There is a quiet revolution unfolding within me. Not one of defiance, but of release.

For so long, I wore the garments stitched from others’ expectations—parents, church, family, tradition. I felt glassy and brittle, I was merely mirroring what others needed me to be. It was survival masquerading as identity.

But I see it now, and I see who I was then not with contempt, but with compassion. She kept me safe in a world that prized obedience over authenticity. But she isn’t needed anymore. Her work is done.

The persistence that defined me—at school, in marriage, in ministry—wasn’t just tenacity. It was the clenched jaw of a woman trying to hold together a self she never chose. And now? I’m releasing that persistence. No longer pushing. No longer striving to prove or belong. I am choosing instead to rest. To flow. To be.

I understand now why the concept of authentic leadership has always burned so brightly within me. Because at this stage of life - this third act – it’s not about leading as others expect. but about leading from the core of who I truly am. Unfiltered. Undiminished. Whole.

I’ve come to see that the life I lived before 50 was shaped by boundaries not of my making—interpretations of old words, filtered through centuries and sewn tightly into a corset of obligation. I thought that was my real life. But it was a persona. A mask. An echo.

Now, I know: the woman I am today is not a deviation. She is the original. The true. The real Bronwyn.

Old patterns still whisper. I expect they always will. But I no longer answer. I don’t need to fight them. I simply acknowledge their presence, and let them drift past like autumn leaves on water. They are no longer mine to carry.

This journey is not without its grief. There is sadness for what was lost or never found. But that sorrow is gentle now. It lives beside the joy of rediscovery. Because I’m not leaving my past behind in anger. I am laying it down in gratitude.

Today, I feel the ground beneath me differently. Not as a platform I must perform upon, but as soil I can root into. I no longer need to reflect light. I generate it. From within. Unapologetically.



This is the gift of a life reclaimed.