Fri, 10 Jul 2026 07:00:04 -0600WeeblyMon, 06 Jul 2026 03:52:58 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/what-if-i-want-to-be-anythingWhen Olivia was very young, she was diagnosed with a chromosomal condition that meant her path would likely look different.

Different from mine.
Different from her dad's.
Different from her siblings'.

Looking back, I think part of me knew before the official diagnosis.
Maybe not intellectually—but somewhere in that quieter place where mothers sometimes know things before they can explain them.

Accepting that her life might look different was one thing.
Accepting that her education would too was another.

As junior high approached, Olivia began showing signs of what I believe was anxiety.
So was I.
Junior high is hard under ordinary circumstances.

Add academic differences, social uncertainty, and the invisible fear every parent carries of watching their child struggle, and it becomes something else entirely.

One day she asked me,
"Mom, can you homeschool me?"

And I considered it.

​Not because I doubted her.
Because I wanted to protect her.

But I've learned that protection and preparation are not always the same thing.
So the first day came.

She was anxious.
I was anxious.
I tried to hand her my strength instead of my fear.
She survived the first day.
And so did I.

Recently, I sat in an IEP meeting with her teachers.
I listened as they described my daughter.

Not with pity.
Not with lowered expectations.
With admiration.

They talked about how hard she works.
How she keeps trying.
How she pushes through emotional and academic challenges.
How she uses her strengths.
How she keeps reaching.

And sitting there, I realized something.

Sometimes the limits we fear most are the ones we begin writing before the story is finished.

Because Olivia keeps teaching me something.

Possibility doesn't always look like ease.
Sometimes it looks like effort.
Sometimes it looks like courage.
Sometimes it looks like showing up while you're still afraid.

And somewhere in all of that, I hear her question again.
"What if I want to be anything?"

Maybe that's not just her question.
Maybe it's ours.

Because somewhere along the way, many of us quietly stop believing we're allowed to become something we haven't been yet.

What if possibility wasn't reserved for the naturally gifted, the fearless, or the people with the easiest path?

What if possibility belonged to the ones who simply kept and keep showing up?

​What if I want to be anything?]]>Sun, 14 Jun 2026 23:34:39 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/we-got-this-girl"But why, mom? Why do you have to go back to work?"

A few nights ago Olivia asked me that.

And for a second, I felt the weight of everything.

Because the honest answer isn't simple.
Because sometimes life shifts.
Because bills exist.
Because seasons change.
Because moms carry a lot.
Because sometimes doing the right thing still feels hard.

She told me she likes when I'm home on Fridays.

Honestly?

Me too.

I miss the flexibility.
I miss the structure we've known.
I miss the version of normal we've gotten used to.

But I also know this next season matters.

The beginning will be hard.

Training will mean long days away from home.

Our rhythm will change.

And then I reminded her:
"Eventually I'll be working from home."

And I watched the light come back into her eyes.

Then she surprised me.

Without me asking, she said:
"Mommy, I can make my lunches the night before."

And I had one of those quiet parenting moments where your heart breaks and expands at the same time.

Because this is what growth looks like.

Not perfect.
Not easy.
Not without emotion.

But stepping up anyway.

We got this, girl.]]>Sun, 07 Jun 2026 05:34:40 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/the-traits-that-make-you-different-are-often-the-traits-that-help-you-succeedMany people spend years trying to fix the very things that make them valuable.

The person who asks too many questions often becomes the expert because they refuse to stop learning.

The person who notices details becomes the one who catches mistakes others miss.

The person who thinks deeply becomes the one who sees solutions others overlook.

The person who remembers names becomes the one who builds lasting relationships.

The person who feels deeply becomes the one others trust when life gets difficult.

The person who is endlessly curious becomes the innovator.

The person who is persistent becomes the one who succeeds after everyone else quits.

Every strength has a shadow.

Attention to detail can look like overthinking.

Curiosity can look like questioning.

Persistence can look like stubbornness.

Sensitivity can look like weakness.

Independence can look like resistance.

The very qualities that create value are often misunderstood before they are appreciated.

When we're young, we're often taught to fit in. We learn to smooth out the parts of ourselves that seem different, inconvenient, or difficult for others to understand. Over time, we begin to see those traits as flaws instead of gifts.

But many of the people who make the greatest impact in the world aren't successful because they became someone else. They're successful because they learned how to use who they already were.

The goal isn't to become a different person.

The goal is to recognize that many of the qualities you've viewed as flaws may actually be some of your greatest strengths.

Sometimes the trait you've spent years apologizing for is the very thing that sets you apart.

Sometimes the quality you've tried hardest to hide is the one that allows you to contribute in a way no one else can.

And sometimes success isn't becoming a different person.

​It's finally recognizing the value of the person you've been all along.

