The Person I’m Becoming

One of the strangest parts about writing again is knowing that some people will read these words and think,

“I’ve never heard her talk like this before and it's not who I know her to be.”

Well they’re absolutely right.

Because I’m not writing as the person I was ten years ago, let alone, 6 months ago.

I’m writing as the person I’m becoming.

For a long time, I became known as the outgoing one. The party girl. The one who was always saying yes, always surrounded by people, always looking for the next distraction. From the outside, it probably looked like I had found myself.

The truth is, I was trying not to.

Somewhere along the way, I confused being surrounded by noise with feeling connected to myself. I filled every quiet moment with something else because sitting with my own thoughts felt unfamiliar. Sometimes it was people. Sometimes it was parties. Sometimes it was simply never slowing down long enough to ask myself who I actually was.

When you’ve spent years introducing yourself through the version of you that everyone else expects, it becomes difficult to know what’s left when that version no longer fits.

That was the identity crisis no one could see.

Not because I woke up one morning and suddenly didn’t know who I was, but because I realised I had spent so much time performing one version of myself that I’d stopped listening to the quieter one underneath.

The one who loved slow mornings.

Who found comfort in writing.

Who preferred deep conversations over loud rooms.

Who wanted to cook dinner at home instead of wondering where the night would end.

She was always there. She just didn’t have much room to speak.

People sometimes ask if I miss that version of my life.

Sometimes I miss the memories. I miss the people. I miss how uncomplicated it all felt before I started asking bigger questions.

But I don’t miss pretending that was all there was to me.

Growing up isn’t about becoming someone completely different…(at least, I don’t think it is.)

I think it’s about having the courage to stop holding onto versions of yourself you’ve already outgrown.

The girl who loved the chaos deserved her chapter. And boy, was that chapter far too long.

She taught me things I’ll always carry with me. But she isn’t the woman writing these words.

And for the first time in a very long time, that doesn’t make me feel guilty. It makes me feel like I’m finally me.