There’s a strange kind of grief that comes with healing.

Not just grieving people.

Not just grieving opportunities.

But grieving old versions of yourself.

The version that survived by staying busy.

The version that kept saying “yes” to avoid disappointing people.

The version that used humor, isolation, anger, perfectionism, overworking, or scrolling to cope with pain.

The version that thought exhaustion was proof of worth.

Sometimes God begins changing us before we fully understand who we’re becoming. And in that in-between space, we can feel lost. We don’t fit our old habits anymore, but we also don’t feel fully comfortable in the new season yet.

That transition can feel lonely.

I think about how many times I’ve had to release identities that once protected me. Some were unhealthy. Some were necessary for survival at the time. Some even looked “successful” on the outside. But eventually, God started tugging at me gently, saying: You don’t need that version of yourself anymore.

That’s hard.

Because even unhealthy coping mechanisms can feel familiar. Familiarity feels safe, even when it’s keeping us stuck.

Isaiah 43:19 says:

 “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

A new thing sounds exciting until you realize new things require change. And change almost always involves some kind of loss.

But I’m learning that not every loss is punishment. Sometimes it’s pruning. Sometimes it’s preparation. Sometimes it’s God lovingly removing the armor we no longer need so we can finally breathe again.

The hip-hop song that comes to mind is People Everyday by Arrested Development. That song reminds me that growth often changes how we move through the world. You start seeing people differently. You start seeing yourself differently. Old reactions don’t fit anymore. Old environments can start feeling uncomfortable. The beat feels light, but underneath it is a message about choosing peace and growth over staying trapped in cycles that no longer serve you.

That’s what growth often looks like.

Awkward. Tender. Unfinished.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe God never asked us to become polished overnight. Maybe He just asked us to trust Him enough to let go of who we used to be.

Even when we miss parts of that person.

Even when the new version feels unfamiliar.

Even when growth feels like grief.

Because somewhere in the middle of that transition, grace meets us there too.

And maybe the person you’re becoming is someone your younger self desperately needed.

What’s one version of yourself you’ve had to grieve while growing into who God is calling you to become?