I caught my reflection in a store window yesterday.

Didn’t recognize myself.

Not in some deep, metaphorical way. I mean literally—I stopped, looked, and thought, Who the hell is that?

It wasn’t just the overgrown hair or the tired eyes or the fact that I’ve been wearing the same damn hoodie for weeks. It was something else. Something deeper.

I feel like I’ve been slipping away from myself, piece by piece.

Like I woke up one day and the person I used to be was gone.

The Slow Disappearance

Losing yourself doesn’t happen all at once.

It’s slow. Subtle. So gradual that you don’t even notice it until one day you’re standing in front of a mirror, wondering where you went.

It happens when:

• You stop doing the things that used to make you feel alive.
• You go numb to the things that used to make you feel anything at all.
• You look at your life and think, This isn’t mine.

And the scariest part?

By the time you realize it, you’ve already been gone a while.

The Things We Let Go Of

I used to play my guitar every night.

Not for an audience, not to be good—just for me. Just because something inside me needed to come out, and music was the only way it knew how.

Now? My guitar gathers dust.

Not because I don’t care, but because somewhere along the way, I stopped believing it mattered.

It’s not just the guitar.

I used to tag walls with my graffiti. Write late-night blog posts that felt like open wounds. Go for long drives just to feel the wind.

Now I make excuses. Now I tell myself I’ll do it later.

But later never comes.

And that’s how it happens—how you start to disappear.

Not because something big and tragic stole you away, but because little by little, you let go of the things that made you you.

The Versions of Ourselves We Mourn

Sometimes, I miss the old me.

The reckless me. The hopeful me. The version of me that still believed life could be something more.

I look back at that guy and wonder if he was naive or if I just let the world beat the belief out of me.

And I know I’m not the only one.

We all have old versions of ourselves that haunt us.

• The kid who thought they’d be famous.
• The dreamer who swore they’d never settle.
• The fighter who didn’t let life dull their edges.

Somewhere along the way, we become people we swore we never would.

And maybe that’s just life.

Or maybe we let go of the wrong things.

The Numbness That Creeps In

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about losing yourself—it doesn’t always hurt.

Sometimes, it just feels like nothing.

Like you’re moving through life in a fog. Like things happen to you instead of because of you.

Like you’re watching yourself from the outside, going through the motions, waiting for something to wake you up.

But nothing does.

Because that’s the cruelest part of losing yourself.

You don’t even care that you’re gone.

The Question No One Can Answer for You

So what do you do?

What do you do when you don’t recognize yourself anymore? When you’ve lost the things that made you you, but you don’t know how to get them back?

I wish I had an easy answer.

I don’t.

But I think it starts with this—remembering who you used to be before the world got to you.

Not just in a nostalgic, “those were the days” kind of way, but in a real way.

• What did you love before you convinced yourself you weren’t good enough for it?
• What made you feel alive before life dulled your edges?
• What did you believe in before disappointment made you a cynic?

Because maybe you’re not as lost as you think.

Maybe you’re still in there, buried under all the fear and exhaustion and self-doubt.

And maybe—just maybe—you can find your way back.

The Small Steps Back to Yourself

I don’t think you fix this overnight.

I think it’s a slow process, the same way losing yourself was.

But I do think you can start small.

• Play the guitar, even if it’s just for five minutes.
• Write, even if no one reads it.
• Go outside, even if you don’t know where you’re going.

Do one thing—just one—that reminds you of who you used to be.

Not to recreate the past, but to reconnect with the part of you that still wants more.

Because deep down, that part of you isn’t gone.

Just buried.

And maybe it’s time to start digging.

The Reminder I Need, Too

I don’t have all the answers.

Hell, I’m still in this fog myself.

But I don’t want to wake up five years from now and realize I let myself disappear completely.

So I’m trying.

Trying to play again. Trying to write again. Trying to shake myself awake before I go too numb to care.

Because if I don’t?

If I let this go on too long?

I might not get myself back.

And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

So if you’re feeling this too—if you don’t recognize yourself anymore—I hope you try, too.

Not all at once. Not in some big, dramatic way.

Just one small step.

Back to yourself.

Back to life.

Because you’re still in there.

And you’re worth finding again.

That’s it. That’s the post.

If this hit home, let me know. Or don’t. Either way, I hope you do something—anything—that makes you feel alive again.

Because you deserve that much.

—J