I Miss the Girl Who Wasn’t Afraid to Live
Somewhere along the way, staying home became easier than showing up. I told myself I was protecting my peace—but sometimes I wonder if I accidentally started protecting myself from living, too.
If I could sit across from myself 10 or 15 years ago, I think the first thing she would notice would be my smile.
Or maybe she'd notice what's missing from it.
I've always been told I have a smile that lights up a room. That it's warm. Caring. The kind of smile people notice.
And I'm sure at some point it really was.
But that smile has been through some shit.
Somewhere along the way, it learned how to show up even when I didn't feel it.
It learned how to say I'm okay without me having to say the words.
It became something I could put on when someone looked at me, even if two seconds earlier my face told a completely different story.
And if younger me were sitting across from me now, I think she'd know.
She'd look at me and probably think,
Girl… when did we get so tired?
I Don't Think I Stopped Living All at Once
There wasn't some dramatic day where I announced,
"That's it. I'm never leaving my house again."
😂
It happened slowly.
Staying home became a habit.
I'd get invited somewhere—a girls' night, dinner, shopping, a vacation—and when the invitation first came?
Absolutely.
Let's go.
I'm excited. I'm making plans. I'm thinking about what I'm going to wear.
Then the day comes.
And suddenly my brain starts holding an emergency board meeting.
Do I really want to go?
Do they actually want me there, or are they just being nice?
What if I feel awkward?
What if I want to leave?
And then comes the most important task:
Find a believable excuse immediately.
The dog is sick.
My husband hurt himself.
Something came up.
Whatever sounded believable enough to get me out of going without having to admit the truth:
I got scared.
And almost every single time afterward, I'd think:
Why did I do that?
I should have gone.
Sometimes Isolation Starts as Protection
Looking back, I think some of this started long before I realized what was happening.
In a past relationship, going out could mean accusations.
Where were you?
Who were you with?
Are you lying?
Are you cheating?
Eventually, avoiding the argument became easier than going.
So I stopped going.
Then I stopped making friends.
And little by little, isolation started creeping into my life.
I thought I had it under control.
Turns out isolation is apparently like a fucking gnat.
😂
You think you've gotten rid of it and then suddenly—
zzzzzzzz
There it is again.
I would push myself.
I'd go places.
I'd have fun.
I'd make friends.
I'd start feeling like myself again.
Then anxiety came along and got my whole head wonked out, and suddenly it felt like I was standing back at square one.
But here's something I'm starting to understand:
Sometimes the things we do to protect ourselves long after the danger is gone are the same things that keep us trapped.
At one point, staying home made things easier.
But eventually my brain didn't need anyone else telling me not to go.
It had learned how to talk me out of going all by itself.
What If They Don't Actually Want Me There?
This one is hard to admit.
Sometimes when someone invites me somewhere, part of me wonders if they really want me there.
Maybe they're just including me.
Maybe they felt obligated.
Maybe they'll have more fun without me.
And yes, logically, I know that's probably not true.
But anxiety isn't exactly famous for presenting a well-researched PowerPoint presentation with peer-reviewed sources.
😂
It just walks into the room like,
"EVERYONE HATES YOU."
Oh.
Okay.
Thanks for the update.
And then there's the guilt.
Even if I did go somewhere and have fun, part of my mind would still be somewhere else.
Is everything okay at home?
Is my husband okay?
Is he upset that I'm gone?
Should I have stayed?
Which means sometimes even when my body went somewhere…
my mind never really came with me.
Imagine Feeling Watched Everywhere You Go
I've always struggled with doing things alone.
Walking into a place by myself can feel like walking onto a stage where apparently everyone received tickets except me.
They're looking.
They're judging.
They're talking.
Realistically?
They probably aren't.
Most people are too busy worrying about themselves to care what I'm doing.
But knowing that logically doesn't always shut my brain up.
Because when you've spent enough time believing you're being watched, your brain eventually starts watching you on everyone else's behalf.
Do I look stupid?
Am I standing weird?
Am I doing this wrong?
Does everyone else know what they're doing except me?
And imagine carrying that around.
Every day.
All the time.
It's exhausting.
It makes you self-conscious about things you shouldn't even have to think about.
And suddenly home isn't just comfortable.
Home is the one place where the imaginary audience can't follow you.
Finding Yourself: What Happened to the Happy Version of Me?
She's still there.
I know she is.
The happy one.
The caring one.
The empathetic one.
The adventurous one.
The girl who could just go.
I've spent a lot of time wondering how to make her resurface.
But during all of this, another thought hit me.
Maybe I actually know how.
Maybe I'm afraid to.
Because what happens if I finally let her back out?
What happens if I get happy again?
What if I start trusting people again?
What if I get excited?
What if I start making plans and dreaming and actually participating in my own life again?
And then life knocks me flat on my ass?
Again.
That's scary.
Because life is scary.
Maybe I've tucked pieces of myself away because somewhere inside me I thought:
Don't trust too much.
Don't get too excited.
Don't get your hopes up.
Don't make plans.
Stay here.
It's safer.
And maybe it is.
But I'm starting to wonder about the price of being safe all the time.
You Can Protect Yourself From Pain
You can stay home.
You can stop making friends.
You can cancel the trip.
