Setting Goals After Life Changes Everything

Person in wheelchair working at computer

When life breaks open, goals can feel pointless.

After my injury, I didn’t sit down and map out a five-year plan. I was focused on breathing, on surviving, on getting through the day. Big goals felt unrealistic—almost offensive—when I couldn’t even trust my body to do what it used to do.

But over time, I learned something important:

The absence of goals doesn’t protect us from pain—it keeps us stuck in it.

Setting goals after loss isn’t about chasing the life you had before. It’s about choosing to move forward from where you are now.

Early on, my goals were small:

  • Sit up in bed on my own
  • Transfer to a wheelchair
  • Get dressed without help

Those weren’t dreams—they were decisions. And each decision was an act of agency, a quiet declaration that my life wasn’t over.

As time went on, the goals changed. They grew. Education. Work. Relationships. Health. Purpose. But the principle stayed the same: progress comes from choosing a direction and taking the next step, not from having everything figured out.

If you’re in a season where life feels uncertain, here’s a simple way to think about goals:

Don’t ask, “What should my life look like?”
Ask, “What is the next faithful step I can take?”

Goals aren’t about control. They’re about alignment—aligning your actions with the life you want to build, even if that life looks different than you imagined.

You don’t need perfect clarity.
You don’t need motivation.
You don’t even need confidence.

You just need a direction—and the courage to take the next step.

That’s how rebuilding begins.

Learning To Live After

My work is shaped by lived experience, faith, and years of listening to people who are trying to rebuild their lives when “normal” no longer applies. I don’t offer quick fixes or platitudes. I offer steady guidance, honest reflection, and simple next steps for moving forward. Each week, I share one short reflection designed to help you regain clarity, agency, and purpose—one week at a time.