I Miss Her, But I Don’t Want Her Back: A reflection on the past versions of myself I’ve outgrown

My 20's were a blur of baby bottles and belly kicks - pregnant more often than not, wrapped up in the chaos and wonder of new motherhood. I was exhausted, trying to be a good mom, a decent wife, and somehow still hold on to the person I used to be.

Then came my 30s.

Oh, my 30s.

Headstrong, heels high, lashes long - strutting corporate hallways with a gym bag in one hand and ambition in the other. I was in my prove-it era, my fitness era, my “I’ve got this” era. I thought I knew it all - and I was quite vocal about that, too.

But my 40s? They’ve been something else.

Less sparkle, more soul.

Anxiety, depression, and ADHD have knocked me flat more times than I care to count. And yet, in the undoing, in the stillness, I’ve found someone I didn’t know I was missing: me.

Not the mom.

Not the now girlfriend.

Not the go-getter in stilettos.

Just… me. Raw. Unfiltered. Real.

The lashes came off.

The gym became the great outdoors.

The stilettos? Replaced by sneakers - and any shoe that doesn’t scream suffering.

I’m no longer the girl trying to be everything for everyone.

I’m not chasing success like it’s some finish line I need to cross.

I’m softer now. Wiser. A little slower, maybe, but more honest in how I move through the world.

Do I miss the fire she had?

The energy? The fearlessness?

Yes.

But I don’t want her back.

Because she was still trying to become the woman I am now.