I'm Not Who I Was. And That's the Whole Point

I used to bend until I broke.

If you knew me five years ago, you’d remember the girl who always smiled, said yes when she wanted to scream no, stayed quiet when she should’ve spoken up, and made herself small just to keep the peace. That version of me was easy to love—at least for everyone else. But she nearly killed me.

I don’t say that for drama. I say that because it’s true.

Back then, I lived my life like a performance. Always trying to be the “right” kind of person: polite, agreeable, non-confrontational. I kept my real thoughts tucked away, like they were dangerous secrets. I was afraid of making people uncomfortable. Afraid of being too much. Too emotional. Too complicated.

So I became what they wanted. And they loved me for it.

But I hated myself.

I hated how I’d apologize just for existing. How I’d laugh at jokes that hurt me. How I’d overthink every text message, every outfit, every silence. I spent years trapped in my own body, wearing masks, speaking in voices that didn’t belong to me.

The turning point came on a Tuesday. Funny how the biggest changes don’t always start with fireworks—sometimes they begin in the quiet. I was sitting in my car outside my apartment after another long day of pretending. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t even pinpoint why. I looked in the rearview mirror, and I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me.

I whispered out loud, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Not “I don’t want to.”
Can’t.

That was the day I decided to start over—not by moving cities or changing my hair or deleting people from my phone—but by finally choosing myself.

Choosing myself looked nothing like I expected.

It looked like crying in the middle of the grocery store because I was grieving the girl I used to be. It looked like saying “no” and watching people walk away. It looked like sitting alone on Friday nights instead of going to places where I didn’t feel seen. It looked like messy journals, therapy sessions, long walks without music, and hard conversations.

It looked like learning to love silence.
Learning to love solitude.
Learning to love me.

People noticed the change. Some didn’t like it.

“You’ve changed.”
“You’re not as fun anymore.”
“Why are you so distant?”
“You used to be nicer.”

No, I used to be more useful to them.

I used to be easier to manipulate. Easier to guilt. Easier to keep in place.
But growth has a way of making you harder to control.

And I wasn’t changing for applause. I wasn’t changing for validation. I was changing because I had finally realized: my peace matters more than their comfort.

Now, I speak up.
Now, I walk away from anything that doesn’t feel aligned.
Now, I say what I mean, and I mean what I say.

I’m still kind, but not at my own expense.
I still care, but I don’t chase.
I still love, but I don’t beg.

And some people still miss the old me—the version of me that tolerated disrespect, made excuses for others, and put herself last.

But she’s gone.
And that’s the whole point.

I didn’t come this far to be dragged back into who I was just because it made someone else more comfortable.

If you loved the version of me that kept quiet so you could be loud, I understand why you’re confused. But I won't apologize for evolving.

I’m not bitter. I’m just clear.

Clear about who I am.
Clear about what I deserve.
Clear about the kind of life I want to live.

So if you’re reading this and you feel like you’re losing people because you’re changing—let them go. The ones who love your growth will stay. The ones who don’t were only ever in love with your compliance, not your core.

I’m not who I was.
And that’s the whole point.

Because survival taught me how to shrink.
But healing taught me how to expand.
And I’m never going back.

Thank you for reading ❤️.