The middle chapter is different for you than for other sixth lines. You climb toward the roof for rest and perspective, but your unconscious third line keeps tugging you back down with the feeling that there is still more to try, still something unexplored. So you move up and down the ladder, alternating between engagement and retreat, between warm involvement and cool distance, between the pessimism of what failed and the optimism that something better is possible. If an experience burns you, you withdraw for a while; when curiosity returns, you climb down and dive in again. This rhythm is your nature working correctly. It is exactly how your particular wisdom gets made.
Objectivity is your anchor through all of it. The ability to step back and see clearly is what steadies you, and it is what you are ripening toward. Partnership matters to you, and the healthiest bonds for you are ones that flex: relationships with people you trust enough to pull away from and return to, each cycle rebuilding the connection stronger. Nothing damages you like decisions made from the head against your own knowing; they lead to the experiences that scar rather than teach.
Treat every stumble as a finding and your early chaos becomes capital. By your fifties, if you have honoured your process, you carry something few people ever earn: wisdom tested from every angle, plus the lived proof that being fully yourself is the whole point. People will seek you out as the advisor who has actually been there. What looks like a rocky road is the raw material of a wise, trustworthy example. Let discovery be discovery, not failure.