Held Together by Tenacity & Tape: A Journey to Wholeness

Originally Posted: September 2022

An executive coach asked me a question that I couldn’t shake:

“What am I protecting—or who am I protecting—by not sharing my story?”

At first, I didn’t have an answer. But over time, through prayer and reflection, the truth began to surface.

I was protecting me. Not just the woman I am today, but the young girl I used to be. The tender, insecure girl who had been told—directly or indirectly—that she wasn’t enough. I had built an idealized image of myself over the years, and others helped reinforce it. That image became a shield, a mask, a way to survive.

From the outside, I looked like I had it all together. But the truth? My life was held together with masking tape. All the pieces—my roles, my relationships, my responsibilities—were jumbled together and barely holding. My tenacity kept it going. But it wasn’t sustainable.

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The Unraveling

It started to slip in 2019. Or maybe earlier. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but looking back, I see the signs. I thought I had discovered myself in my early twenties. I thought I was one of the lucky ones who had it all figured out. I even felt sorry for those who didn’t.

But I was living a projection. A version of myself tailored to what others needed or expected. A version for work. A version for home. A version for my kids. A version for everyone but me. I had become a chameleon with no true home.

Then my father passed away—and everything unraveled. The tenacity was gone. The tape came off. And all the pieces I had worked so hard to hold together fell apart.

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The Picking Up

I tried to gather the pieces again. To make it all make sense. To hide what felt like failure. But

The metaphor of life being held together by “tenacity and tape” is especially poignant— as it evokes both strength and fragility, and the immense effort i it takes to keep everything from falling apart.

the more I tried, the more pieces slipped through my fingers. Until I realized something profound: I needed to stop. To be still. To look at the pieces.

So I did. Slowly, intentionally, I began to pick them up—one by one. I examined each piece. Some were filled with joy and wonder. Others were burdens I was never meant to carry. Some pieces I held onto. Others I laid down.

Some are still “under review,” and that’s okay. Because the pieces I’ve chosen to keep are no longer held together by tape and tenacity. They’re held together by faith and hope.

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The Becoming

This journey has brought me to a peace I’ve searched for my entire life. A deeper understanding of who I am—not the projection, not the chameleon, but the real me. The woman who is no longer afraid to tell her story. The woman who is no longer protecting a false image, but embracing her truth.

And maybe, just maybe, by sharing this story, someone else will feel seen. Someone else will find the courage to stop, to be still, and to begin picking up their own pieces.