Hiyyyaaa, told y’all I was coming with another one. 🥹 I teared up writing this. Reflecting made me realize I was becoming a mean girl, so guarded by everything I’d been through that it was changing how I treated people. That was hard to admit. I miss my softness, my playfulness, and the girl who loved freely. I’m trying to find my way back to her.
Have you ever been scrolling through social media and seen someone who reminded you of a version of yourself you loved?
Maybe it was the way she laughed, danced, or made something ordinary feel fun. You smiled because you recognized her. Then, unexpectedly, you felt sad. I’ve had that feeling. Watching someone else enjoy herself has reminded me of the fun, playful girl I used to be.
I miss her so much.
I’ve been talking to my therapist about her lately. The girl who laughed freely, who could be silly without overthinking it. The girl who didn’t need every moment to be productive or every decision to be serious.
And the girl who loved freely.
I miss how open my heart used to be. I could care about someone without constantly wondering whether they would hurt me. I could enjoy a connection without questioning every little thing. But I’ve been betrayed so many times that I feel broken.
It hurts to admit that. I miss being able to love without fear sitting beside it. Now, even when I want to feel close to someone, part of me is cautious. I question intentions. I wonder what I might be missing. I want to relax, but I’m afraid of finding out that my trust was misplaced again.
Sometimes I miss the way I felt about myself before those betrayals. I miss feeling safe enough to be soft, affectionate, and open. Now, so much of life feels serious. There are responsibilities, things to figure out, and people depending on me. Sometimes I’m so occupied with getting through the day that I forget to enjoy any of it.
When I think about that earlier version of myself, she usually makes me smile. I remember her energy. I remember how good it felt to be her. But there’s sadness in those memories, too, especially when I think about my children. It hurts to imagine that they might never get to experience that side of me. I want them to know my laughter as well as my instructions. I want them to see me being silly, enjoying myself, and doing something just because it makes me happy.
I love being their mother. I also miss the woman who existed before so much of her life became about taking care of everything.
Both feelings belong here.
Making Room for What I Miss
I’m trying to give myself permission to miss her without turning those memories into another reason to criticize who I am today. It’s easy to remember how carefree I once felt and ask, “What happened to me?” But that question can become harsh very quickly. I have lived a lot of life since then. I deserve to look at myself with some tenderness.
A gentler question might be: “What did she enjoy that I still want in my life?”
Was it music? Dancing? Getting dressed up? Laughing with friends? Going somewhere without planning every detail?
Naming what I miss gives me something small to reach for. “Be who you used to be” feels impossible. “Play a song you loved and dance for a few minutes” feels possible.
Learning to Trust at My Own Pace
I don’t want to pressure myself into opening my heart before I’m ready. I can take my time getting to know people. I can pay attention to whether their actions match their words and whether they respect my boundaries.
I can also bring the harder questions into therapy: How has betrayal changed the way I see myself? What helps me feel safe? What am I afraid will happen if I let someone close again?
Feeling broken is something I’m experiencing, but I’m trying not to make it the whole definition of who I am.
I still have love to give. I also have hurt that deserves care.
Letting Joy Be Small
I don’t want reconnecting with myself to become another assignment I’m failing.
Some days, it might mean watching something funny. Other days, it might mean calling someone I feel comfortable with, wearing an outfit that feels like me, or letting a little silliness interrupt the routine. With my children, it might look like dancing in the kitchen, sharing a funny story from my younger years, or joining their game without immediately turning it into a lesson.
They don’t have to meet the exact woman I was years ago to experience my playful side. We can make new memories together. And when scrolling starts making me feel worse, I can put my phone down. I can pause long enough to ask what the moment brought up for me instead of continuing to scroll through the sadness.
Giving Myself Time
I’m glad I’m talking about this in therapy. I don’t have to pretend it’s a small thing just because it’s difficult to explain.
Sometimes I miss myself. Sometimes remembering her brings comfort. Sometimes it hurts. I’m learning to let those feelings exist without demanding that I fix them immediately. I don’t know whether I’ll ever feel exactly like that girl again. But I can begin making room for the things I loved about her.
A little laughter. A little spontaneity. A moment of closeness that feels safe. A day when everything doesn’t have to be so serious. I miss the girl who loved freely. I wish she hadn’t been hurt so many times. And I want to care for the woman she became with patience, tenderness, and more chances to smile.
PS: I LOVE YOU!
Please check out my books #SorryMelody, and The Art Of Living, available on Amazon.
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