I am a different person than who I was just a few years ago. No makeover, no grand epiphanies, no life-altering crisis. But it also didn’t “just happen.”
Emotionally, I did understand that the way I was operating and experiencing my life was not working—Not for my relationships—not for my career—not for me. I wanted to do something about that. I had intention, but I didn’t have a plan. No one had given me a roadmap to becoming who I wanted to be.
It’s not that I decided that the version of who I used to be was bad. It’s just that who I used to be was no longer in alignment with who I wanted to become.
Over time I began to shed some of the beliefs I’d been carrying like shields against a world I no longer lived in. I was holding on to a framing of my life that was detached from a life that no longer existed. I did so because holding on felt safer than changing.
It still does.
The internal narrative I carried became the description, that became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
"I'm not good at relationships."
"I don’t show my emotions."
"I always have to be on-guard with everyone."
"I'm someone who doesn't need anybody."
"People won’t like me if I show them who I really am.”
I accepted those statements because, at the time, that’s who I was. Over time, there was one question I wished I had asked myself sooner: “Is that who you are—or who you remember being?”
Relying on outdated versions of ourselves can be more debilitating than useful in current situations. We’re constantly evolving—not just through dramatic events—but also through seemingly ordinary circumstances:
A divorce can change you.
A career can change you.
Success can change you.
Failure can change you.
Parenthood can change you.
A friendship can change you.
Five ordinary years of just living can change you.
Sometimes we continue to apply methods of adapting that were reasonable at the time, but for our current situations, they no longer benefit us.
What happens when we remain loyal to a version of ourselves that our present life no longer requires?
Using Curiosity to Notice How You’ve Changed
Recently I’ve often described curiosity in terms of relating to others, but in this piece, I am expanding that meaning to how we relate to ourselves.
In my last piece, I wrote about that period early in a relationship where we are so curious about the person we are attracted to. Asking the routine or profound questions so we can understand them better.
We want to know whether they are compatible with us. We want to know what makes them happy. What makes them sad. What makes them angry. What makes them love us.
What would life look like if we asked ourselves the same questions?
Would the answers be the same as they were a few years ago? A decade ago? When we were children?
Are we assuming the answers are the same?
We easily accept that our tastes in music or food will change, and that sometimes it’s not because we want them to. Sometimes we change the way we eat for health reasons and enjoy new foods. Sometimes we are exposed to a different genre of music and we discover we like it. Life can surprise us that way.
What often comes less easily are those questions that force us to see who we are now.
Maybe something that once angered you doesn't anymore.
Maybe something you tolerated now bothers you.
Maybe something you thought you wanted no longer interests you.
Maybe something you viewed as a flaw you realize isn’t.
Maybe you begin to see a flaw you never noticed before.
Maybe you discover a softness you previously considered weakness.
Maybe a boundary that once felt necessary now feels like a wall.
It’s not unusual to come to these points in our lives. Subconsciously, without intention, we change over time. What I believe is rarer is the process of slowing down long enough to ask why. Curiosity asks: "Why do I feel differently now?"
The other question I suggest we ask of ourselves is: “Am I present in my life?”
Presence allows us to notice who we are becoming rather than repeatedly relying on our past to determine who we are supposed to be.
Direction and Intention Feed Growth
Do you want to continue growing as a person? Are you willing?
You are going to change over time. The only real question is whether it will be through your own intent. If the answer is “I do”, then walk with me for a bit.
The process of growth isn’t as simple as asking what we need to let go of. Intention asks: “Who am I trying to become?” Direction asks: “What does that person actually do?”
We can say that we want to be kinder—more confident—more emotionally mature. Those are great traits to aspire to, but difficult to practice without a clear direction.
The more intentional practice is to ask yourself: “If I want to become a better listener, what do I do when someone criticizes me?”
“If I want to become emotionally safe, how do I behave when I'm angry?”
“If I want to become more courageous, what conversation do I stop avoiding?”
“If I want to become someone who respects themselves, what do I stop accepting?”
“If I want to become a more loving partner, what does that look like on an ordinary Tuesday when I'm tired and irritated?”
Let’s be honest with ourselves; even with intention and direction, the process of growth can hurt. Releasing an old version of ourselves can be painful and wrought with fear. We may even continue to cling to the things we don’t like about ourselves because they can feel safer, because they’re familiar.
We still may carry the experiences of former relationships—the aspirations of bygone dreams—communities in which we no longer live—routines, ambitions, or identities that once mattered deeply.
It’s perfectly normal to grieve how those things have changed; how they have changed you. It’s important to consider that you aren't necessarily grieving because you want to remain static or go backward.
Sometimes we grieve because something that ended mattered.
