The Ghost of Who I Used to be.

The Ghost of Who I Used to Be — blurred edges, forgotten shapes, and echoes of a story untold.

There are days when I look in the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back. My eyes, once filled with unshaken wonder, now carry the weight of things I never asked to endure. My smile, once effortless, now feels like a mask I wear to convince the world and maybe even myself that I’m okay. But deep down, I know the truth. I grieve for the loss of my former self, the one who existed before pain rewrote my story.

There was a time when I believed in the softness of the world, when love felt safe, and silence was a place of peace rather than a reminder of emptiness. I used to dream freely, laugh without hesitation, and trust without fear. But pain has a cruel way of carving itself into you, making a home in places where light used to live.

I miss the version of me that didn’t flinch at the thought of vulnerability, the one who didn’t have to build walls just to survive. I miss the way I used to hope, the way I used to believe that people meant the words they said. I miss the innocence of not knowing what betrayal, loss, and disappointment could do to a soul.

But I also know that grief is love in another form. Maybe mourning who I used to be is just another way of honoring the strength it took to become who I am now. Maybe, just maybe, this version of me, the one who has walked through fire and still stands is still worthy of love, even if she’s different. Even if she’s still learning how to carry the weight of everything she’s lost.

Maybe healing isn’t about becoming who I was before the pain. Maybe it’s about finding a way to love the person I am after it.

Love,

Ana 💋

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