There’s a type of grief we rarely name.
It isn’t about losing someone.
It’s about losing versions of yourself.
Missing who you were
The person who had more time.
More lightness.
More spontaneity.
More mental space.
The person who didn’t measure days in productivity.
The person who didn’t carry everything.
You don’t necessarily want to go back.
But sometimes you miss how it felt to be there.
Why nostalgia hits harder as we age
Because memory becomes contrast.
You start noticing:
• how busy you are
• how often you’re tired
• how little silence exists
• how carefully time is spent
Nostalgia isn’t about the past being perfect.
It’s about it being simpler.
Growing up is also letting go
Of:
• old rhythms
• old identities
• old freedoms
• old versions of ambition
• old versions of yourself
Even when growth is good…
loss is still loss.
The grief nobody names
We talk about burnout.
Stress.
Anxiety.
Depression.
But not often about the sadness of transition.
Of becoming someone new while parts of you quietly close.
Why this doesn’t mean you’re unhappy
Missing the past doesn’t mean you hate the present.
It means you are aware.
You lived something.
And your nervous system remembers it.
Becoming without erasing
Adulthood isn’t replacing who you were.
It’s layering.
You don’t lose those people.
You carry them.
They inform how you love.
How you rest.
How you care.
How you notice.
A quieter kind of peace
Growing up doesn’t feel like winning.
It feels like integrating.
You don’t arrive.
You become.
And sometimes you mourn while you’re building.
Both can be true.