After The Last Embrace

“When I Got Lost, No One Noticed”

There was no accident. No visible trauma. No screaming. Just a slow fading. As if someone had been quietly erasing parts of me with an invisible eraser. And one day, I looked in the mirror — and didn’t know who I was.

It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t anger. It was something subtler, more cruel. As if someone had turned off the light inside. I moved, talked, smiled, did everything expected of me — but no one was driving anymore.

People don’t notice. Because you keep functioning. Because you keep performing. But you know something’s missing. Something broke. Something left. And you don’t know how, or when, or why — you just know you’re no longer there.

I tried to find myself in the things that once made me feel alive — in songs that made me cry, in books that made me think, in places that used to fill me with life. But nothing worked. Everything felt foreign. As if I were watching my life from the outside, an actress in a play I no longer understood.

And then came the guilt. Because how do you explain that you’ve lost yourself without sounding like you’re making excuses? How do you say “I don’t know who I am” without people looking at you strangely? So I began to pretend. To smile harder. To speak faster. To fill every silence with noise. But the emptiness stayed — silent, loyal, merciless.

Losing yourself is like dying without dying. It’s mourning someone who still breathes. It’s looking at your own photos and not recognizing yourself. It’s reading your own words and not feeling them. It’s living on autopilot — hoping something, anything, will wake you up.

And the worst part is — there’s no ritual for this. No flowers. No hugs. No “I’m sorry.” Just you — alone — trying to rebuild yourself without knowing where to start. Because you don’t know what’s missing. You don’t know what broke. You just know you’re no longer you.

But here I am — writing this. Not because I’ve found myself, but because I’m searching. Because I want to come back. Because I deserve to come back. Because even lost, I still hold the map. Even broken, I still have the pieces.

And if you’re lost too — if you feel like you’re no longer here — I want you to know this space is for you. You’re not alone. You’re not irreparably broken. You’re not crazy. You’re in process. You’re in transit. You’re grieving. And that deserves respect too.

🌿 Another Perspective: How to See the Loss of Oneself

Getting lost isn’t always the end. Sometimes, it’s the beginning. When you feel like you’re no longer yourself, maybe you’re shedding a version of you that no longer fits — not because it was wrong, but because it no longer represents who you are.

The emptiness you feel isn’t only absence — it’s space. Space to rebuild without masks, without demands, without the expectations imposed on you.

Don’t rush to find yourself. Grieving who you once were takes time, silence, patience. It’s not about becoming who you were — it’s about discovering who you can be now. There’s no map. No formula. Only small, honest steps — yours.

Start with the smallest things. What calms you? What moves you, even a little? What makes you feel something — even sadness? Sometimes, finding yourself begins by noticing what still touches you. A song. A scent. A word. A memory that doesn’t hurt as much.

You’re not failing because you feel lost. You’re evolving. You’re shedding. You’re going through a deep change. And though it hurts, it’s sacred. Because you’re alive. Because you’re feeling. Because you’re searching.

And that — is already an act of self-love.

💌 From Me to You

To you — who doesn’t know who you are, who wakes up without energy, who pretends to be fine because you don’t know how to explain what’s happening —

I want you to know that I see you. That I hear you. That I’m with you.

You’re not alone — even if the world doesn’t notice, even if no one asks, even if you yourself don’t know where to start.

You’re not broken. You’re in process. You’re rebuilding. You’re grieving. And that too deserves respect.

You don’t have to become who you were. You can become someone new. Someone freer. Someone more you.

And if today you can’t take it anymore, if the emptiness wins, if the silence feels heavy — it’s okay. You don’t have to heal quickly. You don’t have to have answers. You just have to exist. You just have to breathe. You just have to allow yourself to feel.

Because even lost, you’re still you. Because even broken, you’re still worthy. Because even in the dark, you still shine.

I embrace you from here, with all my love,

— Luz 💌