The Version of Me I Never Was
The Grief No One Talks About
There’s a strange ache in missing something that never happened.
Not a person. Not a place. But a version of yourself you thought you’d become by now.
Maybe she was more confident.
Maybe she woke up early, wrote in her journal, replied to messages without spiraling.
Maybe she said no when she meant it — and yes when she wanted to.
Maybe she felt soft and strong at the same time.
Not invisible. Not performative. Just… fully her.
And yet — she never quite showed up.
The Quiet Mourning of a Could-Have-Been
You didn’t lose her in a sudden moment.
She faded over time.
With every compromise. Every moment you stayed quiet. Every time you chose to be small to make someone else comfortable.
You look back, and you don’t just miss who you used to be —
you miss the one you thought you might be.
And somehow, that hurts in a different way.
You mourn her like a memory.
But she never existed.
At least, not yet.
Maybe She’s Still Possible
Here’s the gentle truth:
The version of you that felt out of reach — she may not be gone.
She may just be waiting.
Waiting for a safer season.
Waiting for the moment you stop mourning and start becoming.
And even if she changes shape, even if you never fully become who you once imagined —
it’s okay to love the idea of her.
To let her remind you of what mattered.
Of what still matters.
From someone who’s learning to forgive the timeline, and start again.
Thoughts to explore. Words to let go.
Notes That Found a Home
