Letting Old Versions of Me Go

I don’t think we mean to, but how many of us often think, I miss that woman. The one we used to be. The one who smiled a little easier, dreamed a little bigger, believed she could handle anything life threw her way.

Yeah, I miss her at times…

I miss the girl who woke up with massive hope for the day. No matter how bad life was, there was this spark that never seemed to fade. She believed tomorrow would change everything. She believed in herself, in love, in people. She believed that if she just held on, things would get better.

I miss the young mama who could crawl on the floor after her babies before her body became unwell. The one who found joy in the smallest moments, who didn’t question if she was doing enough. The one who didn’t yet carry the weight of all the losses, the diagnoses, the days that blurred together under the ache of exhaustion.

There was a time I wore a mask and tried to fit in. I hate to admit this, and I cringe as I type, but I tried to mirror the people around me. I tried to blend into spaces where my heart never felt at home. I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. That if I looked more like them, maybe I’d be accepted, maybe I’d belong. But the truth is, all I did was lose more of myself.

It took me many years to fully embrace all the pieces of me. I often felt like if I did share, I probably overshared. And if I didn’t speak, it was like the words were screaming to push through my lips. I questioned if maybe I was too much. Maybe my feelings were too heavy. Maybe people were right when they called me intense. I thought being quiet would make me more palatable.

But the more I silenced myself, the further away I drifted from who I was created to be.

There came a moment I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise the woman staring back. Her eyes were tired. Her hope was quieter. She had survived things she never thought she’d endure. I stood there wondering what happened to the woman who could carry the world and her problems tucked away and out of sight.

And yet, as I look in the mirror now, years later, I still don’t see that same woman, but I see a renewed version. Different, but real. Softer maybe in parts, harder edged in others…but stronger in ways she never was before.

Letting go of old versions of ourselves isn’t easy. There’s grief in it. There’s this ache in realising that the girl who once laughed louder or loved differently is gone. But there’s beauty too. Because what’s left is someone who has been refined by fire. Someone who knows her worth isn’t found in her productivity or her perfection.

If you’re reading this right now and it feels like you’ve lost parts of yourself along the way, I want you to know I get it. Maybe you’re missing the version of you that was fearless, the one who didn’t second guess everything. Or maybe you’re grieving the version of you who hadn’t been hurt yet, who still trusted easily.

But I promise, even though you’ve changed, even though life has shaped you and stripped you and softened you, you are still becoming. God isn’t finished with you. Every version of you that had to fall away was never wasted. Every shedding, every season, every surrender, it all mattered.

We aren’t meant to stay the same. We are meant to grow and shift and heal and unlearn. That’s what living really is. It’s letting go, and then learning to love the person who remains.

So when you find yourself missing who you used to be, pause for a moment. Look closer. You might just see that the woman you were has quietly become the woman you’re meant to be.

And she’s still in there, just changed.

Still brave.

Still beautiful.

Still loved.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here.” - 2 Corinthians 5:17

Love, Sarah xx.

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