I think I’m looking for myself again.
I don’t really know how else to explain it.
Nothing is necessarily wrong.
Nothing is necessarily right either.
Life is just… happening.
I wake up.
I work.
I talk to people.
I laugh.
I eat.
I make plans.
I cancel some of them.
I get excited about things.
I get tired of things.
Some days I feel completely like myself.
Other days I catch myself wondering,
Who exactly am I these days?
And it’s strange because I know myself.
At least, I thought I did.
I know what I like. I know what I don’t like. I know the things that make me laugh. I know the music that makes me dance around my room like nobody is watching. I know that I love deeply. I know that I am soft.
Actually, I’m still very soft.
I don’t think life took that from me.
I think I just became more intentional about who gets to experience it.
That’s different.
I used to think being soft meant being open.
Now I think softness is something people earn access to.
Especially new people.
You can meet me and see the calm version of me. You can have a conversation with me, laugh with me, even become close to me.
But there are parts of me you don’t get just because you’ve entered my life.
My tenderness.
My vulnerability.
My ridiculousness.
The part of me that will go out of her way for you.
The part that remembers little things.
The part that cares deeply.
The part that will sit with you when things are difficult.
Those parts are still here.
Very much here.
You just have to earn them now.
And honestly?
I think I like that.
Because I haven’t become hard.
I’ve become discerning.
There is a difference.
And maybe that’s one of the things I’m still figuring out about myself.
I’ve changed.
I know I have.
I’m calmer now.
More observant.
I don’t feel the need to explain myself to everybody.
I don’t need everybody to understand me.
I don’t rush to force connections.
I don’t think every person I meet has to become important to me.
And yet…
sometimes I miss the old me.
Not because I want to be her again.
I don’t.
I just miss some things about her.
Her excitement.
Her curiosity.
Her little madness.
Her ability to just say, why not? and go.
I miss being ridiculously hopeful about random things.
I miss how easily I could look forward to something.
But maybe I don’t actually miss her.
Maybe I miss certain parts of myself that I haven’t made enough room for lately.
Maybe that’s what this is.
Not finding myself.
Making room for myself again.
For the silly me.
The playful me.
The soft me.
The woman who wants companionship but also loves her own company.
And then, completely unrelated to everything I’ve just been saying…
I bumped into someone two days ago.
And for whatever reason, this person wasn’t wearing deodorant, wasn’t wearing perfume, nothing.
Not that the person smelled awful.
They didn’t.
But the smell was just…
No.
It wasn’t okay for me.
And I let this person touch me, which somehow makes it even worse in my head now. 😂
Because tell me why I got home after spending maybe an hour around this person, had my bath, changed my clothes, did everything I was supposed to do…
And I swear I could still smell them.
In my house, in my room.
They didn’t even come to my house.
So why does my brain keep telling me the smell followed me home?
I don’t know if it’s actually there or if my mind has simply decided to preserve the memory against my wishes.
But every now and then I’ll just be sitting down and suddenly—
Wait.
I can still smell this person.
And then I’m irritated all over again.
Like, gosh.
I’m fucking irritated.
And slightly nauseated too.
Anyway,
Back to what I was saying… 😂
The woman who wants to be loved but doesn’t want to lose herself inside somebody else’s life.
The woman who can be independent and still say, I want somebody to hold me.
Because yes.
I still want that.
I still want people.
I still want friendship.
I still want intimacy.
I still want gist and laughter and somebody sending me something stupid because it reminded them of me.
I still want connection.
I just don’t want connection at the expense of myself.
And maybe that’s why I feel a little unsettled lately.
Not unhappy.
Just…
unsettled.
Like something is moving inside me and I haven’t found the language for it yet.
I don’t think I’m lost.
I think I’m somewhere in between.
Between who I was and who I’m becoming.
And that place is uncomfortable.
Because becoming doesn’t always come with a clear announcement.
Sometimes you just wake up one day and realise,
Oh.
I don’t want that anymore.
Or,
Hmm. Maybe I actually want this.
Or,
Why does this suddenly matter to me?
You change your mind.
You change your standards.
You change what you tolerate.
You change what excites you.
You change what feels like home.
And sometimes you don’t even know what the new version looks like yet.
Maybe that’s okay.
Maybe I don’t need to know.
Maybe I can just let myself be in this strange little middle.
Let myself be confused sometimes.
Let myself want two completely different things.
Let myself have days where I feel like I have everything figured out and other days where I’m lying on my bed thinking,
What exactly am I doing with my life? 😂
Maybe I don’t need to turn every feeling into an answer.
Maybe I can just feel it.
Maybe I can watch myself.
See what makes me happy now.
See what makes me feel alive.
See what I no longer tolerate.
See what I’m willing to make room for.
See who I become around different people.
See who earns access to the softer parts of me.
And maybe, slowly, I’ll recognise myself again.
Not the old me.
Not some perfect new version of me.
Just me.
Still soft.
Still curious.
Still a little ridiculous.
Still figuring things out.
Just a little more careful with who gets to come close.
And maybe that’s not me becoming less of myself.
Maybe that’s me becoming more intentional about who gets to know me.
I think I’m looking for me again.
And maybe I don’t have to find her all at once.
Maybe for now, it’s enough to keep looking.
To keep living.
To keep laughing.
To keep changing my mind.
To keep meeting different versions of myself.
And maybe somewhere in all of that…
I’ll recognise her.
Me.
