I spent the evening looking across the cafeteria at a table full of Indian families, wondering why they didn’t seem to notice that I was like them. I compared their hair to mine, their skin to mine and, God help me, even their noses to mine. At one point, I actually dug through my purse, put in my nose ring and thought, Bam. Now I’m Indian.

I laughed at myself, but later that night, I cried. Because underneath the humor was an ache I thought I had healed years ago: Where did I come from? Who do I look like? And where, exactly, do I belong?

Turns out, I was looking at the wrong table.

I used to think I was missing pieces… until I realized I was the one putting them together.

Have you ever felt a quiet longing—something pulling you toward something new? I know this feeling well. The last time, it led me to have another child. But now, with that chapter closed, the longing still lingers.

Motherhood has been a whirlwind of joy and exhaustion, but as the house grows quieter, a question settles in: What now? The love I’ve poured into raising babies is still there—so where do I put it?

Maybe this isn’t an ending but a beginning. A time to plant new seeds, to rediscover myself. Maybe, in peeling back the layers, I’ll find that what I’ve been searching for was me all along.

Do you feel it too? Let’s dig in together.