]]>Tue, 19 May 2026 03:14:34 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/sometimes-one-sentence-is-enoughI’ve read a lot of books over the years.
Some I’ve read cover to cover.
Some I’ve revisited multiple times.
Some are filled with notes in the margins.
Some changed how I think in lasting ways.

And some?

I never connected with at all.

I used to think there was something wrong with not finishing every book I started.
Like if I picked it up, I should push through.
But over time, I realized that’s not really why I read.

I don’t read to complete books.

I read for movement.

Sometimes that movement comes through an entire book.
Sometimes it comes through a chapter.
And sometimes it comes through one sentence that shifts something in how I think.

That’s enough.
That’s success.

​Because for me, reading has never really been about retention for the sake of retention.
It’s been about perspective.

Direction.
Clarity.
Insight.

I’ve read books on mindset, parenting, education, communication, psychology, business, behavior, creativity, health, fiction, and more.

Do I remember every detail?

No.

But I remember what moved me.
And honestly, I think that matters more.

Some books create momentum.
Some create questions.
Some help you articulate something you already felt but couldn’t name yet.
And some?

You try.
You read.
You push a little.
And nothing moves.

I’ve learned that’s useful information too.

Not every book connects.
Not every author resonates.
Not every idea lands when you’re ready for it.

That’s okay.

Because the right book at the right moment can change your thinking with one paragraph.

Or one sentence.

​And sometimes one sentence is enough.]]>Tue, 12 May 2026 03:33:23 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/movement-creates-clarityAt one point during my job search, I wanted to stop completely.

I had probably applied to 45 positions by then.

I had rewritten my resume over and over.
Interviewed multiple times.
Adjusted wording.
Changed approaches.
Tried to improve every part of the process.

And honestly, it felt like nothing was giving.

I remember sitting at my desk thinking:

Maybe I should just stop.

And for a moment, the thought actually felt peaceful.
No more applications.
No more interviews.
No more overthinking.

Just stillness.

But then I realized something.

When I stopped moving, everything became still—but the clarity stopped too.

Because as exhausting as the process was, something important had been happening inside it.

Every application was helping me narrow direction.
Every interview was helping me understand fit.
Every adjustment was teaching me something about how I communicated, what environments felt right, and what kind of work I actually wanted to move toward.

I wasn’t just trying to get hired.

I was also figuring out where I fit.

And the more I kept going, the clearer things became.

Not all at once.
Not perfectly.
But enough to keep moving forward.

I think sometimes we think clarity is supposed to come first.

Like we’re supposed to already know exactly where we’re headed before we begin.

But I don’t really think that’s how it works anymore.

At least not for me.

I think movement creates clarity.

​And sometimes the only way to figure out what fits is to keep the gears moving long enough for things to slowly start making sense.]]>Wed, 06 May 2026 02:46:19 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/good-enoughI realized recently that “good enough” and “giving up” are not the same thing.
For a long time, I thought everything had to be perfectly aligned before I could move forward.
Perfect timing.
Perfect wording.
Perfect preparation.
Perfect version of myself.
But the harder I tried to be perfect, the harder everything became.
Because perfection creates pressure.
And pressure makes it difficult to think clearly, speak naturally, or trust yourself.

The thought came back to me during a conversation at the gym with a girl who’s getting married soon.
We started talking about weddings, planning, timelines—all the moving pieces that have to come together at once.
She said that at first, she wanted everything perfect.
Then eventually she shifted into:
“Okay… maybe it just needs to be doable.”
Then:
“Maybe I can adjust here and there.”
And finally she said:
“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be good enough.”
That phrase stayed with me.
Not because it sounded like settling.
Because it sounded like freedom.

I think a lot of people misunderstand the phrase “good enough.”
They hear:
lower standards
stop caring
be mediocre
But that’s not what this was.
This was about removing pressure.

And honestly, I realized I’ve done the same thing in my own life—especially during my job search.
The harder I tried to perform a flawless version of myself, the more unnatural everything felt.
What finally started changing things wasn’t becoming perfect.
It was realizing I didn’t need to be perfect to move forward.
I just needed to show up:
prepared
present
willing to engage
And that was enough.

Not careless.
Not lazy.
Not settling.
Just real.

I’m starting to think there’s a difference between structure and rigidity.
Structure helps you move forward.
Rigidity makes you afraid to move unless everything is perfectly aligned first.

And maybe that’s why some things feel so heavy for so long.
Not because we’re incapable.
But because we think we need certainty, perfection, or complete confidence before we begin.

I don’t think “good enough” means lowering the standard.
I think sometimes it means removing the pressure that’s preventing movement in the first place.
And sometimes, that changes everything.
]]>Mon, 04 May 2026 01:51:13 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/being-back-in-it-isnt-what-i-expectedThere’s a difference between thinking about going back to work…
and actually being back in it.

