Grieving the Versions of Ourselves We’ve Left Behind

I’ve always thought that grieving was reserved for losing someone close-a loved one, a friend, or even a pet. But lately, I’ve come to realize there’s a different kind of grief that we don’t talk about nearly enough: grieving ourselves. Not in the way we mourn another person, but in grieving the versions of ourselves that we leave behind. The parts of us that were once so vivid, so hopeful, so full of dreams and ideas, but now seem distant and faded.

You know, the person I used to be-the one who had all these plans, imagined a certain life, a future so clear it felt real. She’s no longer here. I’ve outgrown her. And while that’s a good thing, there’s a bittersweet kind of nostalgia that comes with it. It’s like flipping through an old journal and reading the thoughts of a person you no longer recognize. There’s a kind of sadness in realizing that I’ve moved past those moments, past that person, but there’s also a strange comfort in it. A sense of growth, of moving towards something new.

It’s not always a simple feeling. It can be overwhelming, this constant shedding of old skins. Sometimes I wonder if I even know who I am anymore. I’ve let go of so many old coping mechanisms that used to help me feel safe-habits, reactions, patterns that once served me but no longer fit in the life I’m building now. It’s like cleaning out a closet and realizing how much you’ve been holding onto that you don’t need anymore. That process is tiring, and, at times, it feels like a never-ending cycle of letting go.

But there’s pride in it, too. A quiet kind of pride. In recognizing that I’ve grown and that I’m still growing. I’ve come to appreciate this nostalgic feeling for what it is-a reminder that I’m evolving, moving towards a more honest version of myself. And isn’t that what we’re all here to do? To keep peeling back the layers until we find the core of who we are?

There’s something healing in honoring these past versions of ourselves. I’ve found it helpful to acknowledge my feelings, to validate them, and to not judge myself for having them. Just because I’ve outgrown who I was doesn’t mean those versions of me were any less valuable. They were trying their best with what they knew at the time, and I have to thank them for that. After all, they brought me here, to this point.

It’s a bit like gardening (one of my other loves). When you’re tending to your plants, sometimes you have to prune away the old, withered leaves so that the new growth has space to thrive. The garden looks a little bare for a while, and it can be tempting to mourn the loss of what once was lush and green. But you know, deep down, that this pruning is necessary. It’s making way for something better. That’s how I try to think of it-my old selves were leaves that served their time, and now it’s time for new growth.

But why is it so hard to let ourselves grieve these lost versions of us? I think it boils down to control. We like to believe we’re in control of everything-our feelings, our experiences, even our growth. But grief, whether for a person or a past self, refuses to be boxed in. You can’t schedule it or manage it. I’ve tried, trust me. And every time, it’s ended up leaking out in unexpected ways-an old song, a random smell, a phrase I used to say.

And then there’s the whole “not ready” part of it. Sometimes, we just aren’t prepared to face that loss, to feel that emptiness. Our minds try to protect us by numbing the pain, giving us time to brace ourselves. It’s a survival mechanism, I suppose. But sooner or later, those emotions do come up, often in strange ways. It could be anger one day, a deep sigh the next, or even a sudden burst of laughter at a memory that hits just right. The trick, I’ve found, is to let them flow, however they want to show up.

I think what I’ve learned most from this is to give myself grace. To be patient with the process of grieving my own evolution. It’s okay to miss the old me, the one who dreamt different dreams and had a different outlook. And it’s also okay to be excited about who I’m becoming. The two can exist together. They must.

And so, if you’re like me-if you’re finding yourself caught between who you were and who you’re becoming-I hope you’ll take a moment to honor both. To appreciate all the parts of yourself, past and present. Maybe even imagine a conversation between your old self and your future self. What would they say to each other? What wisdom would they share? I think they’d tell each other to be kind, to keep growing, and to not fear the changes that lie ahead.

After all, grief-whether for a loved one or for a part of ourselves-is just the price we pay for love. Love for others, love for the dreams we once had, and love for the person we’re becoming. And that, I think, is a price worth paying.

Originally published at https://ideaweb.me on September 6, 2024.