I Left Pieces of Myself in Every Goodbye

I Left Pieces of Myself in Every Goodbye

There are people who leave without warning, and there are those we choose to let go. But no matter who leaves first, a goodbye always takes something with it. And sometimes, it leaves behind something we never wanted to keep—regret, silence, or an unspoken sentence hanging in the air.

I never noticed how many goodbyes I had survived until I started counting the versions of myself I had lost.

The loud, laughing version of me stayed with my childhood friend Sarah.

The hopeful dreamer? I left her behind when I boarded the plane that took me away from my first love.

And the fearless version—the one who believed nothing could break her—was last seen walking away from a hospital door that would never open again.

The Goodbye That Taught Me Distance

I remember the first goodbye that truly hurt. It wasn’t romantic. It was the day my best friend moved away in sixth grade. We didn’t have phones or promises that meant anything at that age. We just waved, cried a little, and I remember feeling like something inside me deflated.

It was small—but it was real.

That was the first piece of myself I gave away. The one who believed friendships were forever.

The Goodbye That Taught Me Silence

Years later, I met someone who showed me what it meant to be truly understood. Late-night walks, endless talks, the kind of connection that doesn’t need a label.

We never officially said goodbye.

One day, the messages slowed. The calls stopped. And silence quietly moved in like fog. I kept checking my phone for weeks, expecting a reason. A closure.

Instead, I gave away the version of me who trusted that every connection had an explanation.

She never came back.

The Goodbye That Taught Me Strength

And then came the hardest one.

Hospitals have a certain smell. It lingers on your clothes, in your hair, in your soul. I sat by my father’s side, holding his hand as machines beeped and doctors whispered.

That goodbye wasn’t sudden. It stretched over weeks, disguised as hope. But when it finally came, it broke something in me.

That day, I left behind the version of myself who thought strength meant never crying. I cried more in that one week than I had in years. And yet, I came out stronger—just a different kind of strong.

Learning to Say Goodbye Without Losing Myself

Somewhere along the way, I began to notice what I was doing.

Every time someone left, I let a part of myself go with them.

I thought it was love. I thought it was loyalty.

But really, it was fear—fear of holding on to things that were no longer mine.

It took time (and a lot of healing) to realize that I don’t have to disappear every time someone else does.

I can say goodbye without becoming smaller.

I can feel the ache without falling apart.

I can love deeply and still keep the core of who I am.

What’s Left—and What Matters

Now, when I think of all the goodbyes I’ve lived through, I don’t feel empty

I feel layered.

Each goodbye shaped me. Hardened some parts, softened others. I’m not broken—I’m worn in. Like a well-loved book with creased pages and highlighted lines. I’ve been read, left, reopened, and loved again.

And maybe that’s the point.

We don’t lose ourselves in goodbyes—we become who we are because of them.