As the Leaves Fall, I Rise
The Newest Installation of
Writing Biz
BY ERYKA PARKER
© 2025
Something about autumn makes truth harder to hide. The sharp air, bold colors, and shorter days make it seem like the season itself is asking, What’s real? I used to breeze through these months without answering that question, pretending the external changes had nothing to do with the changes I was avoiding inside. But last autumn was different. I finally chose myself. Not in the glossy, social media way where you post a smiling selfie with a vague caption. It was in the messy, soul-searching way where you strip down to the uncomfortable parts and face what you’ve been carrying for far too long.
In that season, I started conversing with the previous versions of myself. The younger me—who thought approval was the same as love—told me she was tired. She admitted she’d traded too many of her “no’s” to gain someone else’s “yes” and no longer knew who she was without those compromises. The present me, knees deep in life’s unpredictable middle chapters, offered her a knowing smile and said, We survived that. But we’re not doing it anymore. The future me, calm, steady, and patient, whispers that the road ahead won’t be perfect, but it will still be ours.
After holding up a mirror for years, I realized it wasn’t really mine, but a mosaic of everyone else’s expectations, reflecting an image I barely recognized. That autumn, I didn’t just set it down, I shattered it. As the shards fell, I realized each broken piece was like an autumn leaf drifting to the ground: part of a cycle that clears space for something truer to grow.
Choosing Myself Wasn’t Pretty
I thought my self-declaration would be a dramatic, made-for-TV moment. A grand speech or a single act of rebellion. But it was quiet and slow — the kind of choice you make over and over until one day, you realize it’s become your way of living.
For me, it started with small refusals. Saying no to things that looked good on the outside but felt wrong on the inside. Gradually releasing roles and responsibilities I’d taken on just to feel needed. Releasing habits that kept me “busy” but not fulfilled. Every disengagement was uncomfortable, like shedding a layer I wasn’t quite ready to part with. But once it was gone, I breathed easier. Growth rarely feels good while it’s happening, but it always leaves you much lighter.
Lessons from My Past Selves
Over time, I learned the difference between what’s mine to carry and what isn’t. I learned about the analogy on loads and burdens. A load is the personal weight we’re each meant to carry—the experiences, responsibilities, and lessons designed to shape us. A burden is heavier. It’s the kind of weight a person experiences that calls for community, support and shared strength to help lift.
For years, I thought I was helping by stepping in to help carry someone else’s load—the very thing meant to teach them resilience and self-awareness. In the process, I neglected my own. Looking back, Younger Me saw it as kindness, but Present Me recognizes it as avoidance. By pouring into others, I didn’t have to face what was mine to handle. Future Me promises to keep my focus where it belongs: on strengthening myself to carry my own load well, so when a true burden crosses my path, I have the capacity to help without losing myself in the process.
Breaking the Mirror
There’s a certain kind of mirror we all inherit. It may be shaped by family expectations, past encounters, or by the subtle but constant pull of societal norms. For me, it reflected a version of myself that was polished, presentable, and pleasing … but hollow. Every time I looked into it, I saw who I was supposed to be, but not who I actually was.
The day I broke that mirror wasn’t about defiance, but clarity. I no longer measured my worth by someone else’s standards. As the pieces fell, they didn’t cut me, they freed and transformed me, nourishing new growth.
An Invitation
Autumn reminds us that letting go is natural. Trees don’t panic when the leaves fall; they trust the process. Choosing yourself doesn’t mean turning your back on others. It’s a commitment to knowing, carrying, and caring for what’s yours so you can show up fully when it matters most.
You might be in your own season of release right now. Maybe you’re realizing some of the weight you carry isn’t yours. Maybe you’re starting to recognize the quiet voice of your future self, urging you to step into a life that feels more like what you want. Or maybe you’re still standing in front of that mirror, unsure if you’re ready to break it.
Wherever you are in your journey, trust that each leaf that falls is making space to reveal you in full bloom. So, release the past with gratitude and trust that what’s coming will root deeper and rise higher than before.
Eryka Parker
Founder, Legacy Book Coaching & Consulting