Who I Thought I Was

I’m not who I thought I was,

and I’m terrified I never will be.

The image I held of myself—

steady, certain,

someone who knew where they were going—

has slipped through my hands

like water I couldn’t hold onto.

I look in the mirror

and don’t recognize the eyes staring back,

don’t recognize the heaviness

or the tired shape of my own hope.

I keep wondering

how I drifted so far from the person

I swore I’d become.

Was it one small choice?

A hundred little ones?

Or the weight I carried

quietly enough that no one noticed

how much it changed me?

I’m not who I thought I was,

but maybe that’s the truth

I needed to face—

that growing hurts,

that becoming someone new

often feels like losing

everything you expected to be.

And yes, I’m terrified

I never will be that version of me—

but there’s a small, trembling part

that wonders

if maybe who I’m becoming

is someone worth meeting, too.