On Missing Versions of Yourself

Neva Roenne
Oct 21
3 min read

Lately, I’ve been thinking about all the versions of myself I’ve been and how sometimes, I actually miss them. Not because I want to go back, but because I finally understand what they were trying to do.

The kid me without a care in the world while playing 2nd base on the T-ball team.
The 14-year-old me who just so desperately wanted to fit in and belong.
The 18-year-old me who thought she had to have everything figured out.
The one who smiled through things that hurt because she didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
The one who made the most of her college years with her best friends and thought life couldn’t possibly get better than that.
The one who had to use every ounce of effort just to make it through the day her junior year of college and athletics.
The one who moved for love and thought it meant forever.
The one who had to rebuild when it wasn’t.

I miss them all sometimes. And not in a “those were the good old days” kind of way, more like, “wow, she really did her best with what she knew then.”

The Quiet Grief That Comes With Growth

No one really talks about how strange it is to outgrow yourself. You work so hard to heal and move forward, and then one day you look back and realize you kind of miss who you were before everything changed. Even if that version of you was lost, scared, or unsure, she was still you.

Maybe that’s the quiet grief of getting older. It is realizing that growth doesn’t just mean leaving people behind. It means leaving versions of yourself behind too. The ones who dreamed differently. The ones who loved the wrong person and meant it. The ones who didn’t know what was coming but showed up anyway.

Gratitude for the Versions That Got Me Here

I think a lot about how much I owe those past versions of me. The one who kept showing up for workouts when she was exhausted in every single way. The one who stayed kind even when it wasn’t returned. The one who learned how to loosen up and truly have fun. The one who finally said “enough” and stood up for herself. Every one of them helped me get here.

Sometimes I want to go back and tell her, “You did enough. You were enough. You didn’t ruin anything, you just didn’t know yet." She deserves some credit.

Becoming Who Little Me Needed

More than anything, I want to be someone that little me would love. Someone she’d feel safe with, inspired by, and proud of. I think about the girl who believed people were good, who tried so hard to be liked, who wanted to make everyone proud. I wish I could turn around and hug her. She really did her best with what she knew at the time.

Now, I try to make choices that honor her and build a life that would make her exhale in relief and say, “We made it.” That’s who I want to be. For her. For me. For all the versions in between.

Letting Them Rest

There’s peace in knowing not every version of you needs to come back. You don’t need to relive old friendships, relationships, or habits to prove you’ve grown. You can thank them for getting you this far and let them rest.

You’re not supposed to be her anymore. You’re supposed to be you. The one who’s here now, still learning, still trying, still figuring it out.

Bringing It Full Circle

Sometimes I catch glimpses of those past selves in a song, an old photo, or when I smell a perfume I used to wear. And instead of feeling sad, I’m learning to feel grateful because every one of those versions carried something that still lives in me. I thank these versions of me because those are ones who did the work, endured the tough things, and learned how to truly enjoy the good things. I so often remind myself that future me will thank the me now for what I am going through.

They remind me that becoming yourself isn’t about starting over, it’s about carrying forward everything that once made you who you were. Even the messy parts. Even the ones that didn’t make sense at the time.