Sometimes, in order to grow, a part of us has to clear out the basement—and not just for a yard sale. We’re talking full-on identity eviction to the dump. And yeah, that can feel like a cosmic breakup with someone we were very, very comfortable with. Because let’s be honest, even if the old version of us was a bit neurotic, anxious, or stuck in a loop, it was a known loop—a safe, familiar hell like your favorite hoodie.

Transformation doesn’t happen without a little chaos. Sometimes it looks like confusion, restlessness, or crying in the grocery store because the mangoes are too firm and you really wanted to make salsa today. That’s not regression—it’s a signal. Something inside us is shifting. We’re moving.

These identities we build—around relationships, jobs, pain, success—served us. They got us through. They were armor, masks, coping strategies, comfort zones. And they deserve a thank-you card because you’re still here. But eventually, they become too tight. The armor starts to chafe, the mask itches, the comfort zone turns into that cramped crawl space under the stairs.

And so, a part of us dies—not in a dramatic “cue the sad montage” kind of way, but in a quiet, necessary, usually bittersweet unraveling. We shed, molt, dissolve. And what comes next might not be fully formed yet, but it’s coming and it’s rarely perfect, but it’s movement. A self with softer edges, stronger wings, or simply a clearer sense of what actually feels good. And it’s scary. You’ve never been this version of you before. And you can’t control it because don’t know what the outcome is.

So if you’re trying to turn yourself around in the crawl space grieving the loss of who you thought you were while squinting toward who you might become, you’re not broken. You’re just outgrowing the fear that made you feel safe. Let your old self go with gratitude. They did the best they could. Welcome the new narrative—with curiosity and courage and board up that crawl space.