"I Miss the Sparkling-Eyed Girl I Used to Be" – What Do You Miss Most About Yourself?

I used to be the life of the party, the one who made everyone laugh. Then came some tough blows — my love cheated on me with my best friend, and I found out a few buddies were laughing at me, not with me. Since then, I’ve kept to myself. I miss that loud, fun-loving me. Mostly because back then, I still trusted people and saw the world as a better place.

It might sound shallow to say I miss my looks, but when I was young, I was so beautiful. Now, I barely recognize the older face staring back at me in the mirror.

I used to hear people say they changed after a breakup, and I never understood it. Honestly, I looked down on them a bit, thinking you shouldn’t let one person define your life. My relationships always ended with mutual respect and friendship, and I was happy with my girlfriend for ten years. Then one day, she told me she’d fallen for someone else, and I never saw her again. I was 38, maybe too old to handle this new reality. After two suicide attempts, I don’t miss her—I miss who I was when we were together: calm, balanced. Now, I’m a depressed, anxious wreck who feels like I’ll never fall in love freely again.

I was a true "jack of all trades," always up for any crazy adventure. Even in my thirties, I’d dive into any wild idea—whether for a dare or just for fun. Climbing a statue in the square? Totally. Approaching guys with a challenge on a bet? Check. Sneaking into a concert by climbing the fence? Absolutely. Then I became a mom and stopped doing exciting things, just smiling as I reminisce. I promised myself I’d never be a boring housewife, but here I am—and surprisingly, I’m happy.

I miss the hopeful, sparkling-eyed girl who tearfully promised eternal loyalty to her husband, who has now become just as quarrelsome and bitter as her mother. Yet, my whole life I aimed to never become like her.

I tried every extreme sport and loved them all—bungee jumping, ice climbing, downhill biking, diving, you name it. Then one unlucky fall while snowboarding injured a vertebra. I’m lucky I’m not paralyzed, but since then, no more extremes. Now it’s swimming and Pilates, which make me feel like a retiree. Worst of all, I’m scared. Before, I feared nothing—I was free. Now, I even watch how I get into a car. It feels like the fire inside me went out, and I don’t know how to handle this new, cautious self.

My confidence. I was never arrogant, but I felt good in my own skin. Then society, a few jerk exes, and the media’s ever-changing beauty standards clipped my wings—quite a bit.

A 15-year relationship recently ended, and I’m rediscovering myself—what music I like, what food, what hobbies. I feel like my personality got lost in the relationship, and now I have to get to know who I really am again. I realized how much I missed my true, autonomous self.

I miss not trembling for alcohol. I started drinking seriously at 20, now I’m 42 and haven’t had a drop in two years. But the saying is true: once an addict, always an addict. I miss the version of me that didn’t crave alcohol.

I used to trust people, humanity. I believed people were good. Then, as a social worker, I saw so much hardship that now I only believe humans are inherently flawed—and I don’t want to bring a child into this world.

Photos: istockphoto.com