A View From the Edges
Guest blog by Elizabeth Shoop
How I Stepped into My Own Story
I remember as a child, lying on a grassy hillside, peering through purple wildflowers, from the edge of things.
Close to the earth. Slightly hidden. Listening.
I was the youngest in my family by eight years. The only grandchild. Aware of the adult world unfolding around me, yet somehow aware that I wasn’t quite in it.
I found a sense of belonging in nature, and in my own fanciful imagination. I found companionship in pine grove castles and the birdseye view from the maple boughs.
As I grew older, friendships took shape, but I noticed a familiar pattern. I was rarely the main character. I was the sidekick—the steady one, the supportive one, the one who helped keep things smooth around the edges.
Somewhere along the way, I formed a quiet belief:
I am not the center of the story.
I am here to be supportive, stabilizing, and easy to love.
I should stay quietly on the edges.
That way of being served a purpose. It helped me stay connected. It gave me a role I could rely on.
But over time, the very strengths I relied on—solitude, imagination, adapting—began to close in around me.
Fast forward to adulthood. On the outside, everything looked good. I played my supportive roles in a way that my true, vulnerable self was safely cloaked. However, on the inside, something in me was quietly suffocating.
When I tried to measure up—when I played all the roles according to the script, I felt trapped.
Then I noticed something powerful. When I let myself be free and authentic—even in small moments—I felt something entirely different:
I loved being me.
_________________________________________________________________
Then came the COVID pandemic—ten unexpected days alone.
With nothing but time to reflect, I began to see something more clearly: the very roles I had grown accustomed to were quietly obstructing my true self from taking the lead in my own story.
At first, the isolation felt confining. But something surprising unfolded in that quiet. Without roles to perform or expectations to meet, I found myself.
And I really liked her!
In that room by myself, I read what I wanted. I moved how I wanted. I explored ideas I had once kept at the edges of my life.
Late at night, I slipped quietly outside and stood under the wide sky, watching the rare conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, feeling something open that I didn’t yet have words for.
It wasn’t a dramatic breakthrough – it was a quiet exploration of who I was, without the roles, without serving a function. It was the beginning of a revelation.
______________________________________________________________
The calling became louder during another unlikely situation, in a book group. Three suburban moms, all playing our respective roles, came together one evening to plan out our reading schedule.
Fingers tracing the grooves on the wooden craft table, I avoided eye contact, afraid that someone might see behind the mask. I sipped my tea, trying to seem pleasant, composed—like everything was fine. But the pressure of unspoken words was building.
Behind the scenes, I was experiencing a deep depression. And I could no longer pretend otherwise.
In what I can only describe now as an unfiltered, very human moment, something in me gave way. I shared with uncharacteristic vulnerability and raw honesty, how deeply dissatisfied I was beneath it all… beneath the roles, beneath the masks.
There was an awkward pause.
The kind where you wonder if you’ve gone too far.
And then… something softened.
We all exhaled.
The masks came down.
It wasn’t just a moment of seeing.
It was a moment of allowing myself to be seen.
That group of women—each of us quietly holding our own questions and constraints—stepped together into something new. We explored ideas we once felt hesitant to name. We spoke truths that didn’t fit neatly into the roles we had been playing.
Because of the tender and tenacious way this trio quietly held space for risky vulnerability—without judgment—I began to feel accepted without performing.
Revealing myself wasn’t as scary as I had anticipated, and it was deeply gratifying to have these now dear friends reflect back what they saw: creativity, insight, avid curiosity, and courage.
Slowly, I settled into a new belief:
I matter.
I am the main character in my own story.
I am allowed to explore who I am—fully and honestly.
Living that belief has not been effortless.
Showing up authentically in wider circles has felt uncomfortable at times. Growth often does.
But there have been small, meaningful confirmations along the way—breadcrumbs that remind me I’m on the right path, such as when my teenager mused, “Mom, you’ve had a real glow-up since you started your business. That took courage.”
She saw it too.
Now, I find myself back on the wildflower hillside—but in a different way.
Not hidden.
Not small.
But grounded.
Here, there is room to breathe, and to live into the full expression of my authenticity.
The forest stretches wide around me, whispering its steady, ancient rhythms.
The earth beneath me feels like an anchor, a quiet reminder that I belong here.
I still love the quiet.
The imagination that wanders and plays.
The way beauty reveals itself when you slow down enough to notice.
But now, I live from a place that is fully my own.
I speak. I create. I lead. I gather people. I find deep satisfaction in shaping spaces where something real can happen. I bring imagination into reality. I follow curiosity. I listen inward.
And I trust that the life unfolding in front of me is one I am meant to actively participate in—not just observe from the edges.
So I’ll leave you with this:
Where in your life have you been living at the edge of things?
What roles have you taken on that once helped you stay connected… but may no longer fit?
And what might it look like—not all at once, but in small, brave moments—to let yourself be seen?
Your story doesn’t need to look like mine, but if something in you is stirring…if there’s even a whisper of a deeper calling—you don’t have to explore it alone.
Sometimes all it takes is a space—
a circle of people willing to set down the roles, to speak honestly, to listen for what’s true, and to take small, or big steps into something new.
I know, because I needed that space too. I didn't find my way back to myself through a single dramatic moment — I found it through small acts of honesty, in the company of people willing to be honest alongside me. That experience changed something in me deeply enough that I felt called to help bring something like it into being.
And now, I get to help hold it.
A place where you can listen more closely to your own life…
and begin, in your own way, to answer what’s calling you forward.
_______________________________________________________________
Elizabeth Shoop
Elizabeth Shoop, MA, LPC, is a therapist, writer, and facilitator based in Virginia. She creates spaces for reflection, connection, and embodied growth through her practice, Rivers Way Counseling.
She is s a co-facilitator for A Deeper Calling, a 12-week, online immersion in the art and power of discovering, answering and living our deeper calling.
