Grieving the Old Me While Holding the Vision
Tonight, I’ve been thinking. It’s one of those emotional nights where everything bubbles up at once. Sometimes, it’s just hard to believe in yourself. Hard to see yourself somewhere big when all you’ve known is survival. For most of my life, I’ve been in that mode: survive, survive, survive. And now that I’m trying to dream bigger, to build something more, I’m realizing how much grief comes with it.
I have so many desires. So many goals. Dreams I want to bring to life. But if I’m being honest, sometimes I struggle to really see the vision. I know it’s there. I know it’s possible. But because I’ve spent so much time bracing for the worst, my brain still struggles to accept the good when it shows up.
Last night, though, something different happened. I had a moment where I actually felt happy. Not surface-level happy, but truly, deeply content. I looked at where I’m at, how far I’ve come, and I felt proud. It wasn’t a perfect moment. Life still has its storms. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it thunders. But even in that, I realized I’m still happy. That’s what healing looks like. That’s what rewiring feels like. I’m not waiting for life to be perfect before I let myself feel good anymore.
I’m learning how to hold space for the vision, even when it feels far away. I’m learning that I don’t have to have every detail figured out to keep going. I can keep moving even when I don’t fully see the outcome yet. There’s a lot of grief that comes with becoming someone you’ve never been. There’s grief in sitting in spaces you’ve never sat in, doing things you’ve never done, trying to believe in a version of yourself you’ve never met.
There was a moment recently where I questioned myself. I asked, “Why would someone watch me on YouTube? Why would they care about my channel?” And for a while, I didn’t have an answer. But then, after months of slowly changing the way I think, a new question came up: “Why wouldn’t they?”
Why wouldn’t people connect with me? Why wouldn’t they enjoy my voice, my energy, my presence? I’m not like everyone else, and that’s not a bad thing. That’s what makes me valuable. But I’ve realized that I’ve been my own worst critic for a long time. Before anyone else can tear me down, I do it to myself first. I convince myself I’m not good enough. I tell myself I need to go harder. That I’m not doing enough.
But lately, I’ve started hearing different thoughts. Thoughts that challenge the ones that make me question myself. Thoughts that say, “You are doing enough,” and “The right people will find you without you having to chase or beg.” It’s just going to take time. Everything in life does.
I started asking myself a new question: am I a hunter or am I a farmer? Hunters need the result now. They need to see something happen today, and if it doesn’t, they feel like they’ve failed. But a farmer plants seeds. They water them. They wait. They trust that even when nothing looks like it’s happening, growth is still taking place underground. A farmer knows it might take months, even a year, to see real results. But they keep going because they believe the harvest will be worth it.
That’s where I am right now. I’m choosing to be a farmer. I’m learning how to trust the process. Sitting in a space I’ve never been in before feels strange, but I’m doing it anyway. And even though there’s still fear and doubt and imposter syndrome, there’s also gratitude. There’s love for this process. Because I’m discovering myself in ways I never have before.
So yes, I still hold space for the grief. I still acknowledge the part of me that struggles to feel worthy, the part that’s scared of the unknown. But I also hold space for the beauty. For the possibility. For the version of me that’s learning to trust God’s timing without rushing, without panicking, without complaint.
I’m growing. I’m evolving. I’m becoming.
And that’s more than enough.
- Kayla Maryam | Becoming Herrss