When Growth Changes the Shape of Belonging

When I moved to Arizona, I didn’t just change locations. I changed internally.

At the time, I might have said I wanted more sun, more space, a slower pace. All of that was true. But what was really happening was a shift in my values, my beliefs, and how I wanted to treat myself and others. I was entering a new relationship with myself, one that felt quieter, more honest, and far less performative.

Growth, especially when it’s initiated through practices like Kundalini yoga or other healing modalities, doesn’t just bring expansion. It often brings discomfort. Because as you begin to listen more deeply, you start to see the roles you were playing to stay safe. Roles that once protected you, but no longer fit.

For me, one of those roles was the peacemaker. Another was the fixer.

I wasn’t only trying to keep the peace in certain relationships. I was also constantly trying to help, explain, rescue, or offer insight no one had asked for. I genuinely believed I was being loving. But over time, I began to see how often I was operating from the rescuer position in the victim–rescuer–villain triangle. When someone struggled, I stepped in. When there was tension, I tried to smooth it. When people didn’t understand each other, I translated. When something felt off, I tried to fix it.

That role gave me purpose. It also kept me needed. And it helped me belong.

But as I grew, that role became exhausting. I started to feel the cost of always being the one who holds things together, especially in relationships that depended on me staying in that position. When I stopped rescuing, or even paused, the dynamics shifted. And that was unsettling. Not just for others, but for me.

Because when your role in your family or tribe changes, it can shake you to your core. You begin to question who you are without it. You grieve the closeness you hoped for. You notice where you were over-giving, over-explaining, or over-functioning just to feel connected.

That realization is painful. There’s grief in seeing that some relationships were built on versions of you that no longer exist. There’s loneliness in stepping out of familiar patterns before new ones have formed.

But there’s also relief.

Relief in no longer carrying responsibility that was never fully yours. Relief in letting people have their own journeys without trying to save them. Relief in choosing peace over effort, presence over proving.

Arizona gave me the space to feel that. Wide skies, quiet mornings, and enough stillness to stop managing everything. I began to redefine safety. Not as being needed, but as being anchored in myself. Not as fixing others, but as treating myself with honesty and care.

I’m still learning. Still noticing the reflex to rescue. Still practicing restraint, silence, and trust. But I’m also learning that growth doesn’t require me to abandon myself for connection.

Sometimes it asks the opposite.

It asks me to stop rescuing, stop explaining, and let belonging be mutual or not at all.

And that, while uncomfortable at first, feels like a truer kind of freedom.