“The Me I Didn’t Become” And Why I’m Learning To Love Her Anyway

There’s a version of me I still carry in my back pocket. She’s about 17, maybe 18—full of big ideas, a little mascara, and a mouth full of braces, dreaming of becoming a dentist. Not for money, not for prestige, but because she liked the quiet thrill of helping people smile without being embarrassed. She wanted to wear those little scrubs and say things like “open wide” and mean it.

But I never became her.

I became someone else—someone safe. Someone who was good at writing, or organizing, or showing up on time. Someone who knew how to hold a job, manage expectations, keep her head down, and listen when adults say things like “that’s not realistic” or “are you sure you’re smart enough for that?” I nodded. I was a good girl. I didn’t want to be a burden. So, I chose comfort over calling. I chose applause over authenticity.

And now, I’m here—doing something I’m good at, something that keeps the lights on, but not the thing I once believed would light me up.

And I’ll be honest with you, that realization used to wreck me. Still does, some days.

Because when you’re in your 30s, or somewhere between your late 20s and mid-40s—somewhere between a Target run and a mild existential crisis—regret can sneak in like the smell of your ex’s cologne on a hoodie you swore you threw out. And suddenly you’re spiraling… Why didn’t I try harder? Why did I listen to them? Why was I so scared?

Let me just say this, in case no one else has… if you’ve ever mourned the version of you that could have been—you’re not alone.

And that version?? She’s not mad at you.

In fact, she’s probably really proud. 

I spent most of my 20s doing what I thought I was supposed to do. The job. The stability. The modest goals. I convinced myself it was fine. And it was fine. Until I realized I was so good at settling, I had forgotten how to want more. 

Read More: https://peonymagazine.com/mind-spirit/love-the-me-i-didnt-become/