I Was Ready to Begin. Until It Was Time to Begin.

I had a plan.

Of course I had a plan.

November 1st. A fresh month, a fresh beginning, and a rather ambitious little promise to myself called Making Room for Me.

There would be a proper introduction. A first voice recording. Maybe a little nervous excitement, followed by that lovely feeling of finally doing something I'd been thinking about for far too long.

In my head, it was a beautiful launch.

In reality, November 1st came and went.

And then another day.

And another.

And somehow, November is already making its way towards the middle, and I'm still trying to convince myself to record the very first few sentences.

Not an entire podcast. Not a speech in front of hundreds of people.

Just my voice.

Apparently, that's where we've decided to draw the line.

The things I'll do instead of pressing record

It's almost impressive how productive I can become when there's something I don't particularly want to do.

Suddenly, everything needs a little more attention.

The words aren't quite right. The room could be quieter. Maybe I should think about the opening again. Perhaps I need a better idea of what comes after the introduction.

And just like that, I've spent another evening preparing to start.

I've always been rather good at the planning part. Give me an idea and I'll happily turn it into a notebook full of possibilities, complete with an unnecessarily optimistic timeline.

But there's something wonderfully safe about a plan.

Nobody can hear you hesitate in a notebook.

Nobody hears the awkward pause while you search for the next sentence. Nobody knows you've forgotten what you wanted to say, even though you've been rehearsing it in your head all afternoon.

A plan can be perfect for as long as it stays a plan.

A recording is different.

A recording means I've actually begun.

Maybe I'm not as ready as I thought

I've been trying to work out what's stopping me.

Am I avoiding the commitment?

Am I scared of putting myself out there?

Or have I spent so long imagining how this should begin that the ordinary, slightly awkward version of actually beginning feels disappointing?

I don't really know.

And I think that's the part I wasn't expecting.

When I first thought about Making Room for Me, it sounded so simple. A little time to focus on myself. To try things, build better habits, rediscover interests, and pay attention to the parts of me that tend to get pushed aside while life is happening.

Nothing terribly dramatic.

Just making a little space for myself in a life that always seems to have another thing waiting.

But I hadn't considered how uncomfortable it might feel to actually claim that space.

Because thinking about doing something for yourself is easy.

Making it a priority, when there are a hundred perfectly reasonable reasons not to, is something else entirely.

And then there's the voice recording.

It's funny. I talk all day. I have opinions, stories, complaints about things that probably don't deserve quite so much attention.

Yet the moment I imagine speaking into a microphone, knowing someone might actually listen, I suddenly have absolutely nothing to say.

Or perhaps I have too much to say, and I'm worried none of it will sound the way I imagined.

I think I've made the beginning too important

Maybe that's the problem.

November 1st wasn't supposed to be just a date. Somewhere along the way, I turned it into an event.

A proper beginning. A little personal reinvention. A version of myself who would wake up, confidently press record, and proceed with the sort of consistency I've always admired in other people.

I rather liked her.

Unfortunately, she appears to have missed her appointment.

And now that the date has passed, there's this ridiculous temptation to choose another one.

Perhaps next Monday.

Perhaps the 15th.

Perhaps December, when the calendar looks nice and clean again.

I know how this works. I've done it before.

There's always another Monday.

There's always a better time.

And the longer I wait, the bigger that first tiny step seems to become.

So where does that leave me?

Still here, apparently.

Still wanting to do it.

Still a little nervous.

And, if I'm being fair to myself, perhaps a little more aware of why this challenge matters than I was when I first wrote it down.

I wanted Making Room for Me to be about doing more of the things that make me feel like myself.

I didn't expect the first challenge to be allowing myself to be heard.

Not the polished version.

Not the version with the perfect opening sentence and the entire month figured out.

Just me, figuring something out as I go.

I haven't made that first recording yet.

I'd love to say that writing this has given me the courage to pick up my phone and do it immediately. That would make a rather satisfying ending, wouldn't it?

But I don't want to turn another honest moment into another performance.

I still need to press record.

Maybe I'll stumble over the introduction. Maybe I'll laugh halfway through. Maybe I'll listen back and wonder why my voice sounds so different from the one in my head.

That's fine. Or at least, I'm trying to believe it is.

November 1st was supposed to be the beginning.

It wasn't.

But I don't think I need to wait for another perfect date.

Maybe making room for me starts with making room for an imperfect beginning.

And perhaps the first thing I need to say, whenever I finally press that little red button, is simply:

Well. This took longer than expected.

P.S. A small, imperfect step.

I've made a little corner for Making Room for Me on Instagram: @ohaudrey.ca (opens in a new tab).

It's private for now. Just a bio, a promise, and me trying to work up the courage to record that first hello.

I'll make it public when Day 1 begins. Come follow along when I finally get there? I'd love the company.