There’s a version of me I miss.
Not in a soft, sentimental way. I’m not scrolling through old photos, sighing over who I used to be. It’s more like an ache that creeps in when the house is too quiet, or the bills are piling up, or I’m halfway through my third mental spiral of the morning.
I miss the girl who didn’t know how tired she would eventually become.
I miss the version of me who woke up without dread. Who thought she had all the time in the world. Who thought things were hard, but had no idea what was coming. I miss her unshakable belief that things were going to work out just because she wanted them to.
She wasn’t naïve. Not entirely. She was smart. Capable. Driven when she needed to be. But she lived like the world still revolved around her, and in some ways, that was beautiful. There was power in it. Her sense of self wasn’t perfect, but it was intact. She had style, momentum, and that kind of direction that doesn’t always come from logic. It came from gut instinct and blind optimism. She didn’t have it all figured out, but she believed she would eventually.
Now, I don’t believe in eventuals. I believe in scraping things together. I believe in bracing for impact. I believe in trying to build something better without any real guarantee that it’ll ever become what I need it to be. And that’s not defeatist. That’s just what happens when you’ve been burned enough to know better.
What she didn’t know, and what I do now, is how quickly time turns into a resource you’re constantly chasing. She had energy to burn and didn’t even notice she was spending it. She made money during a golden hour of opportunity and didn’t understand the privilege in that. She poured herself into relationships, convinced that being everything for everyone would mean she was needed, wanted, safe. She thought if she handled enough, carried enough, gave enough, she would eventually be taken care of too.
I’d give anything to sit that girl down and tell her to stop.
To stop breaking herself into pieces for people who would never offer her the same.
To stop assuming love has to be earned through self-abandonment.
To stop confusing productivity with worth.
I’d tell her to put herself first. Not because it’s empowering or trendy, but because she’s the only constant she’s ever going to have.
She spent so much time chasing someone else’s definition of adulthood. Marriage. Kids. A house. The image of having it all together. She never stopped to question if she actually wanted that life. She thought being responsible meant chasing stability, even if the stability wasn’t hers. Even if it came at the cost of her peace. And once she realized that all those things she was killing herself to create weren’t going to happen, or weren’t going to be enough when they did, there wasn’t some big reckoning or transformation. There was just exhaustion.
The girl I was didn’t have it all. But she had something I don’t. Energy. Belief. Forward motion. She didn’t doubt herself at every turn. She didn’t feel guilty for existing. She didn’t constantly question whether she was doing enough, being enough, or falling behind. She got overwhelmed, sure, but she still thought she could climb out of it.
That’s the part I miss the most.
But here’s the thing. I don’t want her back.
I’ve lost things I can’t get back, but I’ve also walked away from things that were never mine to begin with. Jobs that drained me. Friendships that only survived on my effort. Relationships that blurred the line between love and obligation. I’ve learned that just because something is familiar doesn’t mean it’s worth clinging to. Just because someone wants you doesn’t mean they see you. Just because something looks good on paper doesn’t mean it won’t kill your joy.
I can’t say I feel proud of everything I’ve done since letting her go.
I’m still clawing my way toward a version of life that feels like it fits.
But I do know more now.
I know that the only person responsible for holding me together is me.
I know that stability isn’t something you find. It’s something you build slowly, quietly, without applause.
I know that peace matters more than appearances.
I still miss the mornings when I woke up excited for the day, when my world felt small enough to manage and wide enough to dream. I miss the freedom that came with working from home, having a little land, some chickens, a routine that didn’t leave me feeling depleted. I miss the fire I used to have. I want some of that back, but I want it on my terms this time.
Because I’m not trying to be her again.
I’m trying to take what she had that was good and build something stronger out of it.
Something quieter. Something mine.
This time, I won’t waste it trying to prove my worth.
This time, I’ll invest in myself the way no one else ever did.
She didn’t know yet.
But I do now.
And I’m not going to forget it.
If there’s a version of you that you miss too, one that felt braver, louder, softer, freer, I hope you know she’s not gone. Not really. You don’t have to go back to her. But maybe you can borrow a little of her fire while you build something she never even dreamed of.
You don’t owe anyone a full-circle story. Just keep going.
You’re allowed to miss her and still outgrow her.
xoxo
-S
Diet Coke and Hair-Spray 