How do you GRIEVE someone when you’re still alive?
There was a time when i felt like the sun.
i walked into rooms without doubting myself.
i laughed without forcing it.
i dreamed without fear.
i believed that no matter what happened, i would always find a way.
and then life happened.
not all at once,
but like the ocean slowly carving away a cliff.
piece by piece.
day by day.
until one morning i looked at myself and realized i no longer recognized the person i had become.
everything that once felt certain began slipping through my fingers.
the things i loved no longer felt like mine.
the things i was good at no longer felt enough.
the confidence i carried so naturally became something i searched for and could never seem to find.
i wasn’t just losing things.
i was losing myself.
and that’s a kind of pain nobody prepares you for.
because how do you grieve someone who is still alive?
how do you mourn the person you used to be when you’re the one living in her body?
i felt like a house after a storm.
still standing from the outside,
but broken in places nobody could see.
my smile became smaller.
my world became quieter.
the people around me saw me,
but they didn’t always see what i was carrying.
the sleepless nights.
the overthinking.
the panic.
the disappointment.
the constant feeling that no matter how hard i tried, i would never be enough.
and the cruelest part was that the voice hurting me the most was my own.
i became my biggest critic.
my biggest enemy.
every mistake felt like proof that i was failing.
every setback felt permanent.
every mirror became a reminder of everything i thought was wrong with me.
so i pulled away.
i chose silence because explaining the pain felt impossible.
i spent so much time feeling empty that i forgot what it felt like to be whole.
but something nobody tells you about rock bottom is this:
it teaches you things the mountain top never could.
it teaches you how strong you are when nobody is cheering for you.
it teaches you how to keep walking when every part of you wants to stop.
it teaches you that healing is not a miracle.
it is a decision.
a thousand tiny decisions made every day.
to get up.
to try again.
to forgive yourself.
to stay.
and slowly,
the girl i thought i had lost began finding her way back to me.
not the same girl.
a wiser one.
a softer one.
a stronger one.
like a forest after a wildfire.
different than before,
scarred in places,
but still growing.
still alive.
still reaching toward the light.
today, i look at myself and i don’t see perfection.
i see resilience.
i see every battle i fought when nobody knew i was fighting.
i see every tear that didn’t defeat me.
every heartbreak that didn’t destroy me.
every moment i wanted to give up but didn’t.
and for the first time in a long time,
i see someone i am proud of.
because i know now that my worth was never tied to my achievements,
my appearance,
my relationships,
or anyone else’s opinion of me.
my worth was always mine.
i just had to find my way back to it.
and if you’re reading this while feeling lost,
while feeling broken,
while feeling like the person you used to be is gone forever,
the moon does not disappear when the sky turns dark.
it is still there,
waiting for the light to return.
and so are you.
one day you’ll look back at the version of yourself who survived all of this,
and you’ll realize that the strongest person you’ve ever known
was you all along.
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~ Vanshika jain
