How Long Can You Call It Confusion?
For fifteen years, I said, "I don't know what I want."
In 2008, I walked away from my first business. I had trained as a massage therapist. I had my first clients, and I could imagine doing this for the rest of my working life and beyond. I loved it. Then fear of not succeeding showed up. I started panicking, and I didn't know what to do with the fear and panic except believe it and pack it up. I convinced myself I was not cut out for it. And I stopped.
I chose safety.
At the same time, I got an opportunity to go back to a monthly salary. I accepted it, and life kept going. I never asked myself why I stopped pursuing it.
I knew I wanted it then. But I didn't believe I was the woman who could throw herself into this and build a whole new life from it. So I went after what I knew and what was familiar. I changed sectors, moved from the intergovernmental space into life sciences, and I was freaking good at overperforming for the next fifteen years. I put my massage table to sleep.
After that, I kept saying "I don't know what I want to do next." I had other ideas, like studying organizational psychology or becoming a golf instructor. My friends and colleagues understood immediately, because many of them said the same thing about their own lives.
Fast-forward to now. I sit with women every week, and I hear versions of the same story.
When you have a full fridge, it's the hand that goes in and out. You can't choose. Do I want to eat this or that? You close the fridge, tell yourself you'll decide later, and then you're hungry all afternoon.
That's what this maybe space does. You think you're keeping your options open.
You're going hungry with a full fridge.
What "I don't know" can mean
Sarah came to me after years of searching for more gratifying work. Her long career took her across several countries and through banking, editing, and some Pilates teaching. The chapter she kept returning to was the three years she spent immersed in Pilates, training, studying, reading everything she could find, and starting to teach. "I felt alive for the first time as an adult," she told me.
Then something changed. The farther she went, the more the practice opened something in her body that she didn't have language for and couldn't explain to the people around her. She felt like she couldn't share it with anyone, and it left her exposed and alone. And she also couldn't imagine teaching it any way other than what she'd been taught, and she didn't want to teach it the way everyone around her was teaching it.
She took all of this as proof that she wasn't fit for the work, so she returned to the safety of editing, even though the texts she edited left her unfulfilled. And she continued her search for something more meaningful. She tried courses, read books, listened to gurus, did various assessments, and nothing clicked. Like me, she never questioned why she stopped. She took it as the truth.
So she came to coaching, and I heard something different in our first session. Through the sessions that followed, she kept searching, looking at writing, looking at coaching, looking at painting, looking anywhere except at the obvious. Pilates was there from the first conversation. She circled it, stayed away from it, dipped a toe in for a few minutes and pulled back. Everything pointed at it.
Without a clear yes or no, she kept looking for something else she could do, and kept waiting for certainty that it was the right thing. The grief she felt over leaving Pilates was enormous. So was the aliveness in her voice when she talked about teaching it. She held both at once and called it confusion.
Around session eight, she decided. And she celebrated this decision, even if she didn’t know whether it would work. She started building her practice as the Pilates teacher she already was. Was it easy? Not at all, but she started with two sessions a week in someone else's studio, while she was still editing texts. She teaches now, her own way, unapologetically.
Every woman I work with has a variation of this, because each one has her own unique story. What stays the same is that "I don't know what I want" is usually "I can't decide." Every idea stays alive and open in your head. That's the fridge, and you're standing in front of it.
Why purpose is built rather than found
Meaningful work isn't something you find. None of the books or podcasts will suddenly enlighten you to the point where you know. It's the thought that keeps returning, and you don't ignore it. You create it by deciding, then playing with it, experimenting, and finding out how it feels and whether it works. It's actually quite simple.
And the fear of failure? It is still present, but it becomes your friend and helps you answer your questions. What's my next step? Where do I find clients? What do I charge? What do I say when someone asks what I do now? Before you decide, fear circles and hunts for reasons to wait.
The women I work with pick a direction, Pilates, yoga, a vintage store, a book, a health and wellness app, and start building it one step at a time. If one path fails, they try another.
You can always un-decide. What you choose now doesn't have to be the thing you do forever, only the thing you do next.
They keep moving and become clearer and clearer. Once you decide, there's no longer space for confusion.
Sarah opted to give it one last chance with coaching. She told me that she was a little skeptical after trying so many different things; could this be the thing that would help her? And now she teaches and works with women who want healthier bodies. She's excited and grateful to herself for giving herself a chance.
And I? I didn't fail at massage therapy.
I left before I found out.
And it led me to coaching and mentoring, where I see the thread and transform the lives of others in a similar situation.
The question worth asking isn't "What do I want?" You already know, or you know enough to start.
The questions are: "What am I keeping safe by not deciding?" And then, "What would it mean to decide today, with the uncertainty I'm still feeling?"
The proof you're waiting for doesn't arrive before the decision. It arrives because of it.
You already know more than you're giving yourself credit for.
What you're calling confusion is a decision you haven't made yet.
"I went from feeling confused and stuck to feeling peaceful, relieved, and confident being who I am. Marcela helped me find a path that feels like home."
Kim S.
I work with women over 50 to find the thread running through everything they've lived and turn it into one clear direction.
The first step is a 60-minute Clarity Session. I'll name the thread running through what you bring me and the decision sitting underneath the not knowing. You leave with one direction and the words for why it's yours.
