God,

I don’t feel like myself anymore. And I think maybe that’s the hardest part of this season I am in. I feel like I’m not just losing a version of life, like I’m not just losing people who I have held so close — but I feel like I’m losing me, like I’m losing an important part of myself. The version of me that laughed more easily, that had hope, that felt sure of where they were going. The person I used to be feels like a distant memory, and I don’t know how to move forward without mourning them first.

I miss who I was before the pain, God. I miss who I was before the disappointments, before life hardened me in ways I never expected. I miss the innocence, the confidence, the belief that things would always work out, would go my way. I miss the dreams I had back then — the ones that now feel impossible, that now feel foolish. Sometimes, it feels like I failed that version of myself, like I let them down by becoming someone different, someone less hopeful, someone more cautious. And I don’t know how to make peace with that in my heart. I don’t know how to find tenderness for myself in this evolution.

I know that you see me, God — even in this. You see the version of me that once was, the version of me that is now, and the version of me that is still becoming. And you love them all. So, God, help me to grieve what I need to grieve. Help me to sit with the sadness without letting it consume me. But also, help me to see that growth isn’t a betrayal of my past self — it’s a testimony of survival.

If I am different now, it is because I have lived. If I am different now, it is because I have learned. If I am different now, it is because I have navigated things that have changed me. And though I may not be who I once was, I am still yours. I am still loved. I am still valuable. I am still worthy of grace as I figure out who I am becoming.

So, God, help me to release this guilt. Help me to release the idea that I was only worthy when I was that version of myself. Help me to trust that you are doing something beautiful inside of me, and that just because I don’t see it yet doesn’t mean it’s not good. Remind me that I am allowed to change. Remind me that I am allowed to evolve. Remind me that I am allowed to step into new versions of myself without shame, or comparison.

And if there are pieces of the old me that still belong, God, let them find their way back to me. Let joy return. Let lightness return. Let hope return. But let it come in a way that fits who I am now — not in a desperate attempt to go backwards, but in a gentle embrace of the person you are shaping me to be.

I trust you with my becoming, God — even when I don’t understand it, even when I miss the old me.

Amen.