Who You Could Have Been Is Still in You
This
reflection is part of The Unscripted Self: Notes from the Interior, a series of
honest essays about living without the script, choosing presence over
performance, and staying close to what’s real.
There’s a version of you that never
gave up on the strange ideas that lit you up inside, the projects that no one
understood but meant something to you anyway. That version showed up early,
stayed late, and wasn’t afraid of doing it badly at first, because there was
something honest in the effort itself. You might still see fragments of them
now and then, buried in a half-filled notebook, a playlist you haven’t touched
in years, or in that quiet restlessness that shows up when you’re doing
something safe instead of something true.
This isn’t about regret in the way
most people frame it, it is not about wishing you could rewind your life or
undo the choices that brought you here, but it’s about honoring what didn’t get
to live, acknowledging that there are dreams we downsize to fit the lives we
think we’re supposed to live. Shrinking, sometimes, looks like being
responsible, doing what was necessary to survive, and sometimes, it looks like
convincing ourselves the timing just wasn’t right, even though what we really
felt was fear.
Growth doesn’t always mean doing more,
achieving more, or becoming more, it means being still long enough to hear
yourself again, to remember the voice you quieted in order to belong, to
succeed, or to keep the peace. It means noticing the small betrayals, like the
ones where you said yes when you meant no, and the ones where you stayed silent
when something in you was screaming to speak.
There is grief in realizing you’ve
made yourself smaller in ways no one asked you to because some part of you
believed being less would somehow earn you more love, more stability, or more
permission to exist.
This is not an invitation to burn
everything down in the name of reinvention, but it is a gentle reminder to look
again at what still matters, at what never stopped tugging at you quietly from
the background. It is about listening when something in you says, “I’m still
here, and I still want this.”
You don’t need to overhaul your life
to begin again, but you need to stop pretending you’re not still carrying those
pieces inside you. Pick one up, see what it has to say, and follow it for the
reconnection.
These
are reflections from the quiet, ongoing work of staying honest with yourself.
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