The Bittersweet Feeling of Becoming

We talk about growth like it’s supposed to feel good. College sells us on the idea that transformation is exhilarating—with new chapters, new cities, new majors, and new selves. And, at first, it is. I remember stepping off the plane from Houston into New York City air, thinking, this is it. This is the beginning of everything. The skyscrapers felt like open doors, and the subway felt like a secret invitation to explore. Even the chaos of crowded streets and pigeons flying at me was romantic. Slowly, I noticed the parts of me that once held shift. I began questioning myself, my routines, intelligence and even the people I once leaned on felt distant. 

But no one tells you that becoming a new person also means slowly saying goodbye to the old version of yourself

At first, the excitement is enough to drown out the quiet losses. You’re too busy figuring out where your classes are, meeting people whose names you forget instantly, and trying to act like you know how to use the campus printers. There’s a rush in all that uncertainty. A thrill in being unshaped. A strange comfort in not knowing what comes next.

And then, time passes.

Suddenly, you start missing not who you were, but the habits that belonged to a version of you that no longer exists.The routine you had mastered. The old motivations that once came naturally. That naive confidence of having no idea what you’re doing but being excited to try something regardless.

Growing up isn’t just building new parts of yourself, it’s grieving the parts you had to leave behind.

There’s a very specific ache in realizing that the freshman version of you—wide-eyed, hopeful, maybe slightly delusional—feels distant. The distance is bittersweet. You’re proud of the person you’ve become, but you’re also aware that every version of you is temporary. That the future you, the one you haven’t met yet, will eventually look back at this version with the same mixture of tenderness and ache.

Becoming is beautiful. But it is also a quiet heartbreak.

So, what do we do with that? How do we navigate the emotional whiplash of outgrowing ourselves?

1. Acknowledge that nostalgia is not regression

Missing your old routines doesn’t mean you want your old life back. It just means those parts served you during a season where you needed them. Nostalgia is your mind’s way of honoring the person who got you here. The one who held you up long enough for you to evolve.

2.  Understand that growth is rarely glamorous

We picture it like a highlight reel: new achievements, new confidence and new milestones. But, realistically, growth looks like confusion, fatigue, and questioning everything you thought you wanted. Becoming someone new means rearranging your internal furniture, and, honestly, that’s messy.

3. Learn to sit in the bittersweet

We’re conditioned to chase either happiness or improvement, but real growth lives in the in-between. That space where you’re proud of yourself but also nostalgic. Where you’re excited for the future but also scared. Where you’re evolving and grieving at the same time. It’s contradictory, but so are most meaningful things.

4. Let the uncertainty drive you, not drain you

Remember the early days, the excitement of the unknown? You don’t have to lose that. You just have to shift how you engage with it. Instead of fearing the next version of yourself, get curious about them. What will they love? What habits will they build? What fears will they finally let go of?

Curiosity is the antidote to becoming overwhelmed by growth.

5. Trust the continuity between your past, present, and future selves

Every version of you is connected. The freshman who jumped into the chaos of New York with wide eyes. The current you, a little more grounded, a little more complex. And the future you, who you’ll eventually look back at with the same fondness. You’re not losing yourself with each shift, you’re layering.

Becoming isn’t linear, it’s cumulative.

• #growing up