There are versions of my life I wouldn’t choose again.
That doesn’t mean I regret them.
And it certainly doesn’t mean I hate the woman who lived them.
She was me.
She made decisions with the information she had, the circumstances she was living in, the things she valued at the time, and sometimes simply because something was fun.
I smoked cigarettes for 32 years.
I drank alcohol for close to three decades, and for the last decade or so, it was simply a regular part of my life.
Several nights a week.
Almost always more than one.
Today, I do neither.
There wasn’t one dramatic morning when I woke up, surveyed my entire existence, and decided to become a different person.
I changed.
That’s really it.
And I think we make changing much more complicated than it needs to be.
We Aren’t Supposed to Stay the Same
Look through enough old pictures of yourself and you’ll find evidence.
Different hair.
Different clothes.
Different homes.
Different jobs.
Different people sitting beside you.
Different things in your hand.
Different things you thought were hilarious.
Different things you believed you couldn’t live without.
Entire versions of your life that once felt completely normal and now feel almost unfamiliar.
But I don’t look at those photographs and think, What was wrong with her?
I know her.
I remember what mattered to her.
I remember what she was carrying.
I remember how hard she laughed.
I remember the people she loved.
I remember the things she hadn’t learned yet.
And I also know things now that she didn’t.
Both can be true.
Outgrowing Something Doesn’t Make the Past a Mistake
I think this is where we can get ourselves tangled up.
When we make a different choice today, we sometimes feel like we have to condemn yesterday’s choice to justify it.
We don’t.
I don’t need to declare every drink I ever had a terrible decision simply because I don’t really drink anymore.
I don’t need to despise the woman who smoked to be grateful I finally stopped smoking.
And I don’t have to rewrite every friendship that ended as toxic just because that person isn’t part of my life anymore.
Some things simply belonged to another season.
Some relationships were exactly what I needed then.
Some jobs taught me things I still use today.
Some habits served a purpose until they didn’t.
Some choices were genuinely good choices for the woman I was at the time.
And yes, some were mistakes.
I’m human. I’ve made plenty.
But even then, beating the hell out of an earlier version of myself doesn’t make me wiser today.
Learning from her does.
People Change Too
This might be one of the harder parts of growing.
Because when we change, our relationships sometimes change with us.
Coworkers become friends.
Friends become family.
People we thought would be part of our everyday lives forever become people we remember with enormous affection but rarely see.
Someone we haven’t spoken to in years can still hold an incredibly important place in our story.
New friendships appear in seasons when we weren’t even looking for them.
Some friendships don’t end because something went wrong.
Life simply carried two people in different directions.
And occasionally, a relationship that once felt comfortable begins to feel completely different.
That doesn’t automatically make either person bad.
Sometimes two people simply grow in different directions.
Other times, though, growth makes us recognize things we couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see before.
Patterns.
Boundaries that need to exist.
Relationships that continually leave us depleted.
Behavior we once tolerated because we didn’t yet know we were allowed not to.
And that’s where discernment gets harder.
Because nourishing our lives isn’t only about what we eat.
It’s also about what we continually allow access to us.
Relationships Nourish Us Too
I’ve been thinking a lot about the word nourish.
We usually associate it with food.
But the longer I think about it, the more I realize we’re nourished by far more than what’s on our plates.
People can do that.
Community can do that.
A conversation can do that.
Sitting around a table laughing until your stomach hurts can do that.
Having someone who knows your history and loves the person you’ve become can do that.
So can meeting completely new people who only know the woman standing in front of them today.
And if relationships can nourish us, I think we also have to acknowledge that some can drain us.
That doesn’t mean we start treating human beings like ingredients on a label, scanning everyone for imperfections and tossing them in the trash the second they annoy us.
Good Lord, none of us would survive that test.
It means we pay attention.
Just like everything else.
Discernment Isn’t Condemnation
Maybe that’s the distinction I’ve been learning.
Discernment can tell us that something is wrong.
It can tell us that something needs to change.
It can tell us that a boundary needs to exist.
It can tell us that something deserves more of our attention.
And sometimes, it can tell us that a season has ended.
What I’m trying not to do is turn discernment into condemnation.
They were terrible.
I was stupid.
I should have known better.
That entire season was a mistake.
I don’t need any of that in order to recognize that something no longer belongs in my life.
I can acknowledge that something is no longer good for me without needing to turn it—or myself—into a villain.
And sometimes that applies to something as seemingly small as what’s in my pantry.
Sometimes it’s a habit I’ve had for decades.
Sometimes it’s how I spend my time.
Sometimes it’s a relationship.
Sometimes it’s an entire way of living.
There Is No Final Version of Me
At almost 49, I know something I didn’t understand nearly as well at 29:
I’m probably going to change my mind again.
About something.
Probably several somethings.
I hope I do.
Because I’m still learning.
I’m still reading.
I’m still asking questions.
I’m still paying attention.
I’m still growing in my faith.
I’m still figuring out what makes me feel strong, peaceful, connected, useful, joyful, and alive.
And twenty years from now, I hope 69-year-old me knows things I couldn’t possibly understand today.
I hope she gives me some grace too.
Because growth shouldn’t require us to be ashamed of every place we’ve already been.
Sometimes becoming who you’re meant to be simply requires being willing to release what no longer belongs in the life you’re building.
You don’t have to hate the old life.
You don’t have to hate the old habit.
You don’t have to hate the old relationship.
And you certainly don’t have to hate the old you.
You are allowed to be grateful for what was, honest about what is, and open to what comes next.
You don’t have to hate who you were to love who you’re becoming.
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