Outgrowing Old Versions

There are versions of ourselves that deserve more credit than we give them.

The version that figured it out with limited information.

The version that stayed when leaving did not feel possible.

The version that worked twice as hard because she thought she had something to prove.

The version that learned how to disappear when being noticed felt uncomfortable.

The version that became independent because depending on someone else did not always feel safe.

The version that said yes because disappointing people felt worse than disappointing herself.

Those versions of us were not necessarily wrong.

They were responding to what they knew, what they had experienced, and what they believed they needed at the time.

But something can serve you well and still become something you eventually outgrow.

That can be difficult to accept.

We often talk about growth as becoming more.

More confident.

More successful.

More disciplined.

More knowledgeable.

More secure.

But growth also asks us to release.

Sometimes what has to go is not a bad habit or an obvious problem.

Sometimes it is an identity that once worked.

Maybe you have always been the dependable one.

The strong one.

The quiet one.

The responsible one.

The one who does not need help.

The one who keeps everyone comfortable.

The one who never draws too much attention.

Those identities can become so familiar that changing them feels less like growth and more like losing part of ourselves.

But who we have been is not a contract for who we must continue to be.

We are allowed to learn something new about ourselves.

We are allowed to want something different.

We are allowed to develop new boundaries.

We are allowed to become more visible.

We are allowed to change our minds.

We are even allowed to discover that something we once called “just who I am” was actually who we needed to be in a particular season.

That shows up in how we present ourselves, too.

Sometimes we hold onto clothes because they represent an old version of us.

A career we no longer have.

A body we are waiting to get back.

A lifestyle that has changed.

A version of ourselves we believed looked more successful, more attractive, more acceptable, or more like who we were supposed to be.

And sometimes we do the opposite.

We continue dressing like an older version of ourselves because we have not given the person we are becoming permission to show up yet.

That is why the closet can become more than a collection of clothes.

It can become a record.

Of who we were.

Who we thought we needed to be.

Who other people expected us to be.

And sometimes, who we are still trying to become.

There is nothing wrong with remembering an older version of yourself.

She may have gotten you through something you did not know how to survive.

She may have built the foundation you are standing on.

She may have learned lessons that you still use.

She deserves gratitude.

But gratitude does not require permanent residence.

We can honor who we were without asking that version of ourselves to keep making every decision.

Maybe growth sounds like:

Thank you for getting me here.

I understand why you did that.

I see what you were trying to protect.

I know why this felt necessary.

But I don't need you to lead this part.

That is not rejection.

That is development.

The person we are becoming gets to learn from every version that came before without being confined by any of them.

And perhaps one of the most freeing parts of growth is realizing:

I can appreciate who I was without needing to remain her.