The Struggle is Real
You don't have to hate yourself to recognize that there are things about yourself you want to change. Some people move to change. Some people allow those things to govern them in such a way that change becomes nearly impossible.
Mostly, it’s not that simple. If it were that simple, the act of recognizing our behavior patterns would be enough to inspire change.
Sometimes we know exactly what needs to change. We're simply afraid of what happens if we actually change it.
“What if I fail? What if I do the work of trying to become this person and I can’t?”
Those are valid questions to ask. My fear of failure can be as real to me as being chased by a bear. And no, I don’t have a magic mantra that will work for everyone, but what I can tell you is that not trying will guarantee failure.
It’s important to understand that a fear of failure may not be the primary driver of stagnation. Maybe you’ve grown comfortable with your old patterns. Maybe you’re afraid to disrupt the relationships you have with the people around you who have grown comfortable with your old patterns. Maybe your old patterns made you feel safe because you know exactly how they work for most situations.
Growth can be painful and terrifying because it triggers vulnerability.
It’s likely that no one will clap for you as you’re evolving. Some people will leave, or worse, try to derail you. Not because they want to hurt you, but because the relationship and the environment were built around the person you used to be. And they—simply aren’t ready to change with you.
It’s likely that your relationships will begin to feel like you’re walking a paradoxical tightrope over a bottomless canyon.
They will see it as sudden. They won’t see the struggle. One day they thought they knew you; and the next, you became:
The person who always said yes begins saying no.
The person who avoided confrontation begins speaking plainly.
The person who constantly sought reassurance becomes more secure.
The person everyone depended upon begins asking for help.
The person who accepted being treated a certain way decides they no longer will.
Our concern for their discomfort can sometimes make us question ourselves. “Am I becoming selfish? Am I being difficult? Why don't they understand me anymore? Maybe I was better before.” It is at this point where our sense of safety and the desire for familiarity will have their strongest pull.
This is also where your intention becomes more than the place where you want to land; it becomes the buoy that keeps you afloat in a raging sea.
Keep in mind that the fear of struggling or loss can influence not only whether we change, but also the kind of person we decide to become.
Your Why Matters
When it comes to intentionally updating yourself, perhaps the real question isn’t simply, “who do I want to become?” It is, “Why do I want to become this person?”
Just as importantly, we need to be honest with ourselves about whether we are willing to accept the uncertainty of becoming them, because not every desire to become different is evidence of growth. Sometimes it is pain trying to reinvent us.
A negative experience can reveal something about ourselves that genuinely needs attention. The danger comes when we allow the experience to define the solution.
Perhaps you were hurt because you were too trusting; but does growth mean you must become distrustful?
Perhaps you didn’t set appropriate boundaries; but does growth mean you must become untouchable?
Perhaps you lingered too long in a relationship; but does growth mean you must resist committing deeply again?
Perhaps someone took advantage of your generosity; but does growth require that you become an emotional miser?
The risk I fear is that the corrective response to one extreme can easily propel us toward another. It’s easy to mistake protection for growth simply because the new behavior hurts less.
If I want to become more assertive because I notice that I routinely silence my own needs, there is intention behind the change.
If I decide to become more assertive because someone recently embarrassed me and I promise myself that I’m never going to let anybody make me feel weak again, something completely different may be at play.
The outward goal can look almost identical. The internal motivation isn't.
One is moving toward something: self-respect, honesty, healthier relationships.
The other may simply be moving away from pain. So "why" matters enormously.
Pain naturally makes us want to protect ourselves. It is profoundly human to avoid and reject it. I’m simply suggesting that we should become curious about that pain before building an identity around it. I think that the ability to ask why is a true soul gift of discernment.
Instead of declaring that I will never be that way again, try exploring: What happened? What did it reveal about me? What actually needs to change? What am I trying to protect? And will the person I'm trying to become make my life expansive—or simply make me harder to hurt?
A version of ourselves that is harder to hurt is not necessarily a better version of ourselves.
Sure, we could become less trusting, less vulnerable, less forgiving, less willing to risk embarrassment, less willing to love—and successfully reduce certain kinds of pain.
But we might also reduce our capacity for connection, intimacy, wonder, and growth.
This is not just discarding everything we’ve become. Sometimes reflection reveals that something about the old us deserves to be reclaimed rather than released.
Maybe the person who got hurt wasn't foolish for loving deeply. Maybe they simply needed better boundaries.
Maybe the person who failed wasn't unrealistic for dreaming big. Maybe they needed preparation.
Maybe the person whose kindness was exploited wasn't wrong for being kind. Maybe they needed discernment.
Maturity isn't about replacing ourselves every time life hurts us. It's learning what to keep, what to change, what to let go, and why.