Finding Purpose When Life Looks Nothing Like You Planned

What is our purpose while we are here? I’ve been reflecting on this a lot as I try to find my new purpose.

Erikson’s stages of development suggest that we move through core conflicts as we progress through life—trust versus mistrust, autonomy versus shame, initiative versus guilt, industry versus inferiority, identity versus confusion, intimacy versus isolation, generativity versus stagnation, and integrity versus despair.

I find myself in the stage of generativity versus stagnation—the season where we’re often focused on building careers, raising families, and creating something meaningful that outlives us. But what happens when you lose both your career and the daily role of motherhood as you once knew it? I feel stagnant. The quiet moments can be deafening. I’m learning that purpose doesn’t disappear just because the life you built changes. It simply asks to be redefined.

In this season, I’m learning how to be present—truly present. Making eye contact with people when I’m out and about. Paying attention to the small details around me. Slowing down enough to actually experience my life instead of rushing through it. I’m beginning to understand that my purpose may not be tied to productivity, titles, or roles anymore. My purpose might simply be to experience life—the good, the painful, and everything in between.

I’ve been asking God a lot of questions lately about what I’m supposed to get out of this life. And what I keep hearing, softly but consistently, is: experience it and connect with the people around you.

I recently watched a Netflix episode where a well-known actor spoke about his belief that when life ends, that’s it—there’s nothing more. Despite fame and success, he described feeling deeply lonely. He shared how early trauma followed him into adulthood and made it difficult to be present. That resonated with me. Trauma has a way of pulling us out of the moment—either replaying the past or anxiously scanning the future. Learning to stay present has been one of the hardest and most meaningful parts of my healing journey.

So maybe our purpose isn’t something we accomplish, but something we practice. Staying present. Truly living. Chasing what makes us feel alive. Connecting with others. Showing up without judgment. Loving people well. And choosing very wisely who we allow close to us—because the people we let in will profoundly shape our emotional and spiritual well-being.

And through all of it, finding God.

God has been the one constant anchor in my life. The one who picked me up when I fell, loved me without conditions, and stayed when everything else changed. And when you experience that kind of love, it’s meant to be shared.

I don’t know exactly what happens on the other side of this life. But I’ve had too many moments—too many whispers, too many rescues, too much grace—to believe God won’t be there waiting.

For now, I choose to experience this life fully. To stay present. To love deeply. And to trust that purpose isn’t lost—it’s unfolding.