Fear of starting over: why the first few steps feel the hardest
(and why you should take them anyway)
Keep showing up for yourself!!
Starting is hard —
Starting over…
Starting new…
Starting again…
You're not failing if you’re finding it hard!!
Back at square one? Not exactly.
I didn’t think I’d feel this nervous just lacing up my shoes again.
I’ve run before — for years, actually. It’s been one of those things that I’ve always been drawn to and has always grounded me. Have you heard the term ‘runners high’? It’s like you get into this zone and its a way to move through my thoughts, to feel strong, and to create space for myself.
But, this time felt different.
Coming back to running after a few years off? That stirred up so many noisy thoughts.
What if I’m slower now? What if I can’t even do it? What if I just look ridiculous out there?
Cue the ego with its dramatic flair:
At your age? Really? Why bother? You’re basically starting from scratch… again?
And listen, if you’ve ever had to start something new or start over — with your health, your routines, or even your mindset — then you probably know that weird, wobbly mix of hope and hesitation I’m talking about.
This is a story about that. And what happens when we show up anyway.
Because honestly? I almost talked myself out of it.
I had a million reasons why it was the wrong time (I didn’t have new shows), why I should wait (maybe I wasn’t ready), or why it didn’t really matter anymore (you’re not getting any younger, maybe you should slow down).
I could’ve just let it go. It would’ve been easy to say “That was a past version of me.”
But something in me wasn’t ready to close that chapter.
And yes — I’m a coach. I support other women through big life pivots, tough transitions, and fresh starts. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get stuck sometimes too.
Sometimes we forget we need support just as much as we give it. This is what I learned when I decided to begin again — knees a little unsure they could do it, heart pounding, but determined to show up for myself.
The reality of starting over…
Here’s the truth: starting over is humbling.
It’s not just about lacing up your shoes or showing up at the gym or clicking “join” on that new thing. It’s about sitting in the discomfort of not being where you used to be or want to be. It’s facing your inner critic and doing the thing anyway. And that? That takes guts.
Since I’m being honest here, I think one of the biggest reasons I was stalling on getting back into running was my pride. Full stop. I knew that if I wanted to run again, I’d have to start from square one in a lot of ways — and when you’ve been doing something for years, even with a break in the mix, that’s a tough pill to swallow.
But I also know this isn’t just about running.
This is about any kind of change — a new routine, a return to something you loved, or a complete restart after life tosses you upside-down. Whether you've done it before or you're trying it for the first time, there's a vulnerability that comes with beginning again. It's like announcing to the world (and yourself), “Okay… I’m not where I want to be yet. But I’m going to try anyway.”
Let me give you some context.
A lot of you already know, but in case you're new here — I lost my big brother a couple of years ago. He was technically my brother-in-law but had very quickly became simply my big brother in every way. We were very close. After he passed, the things that used to bring me comfort, helped me process things and destress — movement, running, strength training — just… stopped.
My brother was my biggest supporter. The one who encouraged me to try new things, who called me an athlete long before I ever believed it myself. He was the reason I even stepped into a weight room to begin with - he murdered my legs the first time we trained together, but despite that I was hooked, but with a more reasonable training plan! He believed in me in ways I hadn’t learned to believe in myself yet.
So when he died, it kind of felt like that belief vanished with him.
At first, I tried to keep going. I pushed through workouts for a few months afterwards. I’d cry during runs, sometimes mid workout or while doing deadlifts — even if I was listening to the most upbeat hip-hop playlist ever. (Shoutout to Gangsta’s Paradise for triggering an emotional breakdown on a sunny afternoon run. Who cries to that song? Me, apparently.)
Eventually, my body said “enough.” The grief was so heavy it became physical. Everything ached. And I had to stop. Not because I gave up — but because healing demanded it.
There’s a saying - if you don’t slow down, your body will do it for you. At this point my body was definitely pushing me to slow down.
I want to pause here and say this: if you’ve stepped away from something you love — it’s okay.
Life happens. Grief happens. Burnout happens. Hormones shift. Bodies change. Priorities get shuffled. It’s okay to take a break. It’s okay to let something go. It’s okay to come back to it. And it’s okay to never come back, too. Whatever path you take — you’re not failing.
But for me, running was something I knew I wanted to come back to eventually. I just didn’t know how to start again without crumbling to Gangsta’s Paradise mid run again.
Why I laced up anyways…
So what changed?
