On Growing Up Too Fast

There's a strange grief in realizing you've already left behind a version of yourself you didn't get to say goodbye to.

I noticed it first in the way I stopped running to my parents with every small thing. Not because I didn't want to — but because somewhere along the way, I started solving problems quietly, on my own, before anyone else knew they existed. That felt like growing up. It also felt like loss.

We talk about growing up as if it's a destination. A place you arrive at, dust yourself off, and declare yourself ready. But it's more like a tide — slow, constant, and you only notice how far it's carried you when you look back at the shore.

I think what nobody tells you is that growing up isn't just gaining things. It's also giving things up. The ability to be fully present in a moment without worrying about what it means. The freedom to be embarrassed without it mattering. The luxury of not yet knowing how complicated everything is.

And yet — I wouldn't trade it. Because on the other side of that grief is something quieter and more solid: a sense of who you actually are, separate from who everyone else needs you to be.

Maybe that's the whole point.