How We Slowly Lose Ourselves
No one wakes up one morning and decides to lose themselves.
At least, I don’t believe most people do.
I think we drift.
Little by little.
Subtly.
And because it happens so slowly, we often don’t notice it until years later when we look around and wonder how we got here.
I’ve come to believe that when we enter this world, we are at our purest state.
Not perfect.
But authentic.
Curious.
Talkative.
Sensitive.
Sneaky.
Bubbly.
Creative.
Some of those qualities are celebrated.
Others have our hands slapped and are quickly hidden away.
Over time, we learn what parts of ourselves are acceptable and which parts are not.
And without even realizing it, we begin to drift.
No one told me to change my accent when I moved to the United States.
No one told me that I had to fit in.
No one rejected me.
But I wanted to make things easier for my friends.
I didn’t want to constantly repeat myself.
And so, slowly and subtly, I adapted.
Most of life happens this way.
Not with a loud announcement.
Not with fireworks.
Subtly.
Until one day you wake up and you’re thirty.
Or forty.
Or fifty.
And you no longer recognize the person you’ve become.
I used to wonder how someone could be married for fifty years and then suddenly walk away.
I judged.
Until life taught me something.
How dare I judge someone whose story I haven’t lived?
How dare I assume I would make different choices if I had been given their circumstances?
Their childhood.
Their pain.
Their trauma.
Their disappointments.
The truth is, we don’t know the weight people are carrying.
And if life has taught me anything, it’s this:
Grace is necessary.
Not because people should escape accountability.
But because most people are simply doing the best they can with the hand they’ve been dealt.
I try to bring that same philosophy into my work.
I don’t believe in throwing people under the bus.
I don’t believe in toxic environments.
I don’t believe fear brings out the best in people.
There can be accountability without shame.
Correction without humiliation.
Performance without sacrificing our humanity.
And perhaps that’s because I understand something now that I didn’t understand before.
We all drift.
Some drift into perfectionism.
Some drift into people pleasing.
Some drift into anger.
Some drift into anxiety.
Some drift into burnout.
Some drift so far that they no longer recognize themselves.
But drifting isn’t failure.
It’s part of being human.
And the beautiful thing about drifting is that if we can drift away, perhaps we can drift back.
Many people call this shadow work.
Others call it healing.
Others call it self-awareness.
I don’t get too hung up on the words.
To me, it simply means returning to the parts of yourself that you buried in order to survive.
The parts that learned to stay quiet.
The parts that learned to perform.
The parts that learned to keep the peace.
The parts that learned to suppress.
Because suppression doesn’t make things disappear.
It simply sends them underground.
And like roots beneath the surface, they continue to grow.
For me, writing has been one of the greatest tools in this journey.
There is something healing about putting pen to paper.
About sitting quietly with yourself.
About asking:
Who was I before I learned who I was supposed to be?
What did I love?
What brought me joy?
What parts of me still exist today?
What parts did I leave behind?
And perhaps the most beautiful discovery is this:
They never really went away.
They’re still there.
Waiting.
Not demanding.
Not angry.
Just waiting to be acknowledged again.
As someone who spent much of her life performing, I’ve learned that I extend grace very easily to others.
But for many years, I rarely gave that same grace to myself.
I felt guilty resting.
I felt guilty slowing down.
I felt guilty putting myself first.
And yet, rest is not selfish.
Rest is not laziness.
Rest is not failure.
Rest is part of being human.
And perhaps that’s what I want to leave you with today.
If you’ve drifted, don’t panic.
Most of us have.
And if you can drift away from yourself, you can also find your way back.
Slowly.
Subtly.
Gently.
After all, that’s how most transformation happens.
Not overnight.
But one quiet step at a time.
Until next time,
Stay anchored.
⚓