Do You Ever Ask, What's My Purpose?

Let 'you' be your purpose! By Elevated states

It’s one of those questions that sneaks up on us, in the middle of a relationship shift, while watching someone else seem “sorted,” or in the pause after something that used to define us stops making sense.

We don’t just ask it once.

We ask it at 17 when we don’t want to follow the path someone else paved. At 28 when the job is fine, but our chest feels tight every Sunday night. At 42 when the roles we’ve juggled suddenly feel like costumes. At 67 when the noise fades and we wonder, Who am I now, without all the doing?

“Why do I keep asking what my purpose is and why does it make me feel sad that I don’t feel I have one?”

Because purpose isn’t just a nice bonus, it’s something we’re wired to seek. As humans, we naturally look for meaning. We want to feel like we matter, like our life is connected to something beyond just getting through the day.

So when we don’t feel a sense of purpose, especially after a big change, a loss, or a time of survival, it can feel hollow. Lonely. Even shameful. Not because we’ve failed... but because our system is ready to care again, and it’s looking for something worth caring about.

Sometimes the sadness you feel when you say, “I don’t have a purpose,” is actually a sign that your nervous system is shifting out of survival mode. You’re not numb, you’re feeling. You’re noticing the space where something meaningful used to be, or was supposed to be.

You’re not broken for asking. You’re not needy for wanting more. You’re human and being human means wanting to matter.

Sometimes, not having a sense of purpose doesn’t feel philosophical, it feels painful. Like you’re floating without gravity. Like your life is happening around you, but not really with you.

If you’ve found yourself asking,

“Why do I feel so lost?”   “Why doesn’t anything feel meaningful?”   “What’s the point of me?”

You’re not broken for feeling that. You’re feeling that because you long to matter. And that longing is worth everything. This part of you doesn't need a pep talk, it needs witnessing. You don’t have to force yourself to find meaning in the middle of ache.

But you can let the ache mean something:

That you’re alive. That you feel. That you haven't gone numb to what you still need and deserve.

Lets just sit with the part of you that’s asking it so loudly? That ache is a sign of something alive in you, and maybe that’s where we begin.

Why Purpose Isn’t Just One Thing

Purpose isn’t a job title, a grand mission, or a list of achievements. It’s felt. It shifts as we grow. Sometimes it’s parenting, creativity, caretaking, connection, recovery. Other times it’s rest. Reclaiming. Repairing. For many, especially those who’ve survived trauma or burnout, purpose starts with safety: “Can I feel like I belong in my own body first?”  

That question alone is purpose, not a distraction from it.

Purpose as a Nervous System State

When our nervous system is stuck in survival mode, constantly alert, shut down, or swinging between both, we don’t have the luxury of existential clarity. That’s not because we’re lazy or lost. It’s biology.

Feeling purposeless often isn’t a flaw, it’s a flag that our system is saying,

“I don’t feel safe enough to imagine.”

So the starting point isn’t always a five-year plan. Sometimes it’s a breath. A walk. A re-connection to sensation and safety so the creative part of the brain can even access meaning again.

The Layers We Wear and Shed

For many of us in transition, post-parenting, mid-career, post-illness, post-breakup, the question of purpose can come with a pinch of shame. “Why am I still asking this at my age, I should have it sorted out?”  But the truth is, we ask again every time we outgrow a version of ourselves.

Sometimes our purpose was to survive. Now maybe it’s to soften. To speak. To start again. One isn’t more noble than the other.

Letting the Question Be a Door, Not a Demand

“What’s my purpose?” can feel like pressure when framed as something to prove or produce. But what if it’s a doorway into parts of us we haven’t met yet? You don’t owe the world a polished answer. You just get to stay curious. That curiosity is purpose.

When Life Didn’t Go as Planned

Sometimes we don't just lose a person or a dream, we lose the version of ourselves we were becoming. The one who thought they'd be a parent. The one who would have had a different career, if not for illness. The one who imagined a partnership, a path, a shape to life that never quite arrived.

