The Last time You'll Ever Be This Version of You

I don't think we notice when it happens; the quiet, unceremonious moments where we outgrow a version of ourselves. It doesn't come with a loud announcement. There's no banner in the sky. One day, you just wake up, and something you used to chase doesn't thrill you anymore. A place you used to run to feels unfamiliar. A version of you that once made perfect sense now feels like a borrowed jacket you've outgrown.

And the truth is: you'll never be that person again.

I thought about this recently while going through some old photos. The kind you forget you took. There was one from a night out years ago; friends I don't really talk to anymore, a restuarant that probably doesn't exist now. I looked so certain in that photo. Not because I had it all figured out, but because back then, I was convinced I still had time to figure it out later.

What no one tells you is how often you'll become a stranger to your past self. The music you swore would be the soundtrack of your life won't hit the same. The people you thought were permanent will become names you struggle to remember. The things that once broke your heart will barely leave a dent.

And that's not a bad thing.

It means you're alive. It means you're moving.

The problem is we don't mark these transitions. We celebrate birthdays, promotions, weddings, graduations; the obvious milestones. But we don't pause to notice the subtler shifts. The night you finally forgave yourself for somthing no one else knew you were carrying. The morning you realised you didn't need certain people's approval to feel whole. The day you stopped chasing a version of success that was never yours to begin with.

Those moments matter too.

They're the invisible turning points. The ones that don't make it to Instagram captions or year-end recaps but quietly change your trajectory all the same.

And the thing is, you don't always see them coming. Sometimes you'll only spot them in hindsight. You'll look back five years from now and realise, oh, that was the night I stopped needing to be understood by everyone. Or, that was the conversation that made me finally start taking myself seriously.

I've come to believe that honouring those unseen milestones is a form of self-respect. To recognise that you are not static. That you will leave behind versions of yourself like old skin, and each one served a purpose. Even the ones you cringe at now.

You need to be naive. You needed to be reckless. You needed to believe certain lies about yourself to learn how to tell the truth later.

And yes, you will lose people along the way. Not because they are bad or you are, but because sometime you grow in directions people do not or cannot recognise. And the version of you they loved isn't here anymore. That's okay too.

The point isn't to hold onto every part of your past self. It is okay to know when to let go. To say thank you and move.

Because whether you notice it or not, this version of you is slipping away too. The way you see the world right now, your favourite song, the way your mind tucks itself into certain anxieties, the inside jokes you have with a specific person, it won't last.

Not forever.

And one day, you will miss it. Even the messy parts.

Even the moments you swore you would not survive. You will wish you had paid better attention.

So, this is my gentle nudge to notice. Notice who you are right now. What you are dreaming of, what scares you, what you are holding onto for dear life.

Because this is the last time you will ever be this exact version of yourself. And that matters.

It always did.