There is something wonderful about this photograph. Four women on a sofa, looking as though they have collectively decided that whatever is happening in the room is not for them. They are not performing enjoyment. They are not pretending. They are simply, magnificently, done.
Starting over has something of that energy. A quiet refusal to keep going with something that is not working. A decision, made mostly internally and probably over a very long period of time, that this particular version of things is finished.
Starting over is one of the hardest things a person can do. It also requires a particular kind of honesty most people spend years avoiding.
The willingness to say: that was not right for me. That was built from the wrong place. I tried very hard and I spent quite a lot of money and I told everyone it was going well and it was not, really, going well. And now I would like to try again, please, but differently.
That honesty is not weakness. It is extraordinary. Most people do not do it. Most people carry the wrong thing for years longer than they should because putting it down feels like admitting defeat.
Putting it down is not defeat. Putting it down is how you free your hands to pick up something better.
The scariest moment is always the beginning. And then something shifts.
Not immediately. Not easily. Nobody who has rebuilt will tell you it was simple. But they will tell you the same thing: it was worth it. Not because everything is now perfect. Because it is finally theirs.
When you build from the right place, from who you actually are and what you actually want and what actually makes sense for the life you are trying to live, things have a way of working differently. Not magically. Just better. More sustainably. With considerably less dread on Monday mornings.
You are allowed to start again. As many times as you need to. As yourself, this time.