That loss can feel like drifting without coordinates. Because it’s not just the loss of doing, it’s the grief of who you thought you’d be.

And purpose? It can feel unreachable in that space. Because the plan that gave life structure has shifted, or vanished.

But here’s the truth:

Purpose isn’t gone. It’s just not where you thought it would be.

It might sound quieter now. Maybe it’s not in the big plans but in the way you love the people in front of you. In how you’ve learned to sit with pain and still show up. In the stories you’ll tell that remind others they’re not broken for having had to pivot.

Sometimes purpose becomes less about building a life from scratch and more about repairing the threads of one you didn’t choose, with tenderness, creativity, and a courage that no one sees but you.

You don’t have to rush to reframe it. But you do get to ask:

• What still matters to me now, even in the wreckage?

• What do I know now that I didn’t know before, about myself, others, the world?

• What could grow in this different soil, even if it’s not what I planted for?

• What would I say to the part of me that feels left behind?

• How do I wish someone would sit with me in this?

• What made me feel like I mattered in the past? Even small things.

• What’s one moment today where I chose to stay present, even when it hurt?

  
  

This version of purpose might feel different:

• Quieter — it might not be grand or public, but deeply personal

• Unexpected — shaped by recovery, not ambition

• Emergent — not fully formed, but slowly unfolding as you rebuild

  
  

Purpose, in these moments, might be:

• Choosing to rest when your body has nothing left to prove

• Creating beauty after surviving something that tried to take it away

• Offering support to someone who walks a road you know too well

• Naming your grief without rushing to fix it

  
  

  

  Author unknown

  
  

When the Longing Doesn’t Go Away

Instead of asking, “What else can grow?”

We honour: “What still aches, and how do I carry that?”

For the path you didn’t/couldn't choose, but are still learning to walk.

This isn’t about “moving on.” It’s about making space for the ache that lingers and letting your truth be witnessed.

Making Space for What’s True, Reflective prompts..

These aren’t for fixing, they’re for being with what’s real.

• What would it feel like to have my pain recognised without being soothed or redirected?

• What do I fear will disappear if I stop grieving?

• How do I want to be supported in this, and by whom?

• What do I still long for, even if I know it may not happen?

• What have I lost that others can’t see?

• What happens in my body when I let myself feel that longing?

• What’s it like to carry a hope that the world doesn’t always make room for?

• What does the longing feel like, in my body, in my day-to-day?

  
  

A Gentle Turn Toward Self

Not to replace, but to witness the one who’s still here.

• What parts of me have emerged through this loss that I didn’t expect?

• What have I held onto, even when everything else changed?

• How do I want to care for myself in this space, not to move on, but to stay connected

• What do I wish someone would say to me (without fixing)?

• What’s the hardest part of grieving something that isn’t tangible?

• Who am I when I stop trying to make this grief more palatable for others?

Remember...

You don’t have to redefine purpose in one sitting. You’re allowed to grieve the life that didn’t happen, and explore what else might be true.

Purpose isn't always loud. Sometimes, it's the quiet decision to stay open. You get to redefine what purpose looks like in a body that’s known loss. Not as consolation, but as a reclamation.

Disclaimer

Please note:

As a counselling professional, I offer the reflections and perspectives in this blog to encourage emotional insight, personal growth, and compassionate exploration.

However, please note that the content is intended for general information and self-reflection only, it does not constitute or replace formal psychological assessment, diagnosis, or treatment.

If you are experiencing mental health concerns, distress, or significant emotional difficulty, I strongly encourage you to seek support from a licensed mental health practitioner or qualified healthcare provider who can offer personalised and evidence-based care.

The insights shared here draw from trauma-informed practice and professional experience, but they are not a substitute for professional judgment. Every healing journey is unique, and any tools or concepts offered should be considered thoughtfully and in collaboration with trusted professionals.

This blog does not recommend altering or discontinuing prescribed medications or treatment plans. All decisions regarding your health and care should be made in partnership with qualified practitioners who know your personal history and needs.

Above all, my intention is to honour your process, offer meaningful language for your inner world, and provide a space for reflection, not prescription.