You can avoid the invitation.
You can stop trusting people.
You can keep expectations low enough that nobody can disappoint you.
You can make your world smaller and smaller until there aren't many opportunities left for something to hurt you.
And maybe it works.
Maybe fewer things get in.
But there's a problem.
Nothing gets in.
Not the random night where you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.
Not the friend you haven't met yet.
Not the ridiculous story you'll still be telling ten years from now.
Not standing somewhere you've never been before thinking,
Holy shit. I'm actually here.
Not adventure.
Not connection.
Not joy.
Eventually you can become so good at protecting yourself from the bad stuff that you accidentally start protecting yourself from the good stuff too.
And damn.
That one hurt to realize.
If She Came Back Tomorrow...
I thought about what I'd do if I woke up tomorrow and that happy, adventurous part of me had finally resurfaced.
Something huge?
Book a flight?
Take a spontaneous road trip?
Change my entire life?
Nope.
😂
I'd go to the freaking gym.
Shorts.
T-shirt.
Tennis shoes.
Messy bun.
Water.
Music.
That's it.
I'd walk inside by myself.
And I wouldn't care who was looking at me.
I wouldn't wonder who was judging me.
I wouldn't convince myself people were talking about me.
I'd just…
be there.
I'd look at all those exercise machines—half of which look like medieval torture devices—and decide which one I wanted to conquer first.
😂
That's my dream first day back.
And maybe that sounds ridiculously small.
But it isn't.
Because the victory isn't going to the gym.
The victory is walking into a room alone and believing I have just as much right to be there as everybody else.
No imaginary audience.
No apology.
No permission.
Just me.
Messy bun and all.
Maybe I Don't Actually Want the Old Me Back
The more I think about it, the more I realize I don't want to erase everything that's happened and become her again.
She hadn't learned what I know now.
She hadn't survived what I've survived.
She didn't have the boundaries I have now.
She didn't understand herself the way I'm beginning to understand myself.
So maybe I don't need to find the girl I used to be.
Maybe I need to stop keeping her locked away because I'm afraid life might hurt her again.
I can keep the wisdom.
Keep the gut instincts that have been right more times than I care to admit.
Keep the boundaries.
Keep everything life taught me the hard way.
But maybe I can give myself some things back, too.
Adventure.
Friendship.
Spontaneity.
A random dinner.
A trip.
The gym.
Music blasting through my headphones while I do something completely alone.
Maybe I can say yes sometimes before anxiety has enough time to prepare its 47-slide presentation explaining why I absolutely should not.
😂
What I Would Tell Her
If younger me were really sitting across from me, I'd tell her to keep going.
I'd tell her to trust her gut.
Girl, that thing is going to be right A LOT. Listen to it.
I'd tell her not to stay so closed off.
Speak your mind.
Tell people when something hurts.
Tell people what you need.
Don't shrink yourself because someone might get mad.
I'd tell her she's going to experience hurt.
Pain.
Loss.
Things she never imagined she'd have to survive.
But she's going to survive them.
I'd tell her:
Never give up on life or anything that makes you happy just because somebody else doesn't like it.
Go out.
Have drinks with your friends.
Take the random trip.
Explore the world.
Make the memories.
Take the pictures.
Laugh too loudly.
Go somewhere alone.
Because the isolated, anxiety-filled version of your future self is going to wish you'd taught her something important:
You are allowed to enjoy your own life.
And What If Life Knocks Me Down Again?
It might.
That's the answer I don't particularly like.
😂
There isn't a version of life where I can guarantee I'll never be hurt again.
I can't protect my mind from everything.
I can't make sure nobody ever disappoints me.
I can't guarantee that every friendship lasts, every trip goes perfectly, every person treats me well, or every happy chapter stays happy forever.
That's terrifying.
But what if something beautiful happens, too?
What if I go?
What if they really did want me there?
What if nobody at the gym gives a damn what I'm doing?
What if I make the friend?
What if I take the trip?
What if I laugh until my stomach hurts?
What if I start doing things alone and realize I'm actually pretty damn good company?
What if I stop worrying about whether everyone else thinks I belong somewhere…
and just decide that I do?
And what if one day I'm somewhere completely ordinary—sitting at dinner, driving with music too loud, wandering through a store, struggling with some ridiculous gym machine—and I start laughing?
Really laughing.
And for just a second…
the smile everyone tells me lights up a room isn't forced anymore.
Maybe that's how she resurfaces.
Not all at once.
Not with some giant transformation.
Maybe she comes back in tiny pieces every time I choose to live instead of automatically choosing what's safest.
And if life knocks her down again?
Well...
She's gotten back up before.
Maybe I don't miss the girl I used to be.
Maybe I just miss the part of me that wasn't afraid to participate in her own life.
And maybe it's time I invite her back.
Messy bun.
Water bottle.
Headphones.
We'll start with the gym. 🌸☕️
Beautifully Overwhelmed is for the people who are learning that healing isn't always becoming someone new. Sometimes it's slowly giving yourself permission to become a little more you again.
If you've been hiding pieces of yourself because the world has already hurt them enough, I hope you give one of those pieces a little room to breathe today.
You don't have to change your whole life.
Just do one thing that reminds you you're still living it. 🌸
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