A Look Back at the Version of Me I've Outgrown

There’s something quietly powerful about outgrowing the version of yourself that once felt like home. She was the one who carried me through some of the hardest seasons. And though I don’t speak about her often, she deserves to be acknowledged. To be seen. She held my pain, my hopes, my fears, and my quiet strength long before I recognized any of it as valuable. This is not a post to mourn who I was—this is a letter of gratitude, release, and quiet transformation.

The Girl Who Apologized for Existing

There was a time when I felt like taking up space required permission. I apologized for things that didn’t need an apology—asking a question, expressing emotion, or simply being present. I’d say “sorry” when someone bumped into me or when I needed a moment to collect myself. I carried guilt for being sensitive, for feeling too much, for needing rest. Back then, I thought being quiet meant I had to become invisible. I didn’t want to disturb anyone, so I learned how to shrink even further. That version of me believed she had to earn her place in every room, in every relationship, in every moment. She didn’t realize that her presence was already enough—that gentleness is not a flaw, and needing care doesn’t make you a burden.

The One Who Chased Approval Like It Was Oxygen

Back then, I lived off the validation of others. Every compliment felt like a lifeline. I needed to be liked to feel secure. There was a time I couldn't make a decision without wondering what others would think. I let people's opinions shape, shift, and define me. My identity was blurry because I was too busy being what everyone else wanted me to be. I feared rejection more than I feared losing myself and looking back, I see how exhausting that was.

The Friend Who Over-Gave and Under-Received

She always showed up, remembered birthdays, checked in often, and gave pieces of herself to people who never thought to ask how she was doing. She wanted so badly to be a “good friend” that she tolerated crumbs and called it connection. What she didn’t realize then was that real friends don't leave when you stop over giving—they stay, and they meet you halfway.

The Girl Who Blamed Herself for Everything

Even when it wasn’t her fault, she took the weight of every wrong thing and placed it on her own shoulders. If someone was upset, she assumed it was because of her. If something went wrong, she immediately tried to fix it—even if it had nothing to do with her. That kind of responsibility wasn’t noble—it was exhausting. I don’t carry that same guilt anymore. I’ve learned that not everything is mine to hold, and I no longer carry blame that doesn’t belong to me.

She Let Doubt Lead the Way

That version of me second-guessed almost everything. Her choices. Her talents. Her place in the world. Confidence didn’t come easily—it felt like something other people had. I spent more time worrying about what others thought than trusting what I knew. That’s changed. I still have moments of doubt (we all do), but they don’t take the lead anymore. I trust my instincts, even when the outcome isn’t guaranteed.

She Didn’t See Her Own Strength

Back then, I underestimated myself. I downplayed my resilience, dismissed my progress, and rarely gave myself credit. I thought strength had to look a certain way—loud, bold, fearless. But I’ve come to know that quiet strength is just as powerful. The kind that holds you steady on the hardest days, the kind that keeps you moving when no one’s watching, the kind that never demands attention but is always there.

The Girl Who Thought Sensitivity Was Something to Fix

She believed her emotions made her weak. Every tear felt like a failure, every quiet reaction something to be hidden. She tried to shrink the parts of herself that felt too much, thinking maybe then she'd be more accepted, more understood. But pushing her feelings down only made her feel further from herself. What she didn’t see back then was that her sensitivity wasn’t a flaw—it was her strength. It’s what allows her to notice the unspoken, care without being asked, and feel deeply in a world that often forgets how to. That version of me didn’t realize it was never about fixing myself—it was about embracing what made me whole. Now, I protect that softness. I know it’s not something to outgrow. It’s something to grow into.

I Don’t Regret Who I Was—She Brought Me Here

Every version of me had her own reasons. She was trying. She was figuring things out. She was doing her best, even when she didn’t have all the answers. I don’t look back with embarrassment or wish I could rewrite my story. I look back with respect. Because she kept going. And every choice, every lesson, every moment of reflection helped shape who I am right now. I’ve outgrown parts of myself, yes—but I carry them with me, not as weight, but as wisdom.

I am not her anymore. But because of her, I became me.