I've been thinking a lot lately about what happens when the things that used to define you just... stop working.
Jobs change. Roles disappear. The skills you were known for become irrelevant. Sometimes it happens overnight, sometimes it's this slow fade where you don't even notice until one day you're standing there with a toolbox full of things that don't do what they used to.
My first instinct was always to double down. Work harder, talk louder, prove I still had it. Defend my turf. But honestly? That never actually helped. If anything, it just meant I wasted time arguing instead of adapting.
What's worked better is just... being quieter about it. You can check out the short You Tube I did about this here: https://youtu.be/PqjZtOKFeZA I've realized that being good at something doesn't mean you need to dominate the room. Real capability comes from knowing what you're doing without needing everyone else to know it too. Being honest when you're out of your depth. Letting go of the old version of yourself instead of white-knuckling it. Being competent without making it everyone else's problem.
I've also learned that you don't need to narrate your entire growth process. The people who are actually getting somewhere tend to just work. There's something kind of freeing about that — doing the thing instead of performing the thing. My dad used to say the smallest dogs bark the loudest, and I think about that more than I'd like to admit.
When your old tools seem to break, nostalgia won't fix them. You may just need new ones.
New frameworks, new ways of thinking, new skills. I've found it helps to pick one thing and commit to it for a set amount of time — like two months — instead of trying to reinvent yourself all at once.
The ego stuff's been the hardest. Not feeling entitled to things. Not taking everything as a personal attack. Doing good work without needing a parade for it. Actually checking whether I'm doing something because it matters or just because I want to feel important.
None of this is particularly exciting. And I think that's the whole point.
Rebuilding can be quiet, methodical, almost boring. The biggest changes I've made happened when I stopped worrying about whether anyone noticed I was rebuilding — and just focused on actually doing it.