
Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
Isaiah 43:18–19
Reflection
There comes a defining moment in every healing journey when you realize that you’re no longer who you once were, but you’re also not yet sure of the human being you are becoming. It is often in this liminal space where, even when that transformation is good and you hold it tenderly, your heart grieves. This isn’t because your old self was deeper or a better version of itself, but rather, because it was familiar, because it carried you through the things no one else saw, because even if it was fighting — it still showed up in the dark.
This is the quiet ache of growth — not just of becoming new, but of releasing who you had to be when life was hardest. The version of you who learned to go silent to keep the peace. Who withheld their needs in order to avoid being a burden. Who wore strength like armor because there wasn’t space to be soft. You didn’t become that by accident — you became that in order to survive.
And for a time, that version of you was sacred. It was necessary. But now, God is doing something new, and that means that you can bless your old self for what it carried, while still letting it go. You are no longer required to shrink in order to stay safe. You do not have to harden yourself to feel strong. You do not need to keep choosing patterns that protected you once, but are now quietly keeping you stuck.
The world may not understand this kind of grief — the mourning of a former self. But God does. He sees the courage it takes to shed who you used to be. He honors the process of unbecoming what survival taught you and becoming who he’s always seen in you.
So, if it hurts, let it hurt. If it feels confusing, let it be confusing. If you feel in-between, know that this is holy ground. You are not lost, you are being led.
Prayer
God, help me honor the version of myself that brought me here, even as I release it. Give me the strength to let go of the identities I built from pain and the wisdom to welcome the transformation you’re calling me into. Remind me that what’s ahead is not a loss of who I was, but rather, a return to who I’ve always been in you.
Amen.