The Sad Part About Healing

---

The truth about growth is cruel sometimes.

You will lose more people than ever before.

After my last post, an old friend messaged me. Shock. Confusion. Accusations.

“How have you become so distant?”

“Why don’t you keep in touch?”

“You’re arrogant now.”

“You intimidate me with your success.”

And in that moment, I felt it—the hollow ache of grief.

Not for what she said, but for what it represented.

For the relationships I once held close… now fraying at the edges.

For the version of me she knew—and I no longer am.

This is the painful part: people cannot always accept that you’ve changed.

That you have evolved, grown, become someone new.

Your truth threatens them. It questions everything they believed about you.

And most will retreat to their bubble of familiarity rather than step into your new world.

And I grieve.

I grieve for the moments we will no longer share.

I grieve the laughter that once belonged to us.

The inside jokes. The comfort of a self I used to be.

I grieve silently, because the world doesn’t honor the loss of people we didn’t see leaving until they’re gone.

And yet… there’s a question I keep asking myself:

Would I choose my truth, my growth, my evolution… even if it costs me those I once loved?

The answer is yes.

Because some people are meant to stay in the unhealed versions of you.

Because some connections simply cannot survive your evolution.

And here’s the hardest part:

I don’t know what the next chapter will bring.

I don’t know which friendships will survive, which will crumble, which doors will quietly close without warning.

I only know that I must keep walking forward, even if it means walking alone for a while.

And maybe that’s the true cost of healing:

the people you thought would always be there… aren’t.

And the ones you haven’t met yet… may not be enough to fill the silence left behind.

And I sit with that.

I grieve that.

I rage at it.

And I try—again and again—to simply keep choosing myself, even when it hurts.

And it hurts a lot.

But it also makes room.

Room for those who will see you fully. For connections that match your growth. For a life that reflects who you’ve become.

I haven’t met half of the amazing souls I will.

It hurts. Leaves a hollow space in your heart.

But it also makes room. Room for those who will see you fully. For connections that match your growth. For a life that reflects who you’ve become.

I haven’t met half of the amazing souls I will.

And maybe that’s where hope lives—in the unknown. In the unfolding. In choosing your truth, even when it shakes the world you once knew.