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There are versions of ourselves that we swear we will be forever.

Versions built from the things we have experienced, the people we have loved, the pain we have survived, and the circumstances we were placed in. Sometimes we become so accustomed to being a certain person that we forget to ask ourselves whether that person still feels like us. We continue carrying habits, fears, relationships, expectations, and even identities simply because they are familiar.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how strange it feels to outgrow yourself.

Not just people. Not just relationships. Not just places.

Yourself.

There was a version of me who thought being strong meant handling everything without saying a word. She would smile when she was exhausted, say “I’m fine” when she was anything but fine, and convince herself that needing someone made her weak. She became really good at surviving things quietly. So good, actually, that sometimes even the people closest to her probably had no idea what was happening beneath the surface.

And for a long time, I was proud of her.

Part of me still is.

Because she survived.

She carried me through moments when I didn’t know what came next. She kept going when stopping would have been easier. She learned how to function while hurting, how to show up while exhausted, and how to keep pieces of life moving even when parts of her felt completely still.

But surviving and living are two different things.

That has been one of the hardest lessons for me to understand.

Sometimes the behaviors that protected us during one chapter became the very behaviors that hold us back in the next. Keeping everything inside might have helped me survive certain situations, but eventually I had to learn how to speak. Building walls might have protected me from being hurt, but eventually I had to learn that walls can keep good things out too. Always expecting disappointment might have softened the blow when it came, but it also made it difficult to believe something good could stay.

Growth has required me to look at myself in way that aren’t always comfortable.

It has required me to admit that sometimes I stayed too long.

Sometimes I gave too many chances.

Sometimes I apologized when I wasn’t the one who owed an apology.

Sometimes I accepted things because I loved someone.

Sometimes I stayed quiet because I didn’t want conflict.

Sometimes I poured so much of myself into other people that I didn’t realize how empty I was becoming.

And sometimes, I was part of the problem too.

That last one is important.

Healing isn’t about creating a story where everyone else was wrong and I was always right. Real growth means being willing to look at the things I could have handled differently too. It means recognizing my reactions, my unhealthy habits, the things I allowed, the boundaries I failed to enforce, and the moments when my own pain influenced the way I responded to the world around me.

That kind of honesty can hurt.

But I think it can also set you free.

I’m learning that becoming a different version of yourself doesn’t always happen through some dramatic transformation. Sometimes it happens quietly.

It happens when you stop explaining yourself to someone determined to misunderstand you.

It happens when you say no without writing an entire paragraph explaining why.

It happens when you recognize a pattern and decide that this time, you aren’t going to repeat it.

It happens when you stop begging people to give you the same love, effort, respect, or consideration that you give them.

It happens when you choose peace, even when part of you still wants closure.

And sometimes it happens when you finally admit, “This isn’t who I want to be anymore”.

I think one of the strangest parts about healing is grieving versions of yourself that you don’t necessarily want back.

Because even though that version of yourself may have been hurting, she was familiar.

You knew how to be her.

Becoming someone new means stepping into unfamiliar territory. You don’t have all of the answers yet. You’re still figuring out what your boundaries look like. You’re still learning what deserves your energy and what doesn’t. You’re learning that not every situation requires a response and not every person deserves access to you.

You’re learning yourself again.

And that can be terrifying.

But maybe we aren’t supposed to remain the same person forever.

Maybe some versions of us are only meant to carry us through certain chapters.

Maybe the person I was five years ago did exactly what she needed to do to get me here. Maybe the person I was last year taught me lessons that the person I am today desperately needed. And maybe the person I am today is still preparing me for someone I haven’t met yet –

the future version of me.

I don’t know exactly who she is.

But I hope she is softer without allowing herself to be walked over.

I hope she loves deeply without abandoning herself in the process.

I hope she understands that boundaries are not cruelty.

I hope she knows that walking away doesn’t always mean giving up.

I hope she rests without feeling guilty.

I hope she speaks when something hurts instead of pretending it doesn’t.

I hope she stops measuring her worth by how much she can carry for everyone else.

Most importantly, I hope she looks back at every version of herself with compassion.

Even the messy ones.

Even the angry ones.

Even the ones who made mistakes.

Even the ones who stayed when they should have left.

Even the ones who trusted people who eventually hurt them.

Even the ones who didn’t know better yet.

Because growth shouldn’t require hating the person you used to be.

I don’t want to look backward and be embarrassed by every previous version of myself. I want to be able to say, “She did the best she could with what she knew at the time”.

And when she finally knew better, she started choosing differently.

Maybe that’s what becoming is.

Not waking up one morning completely healed. Not suddenly having life figured out. Not becoming fearless or unaffected by everything you have experienced.

Maybe becoming is simply choosing differently, little by little.

Choosing yourself.

Choosing your peace.

Choosing your boundaries.

Choosing to speak.

Choosing to rest.

Choosing to forgive yourself.

Choosing to release what no longer belongs in your life.

And choosing to believe that outgrowing who you once were does not mean that version of you failed.

Sometimes it simply means she finished her job.

So, to every version of me that got me here:

Thank you.

Thank you for surviving the things I thought would destroy me. Thank you for continuing when you were exhausted. Thank you for making mistakes that eventually became lessons. Thank you for loving, even when loving came with consequences. Thank you for getting me through chapters that I never want to reread.

But I don’t need to be you anymore.

I’m allowed to change.

I’m allowed to want different things.

I’m allowed to create boundaries where there used to be unlimited access.

I’m allowed to become someone I haven’t been before.

And maybe somewhere between who I was and who I’m becoming, I’ll finally understand that growth was never about becoming an entirely different person.

It was about finally giving myself permission to become more of who I was always supposed to be.

Until next time,

Alexis

Between the Words