I wish I could give you some lightning-bolt moment, but it was more of a slow build — a collection of quiet shifts over time.
I was tired…
Tired of not feeling like myself.
Tired of waking up with aches and stiffness that felt unnecessary.
Tired of feeling… stuck.
And I know myself well enough to realize when I’m craving movement — not punishment, not “get back on track” desperation — but real movement that helps me feel connected to my body again.
I started small
Last fall, I began with strength training again. I added mobility work, focused on joint health, and committed to consistency, not intensity.
Then in January….
…not because of New Year’s pressure, but because the timing lined up — I joined a gym. Started going to spin classes. Dabbled in treadmill runs, which I hated (still do) and the good ‘ol stair climber
But I was in motion again.
Then I saw a local running group pop up in my feed. At first, I ignored it. Told myself I didn’t need it. I’d always run solo. I knew what I was doing. Why would I join a group for beginners?
But deep down, I knew that ego was trying to protect me from feeling vulnerable. From having to admit I needed structure, accountability, and community.
And as a coach, I know the value of those things.
By spring, I signed up for the rookie run program.
Yep. Me. In the beginner lane.
What it’s really like to be a beginner again
That first night? I was so nervous and was having second thoughts on going!
I walked in alone, didn’t know a single soul, and immediately started scanning the crowd hoping for a familiar face.
No luck. Just me
Then I realized I was surrounded by people who probably felt the exact same way. (well unless they came with someone!)
But I had a little talk with myself before I got there: “You’re not here to perform. You’re here to start.”
And thank goodness for that mindset, because wow… that first run humbled me in ways I wasn’t ready for.
Everything hurt. My calves, my shins, muscles I forgot about. My pace felt embarrassingly slow. And my brain? Oh, it was having a field day.
My brain was saying - ‘we can run faster than this’
but my body was yelling - ‘um, no, we absolutely CANNOT’
But as much as my brain wanted to go there, something else kicked in. A quieter voice, maybe the one I’ve been nurturing through coaching and healing, said:
But you’re here. And that counts for something.
I had to remind myself over and over that this wasn’t about perfection or performance — it was about rebuilding trust. With my body. With my process. With myself.
And as the weeks went on, something amazing happened: the muscles started to remember. My breath found its rhythm again. My form came back (hi there muscle memory). I stopped thinking about how I looked and started noticing how I felt.
It felt amazing!
Not because I was fast all of a sudden, but because I kept showing up for myself and little by little felt my confidence growing, my strength coming back and the joy in running I had lost returning. (I may have shed a few tears but they were happy ones now) Plus I met some great people along the way!!
We all need support — even the strong ones
This experience cracked me open in the best way.
It reminded me how important mindset really is. Because honestly? The hardest part really isn’t lacing up your shoes. Its navigating the stories in we tell ourselves.
The ones that say you’re not ready.
That it’s too late.
That you’re too far gone.
That you should’ve had it all figured out by now.
That you never should have stopped to begin with.
The bonus of doing this in community?
Getting to meet amazing new people, cheering & encouraging each other on knowing that we’re all in this together!!
We all carry similar stories. Even the “strong” ones. Even the helpers and the givers and the high-achievers.
Over the years, I’ve leaned on a lot of support — therapy, naturopathy, business mentors, fellow nutritionists. It doesn’t make me weak. It makes me wise. Because growth isn’t a solo sport.
And I’ll be the first to admit, as a hyper-independent woman, asking for help doesn’t come easy to me. But when I do? I always wonder why I waited so long.
So if you’re carrying the weight of trying to figure it all out alone — you don’t have to. Let someone walk with you.
If you’re in a stage of new beginnings…
Here’s what I want you to know:
➡️ You’re allowed to feel nervous.
➡️ You’re allowed to miss the old you and want something new.
➡️ You’re allowed to move slow.
➡️ You’re allowed to not have it all figured out yet.
And above all, you’re allowed to start — right here, as you are.
Start imperfectly.
Start with support.
Start because it matters to you.
Start with one small, doable step — not a grand plan.
Let’s do this together…
If this story hits close to home — if you’re in a season of starting over, or you’re craving a reset with your health, habits, or hormones — I see you.
I’d love to walk with you. Whether it’s through 1:1 coaching or just a good ol’ chat to figure out what you need — you don’t have to do it alone.
Click here to explore support options.
Or send me a message and let’s talk about what might feel good for you.
That first step? It’s scary. But it’s often the one that changes everything. 💛
