How I find my way back
I’ve had to make my way through things too. Writing, nature, books, quiet, creativity, and connection have helped me stay connected to myself through grief, change, uncertainty, and some of the hardest chapters of my life.
Writing came first.
I started writing and journaling when I was very young. Long before I had language for reflection or self-care, I had a notebook. It became somewhere I could put the things I didn’t quite know what to do with yet.
Then I needed it.
When my dad became terminally ill with ALS, writing became more than something I loved. Journaling, books, time outside, and time alone gave me somewhere to put the fear, grief, and everything else I was carrying.
But my family also taught me something I still carry with me: hard things and beautiful things can exist at the same time. Even as my dad was dying, he kept laughing, caring about people, asking my friends about their dreams, giving advice, and trying to make the world better.
My mom once told me she admired the way I kept living—as though what was happening with my dad was part of my life, rather than all of it.
Grief came with me.
My dad died during my freshman year of college. Writing helped me make sense of what I was feeling, and long bike rides through a nearby park gave me somewhere to breathe.
Years later, my mom died just three weeks after I moved overseas. Once again, I found myself returning to the things that had always helped me find my footing: writing, time outside, books, quiet, and space to hear myself think.
There was so much life, too.
Alongside the hard things, I was building a life I loved. I moved abroad. I traveled. I bought a home. I built relationships with students that meant the world to me. I found places that felt like home, people I loved, work I cared deeply about, and versions of myself I hadn’t known yet.
I’ve always been someone who notices the good. Writing gave me a way to mark it—to hold onto moments that mattered, celebrate what was growing, and give the beautiful parts of my life somewhere to live, too.
And then I chose myself.
Eventually, I found myself in a chapter where other people’s voices became very loud—about who I was, what I was capable of, and whether I should trust my own experience.
I stayed longer than I should have. And then I left a career I had poured myself into, without a perfect plan for what came next.
I didn’t have a plan to trust. But I had myself.
And I knew myself well enough to know I would find my way.
Make room for what you’re feeling.
Feel it. Name it. Write it down. Talk about it. Cry if you need to. Give it somewhere to go.
Just don’t build your house there.
Keep living. Keep noticing what is beautiful, funny, interesting, meaningful, or good. The hard thing can be part of your life without becoming all of it.
Why The Way Back
Because I know how loud the world can get. Other people’s opinions. Expectations. Advice. The stories we’re told about who we should be and what we should do next.
The Way Back is about making enough space to hear something quieter: yourself.
Slow down
Make space.
Hear yourself.
Get curious.
Notice.
Trust your own voice.
Create.
Connect.
Keep living.
What might you find here?
Maybe a little more quiet in your head.
A thought you hadn’t had space to finish.
Something you’ve been feeling but hadn’t quite named.
A new way of noticing what’s around you.
A creative spark.
A conversation you didn’t know you needed.
A little more trust in your own voice.
You don’t have to arrive with a problem to solve or a goal to accomplish. Sometimes curiosity is enough to begin.
A little about me
I’m Casey Schmidt—a writer, lifelong journaler, educator, and certified Journal to the Self® facilitator. I’ve spent much of my life creating spaces where people can think, learn, explore, and be themselves.
The Way Back brings together many of the things that have helped me find my own way over the years: writing, nature, creativity, reflection, curiosity, and real connection.
I don’t believe I have your answers. I believe in creating enough space for you to hear your own.
