always include.

And it’s confusing, because I’m still here.

Still the same person.

Just harder to fit into the pace of things.

Some days it feels like my life is on pause while everyone else’s keeps playing. Like I missed a turn I didn’t know existed. Like I’m watching my own life through glass—close enough to see it, too far to touch it.

What hurts the most isn’t missing events. It’s missing momentum. Missing the feeling of moving forward. Missing the reassurance that life is unfolding the way it’s supposed to.

I don’t know how to catch up.

I don’t even know if catching up is the goal anymore.

All I know is that being left behind doesn’t mean being forgotten. And it doesn’t mean being broken. It just means my life looks different now—quieter, slower, heavier in ways that don’t show up in photos or updates.

If you feel this too—like life kept going without you—I see you. You’re not failing. You’re surviving in a world that doesn’t slow down enough to notice how much that takes.

Some of us are still here, even if we’re not where we thought we’d be.

And that has to count for something.

A note before you go

If you’re still here reading, thank you for sitting with this. Writing is how I keep track of myself when life feels like it’s moving without me. If you want to keep reading along, you can subscribe so new posts land directly in your inbox—no algorithms, no noise, just words when I have them.

The links you’ll see on this site help keep Mojo & The Mess going and point to resources I’ve gathered for days when you need something practical, grounding, or just reassuring to have in one place. They’re there whether you need them today or not.

And if all you did was read this and feel a little less alone, that’s enough. Truly. 💛