Some versions of you deserve to be forgotten

I didn’t grow into a better version of myself — I survived the one that was slowly killing me.

There is a version of me that almost destroyed me, and no one really talks about that part of growth. It was the version that woke up anxious every morning, checked the phone like it controlled self-worth, and compared life to people who only shared their best moments.

 It was believed the twenties were a deadline where success, love, and confidence were supposed to magically appear, and every time life didn’t match that timeline, it turned the disappointment inward. It stayed in situations that drained energy because being alone felt like failure, accepted the bare minimum because something felt better than nothing, and chased people who never chose it fully. Anxiety was mistaken for ambition, burnout for progress, and attachment for love. 

That version lived in exhaustion that sleep couldn’t fix, replaying conversations late into the night, blaming itself for endings that were never its fault, and carrying emotional weight that slowly became normal. Some nights were spent crying quietly, some mornings were spent staring in the mirror, trying to recognise who had been lost along the way. It wasn’t weakness that kept that version stuck; it was survival. 

But survival slowly makes you smaller, sharper, more afraid to rest, more afraid to need, more afraid to walk away. The moment healing started wasn’t dramatic; it was just a tired realisation that this life couldn’t continue like this. That’s when I began forgetting that version of myself, the one that begged for clarity, stayed through pain, and believed suffering meant strength. I stopped chasing validation, stopped explaining myself into exhaustion, stopped bleeding for people who wouldn’t even bruise for me. 

Healing felt lonely before it felt peaceful, but the quiet was safer than the chaos. Slowly, a new version of me emerged, one that walks away without guilt, chooses peace over proving, and understands that boundaries are not cruelty, they are self-respect. I don’t miss who I was when I was hurting, but I respect that version for surviving seasons that almost broke me. Some versions of you are built in trauma, and they can be strong without being permanent. 

Growth isn’t about carrying every past self forward; it’s about releasing the ones that only knew how to endure. The real transformation isn’t becoming louder, richer, or perfect; it’s no longer tolerating what once destroyed you. 

And sometimes the most powerful healing is letting old versions of yourself die so the real you can finally live.

yellow thoughts💛