Why I Stopped Chasing My Ideal Self

She’s beautiful. She’s thin. She’s effortlessly fashionable. Her hair always elegantly styled. Her income abundant, wealth accumulating by the minute. She’s got the loving husband, the beautiful home(s), the adorable family. Her vitality runneth over — it’s evident in her skin, her body, and the way she seems to glide through life. Her professional impact reaches far and wide — in an almost angelic way. Her circle impresses with celebrities, influential leaders, and the like.

👆Meet the “perfect” version of Blair.

The one I carried around in my mind for nearly two decades. The one I chased for most of my 20s and 30s. I wanted to be her so badly. To check every single box. To embody every single quality. And when I look back on my life, in many ways, I did.

But I never truly “arrived.”

I did not manifest the lives of Melissa Wood Tepperberg and Melissa Ambrosini (IYKYK). Two of the women I followed for so many of those years — perpetually comparing my reality to theirs and wishing for everything they had.

Somehow, I believed that could be me, that I could find a way to get there. And when I finally did, it would mean that I was exceptional, successful, etc. 👀

There, I could relax. There, I could feel complete. There, I could finally feel oh-so proud of the life I was sharing on Instagram.

I held on tight to this ideal self when I became a mom — having a child became one of the “accessories” and ambition ran the show. And initially, it all worked. My first year as both an entrepreneur and parent, I grossed my highest revenue ever and had $50,000 saved in the bank. Everything I wanted felt within reach.

But then, something started to shift — specifically between the ages of 38-40.

As I surrendered to motherhood and the desire to be a fully available parent of two. As I juggled sleep deprivation, postpartum anxiety, and running a business. As I saw the tides turn on social media with personal brands aplenty.

…The desire to keep chasing this idyllic, shiny self with the idyllic, shiny life started to wane.

I still very much wanted a bigger house with a renovated kitchen and a giant soaking tub in the master bathroom. And I certainly wouldn’t have rejected a 7-figure income. But my soul — the deeper part of me — was asking for something different. At first I thought it was a rebrand. But upon further investigation, I realized it was a slower pace, a less demanding schedule, and a big break from the hustle that was running an online business.

The idea of being a star — someone who shared her life 24/7 on Instagram stories, who was beholden to the algorithm, who was dependent on sales cycles — didn’t feel like freedom anymore. In fact, I could see how it was a path to losing it.

I already felt stuck. Stuck competing for attention. Stuck without a workable growth strategy. Stuck endlessly scrolling… and for what?

Once I turned 40, it all started to crystalize — well, unravel, really. Gradually at first. A successful launch cycle, followed by a more challenging one. A creative spurt of video content for IG, then days where I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. From there, it got harder, my resistance louder, the outcomes less desirable. It was as if both my body and my life were trying to tell me something I wasn’t ready to hear.

Naturally, I prayed for a miracle — for some magical event to pop me back in the momentum of growth and visibility. Because it’s what I needed to expand and practically, keep my life afloat.

But the more I listened to the voice inside of me, the more I understood that I just wanted to live my life in peace — no longer obligated to perform on social media or at the mercy of sales cycles.

Little did I know that within a matter of months everything would change — not only my career, but everything about my life: the relocation to Georgia.

As I’ve shared, I didn’t want this.

My ego yelled about how this did not match the dream life. How our future was supposed to be up north in a million dollar home on the beach. How all of the people that mattered lived near New York City. How I would have nothing impressive to share anymore. (Rude, I know.)

She was very loud — and I sat with everything she had to say, often wincing. She had me questioning everything, throwing myself a pity party, crying on my podcast. But as the emotions settled — the bad weather parting to reveal a little bit of blue sky — I started asking different questions. Instead of… Why is this happening to me?! I asked… Wait, why am I so attached to this other life?

It wasn’t long before I had my answer. I believed the “ideal life” would make me feel complete and enough — as a business owner, as a mom, as a human. Oof. And when I saw that clearly, when I saw how ego-driven this all was, my grip loosened.

For so many years, I had been captivated by what was possible. The glamour of entrepreneurship. The promise of more money. The freedom to do what I loved. The women who seemed to have made it. I wanted to “make it” too.

The problem was — and I didn’t see it when I was in it, of course — I was so busy looking ahead to the next level, the next milestone, the next version of myself that I was essentially missing the richness right in front of me.

The move to Georgia gave me enough SPACE to see it all clearly — the veil had been lifted. And thank goodness for that!

Without the business requiring my full attention, I could finally see how caught up I had been. How exhausted I was from constantly comparing. How much energy it took to keep chasing a moving target. And that underneath all of it wasn’t a desire for more money, more recognition, or even a more beautiful home.

It was a desire to breathe easier.

Now, here’s the ironic part. Moving to Georgia wound up giving me many of the things I’d wanted all along. The bigger house, the renovated kitchen, the giant soaking tub. But finally having them isn’t the source of my happiness, peace, or that feeling of “I’m enough” — shocking, I know 🫠.

They are simply lovely additions to a life I finally stopped trying to perfect.

Now, to be clear, I haven’t given up on my dreams. I still have things I want to create, ideas I want to bring to life, goals I care about. The ambition isn’t gone, that’s for sure.

What’s different is that I no longer believe the next version of my life is the one that will finally make me feel enough. Turns out, feeling enough has a lot more to do with creating space — particularly distance from the old stories, pressure, comparison, perfection. It’s in the space that I hear myself again — the real me. The me who actually knows what I want versus what the world has told me over and over again, I should want.

That breathing room has allowed me to appreciate what I already have in a way I couldn’t before. And still, my hair isn’t styled every day, I’m not a ray of sunshine the moment I wake up, and I certainly do not have it all figured out. But I am so much more present. I am so much more content. And I love my life just as it is.

No shiny, idyllic self is required.

Big hug,

If this piece spoke to you, tap the heart or comment below. Knowing whether or not this resonated seriously makes my day. And if someone in your life might need this reminder too, feel free to share it with them. Thank you for reading — I’m so grateful you’re here.

If you’re feeling the pull create more space in your life, the lowest hanging fruit is spending less time on your phone. Life Unlooped is a 45-day experiment to help you become less attached to your device — one small choice at a time. If that sounds like something you want to explore alongside others, join us by becoming a paid subscriber. We start the summer session in July!

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