On Grief, Growth, and Becoming Someone New

MJ Wynn
Jun 17
3 min read

I found myself down a rabbit hole last night, watching my old vlogs from 2022. You know those nights when you're not really looking for anything specific, but somehow end up face-to-face with your past self? Yeah. That happened. And god, looking at that girl... it feels like watching a stranger I used to know intimately.

She had this energy about her—this quiet kind of confidence that wasn't loud or showy, but it was there. In the way she'd laugh, in how she'd talk about her dreams without second-guessing herself. Even through the screen, you could see it: she still believed. In what exactly? I'm not sure. But that belief was there, tucked away in her half-smile, in the way she'd gesture with her hands when she got excited about something.

Sometimes I rewind just to catch glimpses of that spark again. Like maybe if I watch it enough times, I'll remember how to feel that way. But instead, she just feels more and more like a ghost I'm desperately trying to hold onto.

💔 When Everything Changed

I've never really talked about this, not really. How do you even begin to explain losing your best friend of fifteen years and the person you thought was your forever love within four days of each other? It wasn't just heartbreak. It was an earthquake. The kind that leaves nothing standing.

You know what's funny about trauma? Sometimes it doesn't look like crying or screaming. Sometimes it's just... silence.

The kind that follows after a glass shatters, when you're still processing the sound. That's what happened to me. I shattered. And the pieces? They're still scattered everywhere.

I kept telling myself I was fine, that I'd bounce back because that's what I do, right? But this time was different. Instead of bouncing, I sank. And I'm still trying to find my way back to the surface.

🧩 Missing Me

Nobody really talks about how losing people means losing parts of yourself too. It's not just them that's gone—it's the version of you that existed in their presence. The inside jokes that no one else will ever understand. The roles you played in their story. The way you felt safest when they were around. All of that just... vanishes.

These days, I feel like an echo of myself. Like I'm walking around with all these empty spaces where certainty used to live. Trying to figure out how to be whole when the people who helped shape me are gone.

And you know what? It's exhausting pretending I'm okay. So I'm not going to. I'm not okay. But I'm trying. That has to mean something, right?

🌱 Taking the First Step

I finally did it—I made a therapy appointment. Just saying that out loud feels like a big deal. I haven’t even been yet. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t know if I’ll cry or shut down or awkward-laugh my way through the whole thing.

But I made the call. I filled out the form. I put it in my calendar. And honestly? That alone feels like progress.

For so long, therapy felt like this unreachable thing. Something I couldn’t afford, didn’t have time for, or didn’t know how to start. But then a coworker mentioned a sliding-scale option, and suddenly it felt… possible.

It’s not healing, not yet. But it’s hope. It’s a crack of light I didn’t have before.

And maybe that’s what self-care really is sometimes—choosing yourself in the smallest, scariest way.

✨ Becoming

Here's the scariest part: I know I'm never going to be that girl from the videos again. The one who didn't know what was coming. The one whose heart was still whole. She's gone.

And I have no idea who I'm becoming instead.

But maybe that's okay. Maybe healing isn't about trying to resurrect who we used to be. Maybe it's about building something new from the pieces we have left. Taking it day by day. Sitting with our therapist. Letting ourselves cry in the shower. Daring to hope, even just a little.

Maybe the next version of me won't be as bright or untouched. Maybe she'll be softer. More careful with her heart. A little more grounded in who she is.

💫 A Note to Anyone Who Misses Their Past Self

If you're reading this and feeling the weight of your own ghosts, I see you. If you're mourning a version of yourself that you had to leave behind, I understand.

Some days, healing looks like watching old videos and letting yourself grieve. Some days it's making that first therapy appointment. Some days it's just surviving until bedtime without completely falling apart.

You're not broken for missing who you were. But you're also not finished becoming who you'll be.