The Girl I Used to Be
I was a teenage girl long before I understood what that truly meant. At that age, I believed life was simple, emotions were honest, and love was something that naturally found its way to people who were good at heart. I didn't know then that being soft in a hard world would slowly teach me lessons I never asked for. The girl I used to be carried her heart openly, without armor, without fear, without the knowledge that hearts could be wounded in ways that never fully healed. She trusted easily because she didn't know how dangerous trust could be. She believed words because she didn't yet understand how easily words could lie. She smiled not because she was trying to impress anyone, but because happiness came easily to her then, without effort, without conditions.
The girl I used to be loved quiet moments. She found comfort in small things—long walks where her thoughts kept her company, the sound of pages turning while reading stories she wished she could live, the soft feeling of hope that rested somewhere deep inside her chest. She wasn't loud, and she wasn't bold. She didn't know how to demand attention, nor did she want it. She believed that if something was meant for her, it would come gently, without force. She believed love would recognize her without her having to beg for it. That belief stayed with her for a long time, even when life started proving otherwise.
She had dreams that were fragile but beautiful. Dreams of being understood without having to explain herself. Dreams of being chosen without having to compete. Dreams of being loved without having to change who she was. She imagined love as something warm and steady, something that made you feel safe instead of anxious. She imagined someone who would sit beside her in silence and still understand everything she wasn't saying. Back then, she thought love was simple. She didn't know it could be confusing, exhausting, and painful all at once.
I remember how deeply I felt things. A small gesture could make my entire day brighter. A kind word could stay with me for weeks. A simple look could make my heart race in ways I didn't yet know how to control. I didn't understand boundaries then. I didn't know how to protect myself emotionally. When I cared, I cared completely. I gave without measuring how much I was losing in the process. I believed that giving more love would somehow create more love in return.
The girl I used to be thought being good was enough. She thought kindness would protect her. She thought patience would be rewarded. She thought understanding others meant they would understand her too. She didn't know that sometimes being too good makes you invisible. She didn't know that patience can be mistaken for weakness. She didn't know that understanding everyone else often means no one tries to understand you.
She learned early how to listen. How to adjust. How to stay quiet when her feelings felt inconvenient. She learned how to smile even when her heart felt heavy. She learned how to tell herself that everything was fine even when it wasn't. What she didn't learn was how to speak up for herself. She didn't learn how to say no. She didn't learn how to leave when something was hurting her. She stayed because she believed staying was proof of love.
I didn't know the difference between attention and affection. I didn't know that someone could make you feel special without actually caring about you. I didn't know that words could be used to keep you close without the intention of staying. I believed promises because they sounded sincere. I believed apologies because I wanted to. I believed people because I didn't yet know how to question them.
The girl I used to be believed in forever. She believed that love meant staying no matter what. She believed that if you loved someone deeply enough, they would eventually see your worth. She believed that waiting was a sign of devotion, not self-neglect. She believed that silence was patience, not emotional abandonment. No one told her that loving someone should not require losing herself.
She was innocent in ways that now feel distant. She didn't expect disappointment. She didn't expect betrayal. She didn't expect to feel alone while being close to someone. She didn't expect to cry quietly so no one would hear. She didn't expect to question her own value because someone else couldn't give her what she needed. When pain came, it didn't arrive loudly. It came slowly, settling into her thoughts, changing the way she saw herself.
There were nights when she lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying moments she didn't understand. Moments where she wondered if she had said something wrong, or if she wasn't interesting enough, or if she needed to change just a little more to be loved properly. She didn't know how to ask for reassurance. She believed that if she mattered, someone would notice her sadness without her having to explain it.
The girl I used to be waited silently. She waited for messages that didn't come. She waited for effort that was promised but never shown. She waited for clarity in situations that were always unclear. She told herself that waiting was strength. She told herself that understanding was maturity. She didn't realize she was slowly teaching herself to accept less than she deserved.
Life didn't break her all at once. It changed her gradually. In small moments that seemed insignificant at the time. In unanswered questions. In repeated disappointments. In realizing that love could exist without care, and closeness could exist without commitment. She started guarding her heart without fully understanding why. She started holding back words she once spoke freely. She started doubting feelings she once trusted.
The girl I used to be laughed more freely. She dreamed more openly. She believed more easily. Over time, those things became harder. Laughter required effort. Dreams felt unrealistic. Belief felt dangerous. She learned how to be strong, but it wasn't the kind of strength she wanted. It was the kind that comes from surviving disappointment, not from feeling secure.
Sometimes I miss her. I miss how she saw the world. I miss how she believed people were inherently good. I miss how she loved without fear of being hurt. I miss how she didn't overthink every emotion. I miss how she trusted her heart without questioning whether it would betray her. She didn't know heartbreak then. She didn't know how heavy memories could become. She didn't know how silence could hurt more than words.
She was just a teenage girl with a soft heart and quiet dreams, standing at the edge of a life she didn't yet understand. She had no idea how much she would change. She had no idea how many lessons were waiting for her. She had no idea how love would shape her, hurt her, and eventually teach her who she needed to become.
That girl still exists somewhere inside me. Not as she was, but as a reminder of who I once was. She reminds me of my softness, even when the world tried to harden me. She reminds me that my ability to feel deeply was never a weakness. She reminds me that loving fully was brave, even if it hurt. The girl I used to be may have changed, but she taught me everything I know about love, loss, and becoming myself.