Before, I spent a lot of time thinking about:
what I could do
what I should do
whether I was ready

Now I’m in it.
And it feels different than I expected.

Not harder.
Not easier.
Just… different.

There’s a rhythm to working again.
A pace.
A structure to the day that you don’t really feel when you’re outside of it.

And being back in that rhythm does something.

It sharpens things.

Decisions feel clearer.
Tasks feel more defined.
There’s less second-guessing and more doing.

When I was outside of it, everything felt bigger.
More uncertain.
More open-ended.

Now, things are smaller.
More contained.
More manageable.

Not because everything is figured out.
But because I’m in motion.

That’s the part I didn’t fully understand before.

You can think about something for a long time.
You can try to prepare for it.
You can question whether you’re ready.

But being in it changes how you think.

It doesn’t solve everything.
But it gives you something solid to work with.

And that makes a difference.

I’m still figuring things out.
That hasn’t changed.

But it feels less like I’m trying to build something from scratch.

And more like I’m stepping back into something that already exists.]]>Sat, 02 May 2026 03:21:47 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/where-does-confidence-go-and-how-do-you-get-it-backThere’s something I didn’t expect when I started trying to move forward again.
I didn’t feel like myself.
Not incapable.
Not like I had nothing to offer.
Just… out of practice.

It felt like everything I had done before had been sitting for too long.
Like it was still there—but not at the surface.

I wouldn’t say I lacked confidence.
I would say it felt:
rusty
a little dulled
harder to access

And I think that’s different.

Because it wasn’t gone.
It just hadn’t been used in the same way for a while.

What helped wasn’t waiting to feel confident again.
It was starting anyway.

Preparing.
Thinking through my experiences.
Organizing what I had done so I could explain it clearly.

Not perfectly.
Just consistently.

And as I started doing those things, something shifted.

Not all at once.
But gradually.

It felt less like I was trying to “build” confidence…
and more like I was reconnecting with something that was already there.

The more I used it, the more it came back.

And I started to see it differently:
Confidence doesn’t disappear.
It just moves out of reach when it hasn’t been used.

Structure helped—but not because it replaced confidence.
Because it gave me a way to access it again.

A way to move.
A way to think clearly.
A way to keep going—even when I felt a little off.

I’m still figuring things out.
That hasn’t changed.

But I don’t feel like I’m starting from nothing anymore.

I feel like I’m picking something back up.

And the more I use it, the more natural it feels again.]]>Mon, 20 Apr 2026 20:59:19 GMThttps://www.melissapurcell.com/writing/what-rebuilding-my-career-has-taught-me-so-farOne thing that surprised me when I started trying to rebuild my career is this:

Interviewing is a skill.
​
I didn’t think about it that way before. I thought you either had the experience or you didn’t. But interviewing requires preparation. You have to think through your experiences, connect them to what’s being asked, and communicate them clearly.

That alone has been humbling.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that my confidence isn’t exactly where it used to be. Not because I’m incapable, but because stepping away from traditional work for so long changes how you see yourself—and how you begin to question how others might see you.

There are moments where it feels like I’m starting behind.

I don’t actually believe that’s true. But rebuilding means facing that thought anyway.

This process has also been more unpredictable than I expected. There are more paths, more options, and more competition than I realized. I’ve found myself asking questions I didn’t have to think about before:

Am I on the right path?
Are there better ones I haven’t considered?
Do I need stability first, or do I take a risk?

One shift that has helped is realizing this:

It’s not just about whether I’m right for the job. It’s also about whether the job is right for me.

I’ve had interviews where I was grateful for the opportunity, but I could tell it wasn’t the right fit. Some environments felt limiting instead of something I could grow into.

What I keep coming back to is this:

I want work where I can help people move forward.

That’s always been the part I’ve enjoyed most—talking with people, solving problems, helping them figure things out.

At the same time, I’ve had to face the question of whether I set myself back by stepping away from full-time work.

But when I look at it honestly, I know this:

​I didn’t spend those years doing nothing.

I managed a household.
I raised my kids.
I handled logistics, decisions, and constant problem solving.

​That work just isn’t labeled in a way the workforce immediately recognizes.

The challenge now is translating it.

I also keep thinking about something I heard once—about someone who kept applying for jobs and nothing was moving. Eventually, she decided to build something of her own instead of waiting.

That idea stuck with me.

​Not because it’s easy—but because it’s another path.

Right now, I’m still figuring out the right direction. And I’m also being careful about how I move forward.

Because sometimes the smartest move isn’t fast—it’s intentional.

So what have I learned so far?

​Rebuilding a career isn’t just about getting a job.

It’s about understanding your value again.
Figuring out what actually fits.
And making decisions—even when things aren’t fully clear yet.

Mostly, I’m learning this:

It’s not one big decision. It’s a series of small ones.

And right now, that’s enough.]]>