Do You Ever Just Miss a Version of Yourself?

~*a deep dive into self-growth and nostalgia*~

Do you ever find yourself scrolling through old photos or hearing a song you haven’t played in years, and suddenly you’re not quite here anymore? You're transported to a memory of who you used to be and where you were, what you wore, what you believed, what you feared. For just a moment, your chest tightens, as if mourning something intangible. That’s the subtle power of nostalgia. It softens the sharp edges of the past, making the awkward stages feel endearing, the heartbreaks poetic, and the chaos cinematic. We romanticize those earlier versions of ourselves, even if at the time we were just trying to make it through the day.

We forget how uncertain we felt, how overwhelmed, how much we were pretending. Instead, we remember the freedom, the way things felt, the moments when we were wide open, even if we didn’t know what we were doing. It’s a longing not always for the era itself, but for who we were or who we thought we were in that moment.

The g r i e f that comes with growth*~

What they don’t always tell you about growing up, about evolving, is that it often comes with a kind of quiet grief. You lose so many things. It’s not always just people or places, but selves. The self who believed in things you no longer do. The self who felt invincible. The self who moved through the world with naivety, hope, recklessness, tenderness. Sometimes, the version you miss the most is the one who had no idea how much was going to change. That version of you who hadn't yet been burned, who still thought certain things were forever. Or maybe it’s the version who had been through hell and was clawing their way back to something like light. You miss their fire. You miss their rawness.

Missing them doesn’t mean you haven’t grown. It means you’ve lived.

They're not gone, they're layered!

The comforting truth is: none of those versions of you are actually lost. They’re layered within you, like rings inside a tree trunk. Each one is still there, formed by who you were at a particular time and shaped by what you needed to survive, to dream, to move forward. Sometimes those past selves come out in subtle ways, like in a phrase you still say or your love for certain music or clothes or rituals. Sometimes they show up to remind you of something essential you’ve forgotten. Other times, they need your acknowledgment. A moment of stillness to say, thank you for getting me here.

If you find yourself missing a version of yourself, don’t rush past it. Write them a letter. Play their favorite music. Wear something they would’ve loved. Take them with you on a walk. You don’t need to erase them or apologize for becoming someone new. You just need to remember that they’re still with you still part of the mosaic.

Let nostalgia be less of a trap and more of a tender bridge. A way to grieve, but also to honor oneself because you’ve been so many people on your way to becoming who you are now and that’s something worth celebrating.

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