No, You Knew Me

Some of the strangest parts of growth is realizing some people still think they know you.

They speak from old memories.

Old versions.

Old seasons.

And somewhere in the conversation they say:

“I know you.”

And quietly you think:

No. You knew me.

You knew me when I people pleased.

When I overextended.

When I worried about what everyone thought.

When I carried relationships.

When I checked on everybody else before checking on myself.

When I quietly abandoned myself trying to keep people close.

You knew me when I was surviving.

But time showed.

Healing showed.

Growth showed.

And somewhere along the way I stopped carrying things I was never meant to carry.

I stopped arranging life around everybody else.

I stopped disappearing.

Not because I love less.

Not because I became cold.

Not because I stopped caring.

I just became healthier.

People can know who you were

and still not know who you are becoming.