The Version of You That Can’t Come With You

You got yourself this far. And now, you have to do the scariest thing of all—let go.

There is a version of you that has gotten you this far.

The one that fought the battles no one witnessed. The one who navigated storms no one understood. The one who silently carried the weight of the past, the wounds, the choices.

That version of you was a gift.

They brought you so far.

Protected you when you needed them most.

Survived things that no one should have to survive.

But they can’t come with you to where you’re going next.

And this is the easiest place to turn back.

Not because you don’t want to grow. Not because you don’t crave change. But because crossing through this threshold means walking into a version of yourself that you’ve never met before—

and leaving behind the only thing you’ve ever known.

That might mean you have to shed almost everything you’ve known.

The survival tactics. The fears. The ways of being.

You end up realizing that the person you’ve always been can’t lead you forward anymore.

This moment can be paralyzing.

Because even if your old identity was built from pain or even rooted in fear—it was still yours.

It was familiar. You knew how to exist within it. Even if it wasn’t the best thing for you, you still had something to hold onto.

And now you’re being asked to leave it behind for something you have no real grasp of yet.

No one really tells you how hard that is.

No one tells you that you will deeply mourn who you used to be, even if you don’t want to be that person anymore.

No one tells you that these pieces of you won’t loosen their grip easily.

That you will find yourself constantly negotiating with them.
That you will feel guilty over leaving them behind.
That even as you step forward into the unknown, you will feel their presence whispering to you, asking if you’re sure.

Are you sure you want to let go?
Are you sure there’s something better for you ahead?
Are you sure everything won’t fall apart if you let us go?

Stepping into something new means stepping into someone new.

And that’s right where all the resistance shows up.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to retreat. To fall back and convince yourself that things weren’t that bad. That maybe you’re not really ready and the future can wait for a while.

But if you don’t run from this moment, this is where the deepest transformation happens.

This is the threshold. The final test. The place where most turn back. Because crossing this moment doesn’t just mean stepping forward, it means walking away.

From everything you once clung to.
From everything that kept you safe.
From the version of yourself who brought you to this door but cannot step through it with you.

And if you cross it—if you allow the version of yourself who brought you here to dissolve into something far greater—

you won’t be able to go back.

And that’s exactly the point.

Because once you see what’s on the other side, you’ll never belong to the past in the same way again.

You don’t hear this calling because you are qualified.

You become qualified by answering the call.

Here’s the thing—

Those old parts of you never fully disappear.

They shrink, but they don’t disappear. They become quieter, but you will still hear them in moments of hesitation. They take up less space, but they will always be there, waiting—reminding you of where you’ve been, of what you had to leave behind to get here.

Not to pull you back. But to remind you of what it cost.

You get to choose what to take with you.

You can bring with you the strength that came from surviving the old path.

You can keep the lessons that you learned.

You can honor who you were without letting it dictate who you become.

So yes, you will grieve as the old version shrinks away.

You’ll miss parts of yourself and the way things used to be.

But you’ll walk forward anyway.

Because once you cross into the unknown, you can’t unsee what you’ve seen.

You can’t unknow what you now know.

And one day, you will look back and realize: the version of you who couldn’t come with you wasn’t left behind.

They were released.

Set down.

So you could finally step forward, unburdened.

Because the life ahead does not need the person you were.

It is waiting for the person you are becoming.

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Intention:
To trust that shedding the old self is not a loss, but a necessary step toward stepping into the person you are meant to be.

Reflection:
Sit with this question: What part of me is resisting this next step? What am I afraid will happen if I release the version of myself that has carried me this far? Close your eyes and imagine that version of you standing beside you, holding your hand. What do they want to say to you? What do they need to hear before they can let go?

Practice:
Write a letter to the version of yourself that can’t come with you. Thank them. Honor them. Acknowledge everything they did to get you here. Then tell them what you are stepping into now. Tell them why it’s time to set them down. When you’re done, read it back to yourself as if you are saying goodbye to an old friend. Let it sink in. Let yourself grieve if you need to. Then close your journal, take a deep breath, and step forward.

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Thank you for being here,
—Evan