The Truth About Starting Over (Again and Again)
For those who’ve rebuilt themselves more times than they can count. What if the constant search is not a flaw, but a gift?
Someone once told me that I am eternally seeking.
At that moment, it hurt. I wanted to be found—grounded, certain, and whole. I longed to make a definitive choice and know for sure: this is it—my place, my country, my path, my mission, and my role in this world.
And my life kept showing me otherwise. I think I’ve started over at least six times… Three marriages led to three versions of me, each an attempt to understand myself through another person, to figure out what love is, to hear my own truth, and to know where “we” ends and “I” begins. Divorce feels like a small death. But every death also brings a rebirth.
I’ve experienced two immigrations, navigating two completely different cultures—Poland and the U.S. Immigration erases the old version of you and forces you to relearn how to speak, think, and connect with new people. When no one knows who you were before, you have the opportunity to decide who you will become. Then came motherhood—and once again, I had to start from scratch.
My career has shifted too, reflecting my inner transformations—marketing, photography, contemporary art. I was never just one thing, and for a long time, I was afraid to admit that I loved working in multiple fields. It felt like a weakness, as if everyone else had already “found themselves” except me.
Three marriages. Two immigrations. One motherhood. A thousand ways to begin again. Even my name has changed about six times, tracing the map of who I’ve become.
But one day, I wondered: what if my true place lies in the heart of movement? Somewhere I can break something old and create something new? Somewhere I can keep seeking — in marketing, photography, art, and personal growth?
And what if life isn’t always about finding?
What if my life is about constant movement and transformation?
And what if seeking is my superpower?
By making mistakes and being reborn repeatedly, I can share this experience with others. I can take them by the hand. I know how to start from scratch, how to pull myself out of zero—or even out of a negative place. I know how to rise after falling, how to embrace change again and again.
Perhaps that’s why I became a photographer—because photography, for me, is also research. A seek for authenticity, for essence, for truth. A seek for what’s real, beyond masks and expectations. Through my lens, I seek—and I find.
And if someone tells me once more that I am eternally seeking, I will smile. Because
Three marriages. Two immigrations. One motherhood.
This alone is more than some people accomplish in their whole life.