I Am Slowly Finding Myself Again

I’ll be honest: I haven’t felt like myself in a very long time. And the worst part is that I’m not entirely sure when I went missing in the first place.

I left no trail behind that could have showed me back the exact longitude and latitude of where I lost my way. If there was, I could follow my footprints there and start again. I could build a case for the vacant woman I have become, and help bring her back home. But without a specific breaking point, there are no pieces to gather up and stitch back together. There are no clues to discover and no evidence to pick apart. I lost myself in waves. A gradual fade, a slow burn escape from my bones until there was nothing left that I recognized as “me.”

And yet, I still often long for who I have been. I miss my old self the way you miss a childhood friend you had, the friend whose name you no longer remember but whose face remains as crisp as yesterday in your mind. Over time, you lost touch and you still can’t recall exactly why. But you remember what made them laugh and how they trusted others with ease. You remember they loved hard and completely. But you’re not sure where they went or where they are now.

But I’m coming to realize that maybe that’s the point. Maybe I’m supposed to evolve and shift and change. Maybe my former self isn’t supposed to move beyond the confines of my past. Perhaps it is time to call off the search party and rebuild right here, as I exist now.

Because maybe we are all constantly shedding pieces of ourselves, dropping shards of our old hopes and dreams and innocence along the way as we walk towards the people we were meant to become. And maybe getting lost is the only way to find ourselves at all.

So, here’s to hoping. Here’s to trying. Here’s to finding myself once more.