“I Miss the Old You”

"I miss the old you."

If you are transgender, you have likely heard some version of that phrase before. It may have come from a parent, a friend, or someone who cared about you, at least about the version they thought they knew. Sometimes it's said with sadness. Sometimes with anger. Other times, it's in that careful tone people use when they want to avoid hurting you but still manage to.

Hearing that phrase used to make my whole body tense up. I didn't always know how to respond. Part of me wanted to be gentle. Another part wanted to scream. I understood that people were mourning a version of me tied to their memories. Another part of me wanted to ask why that version mattered more than the person standing in front of them now.

I get it. Change is tough. When someone you care about comes out, especially as transgender, it can shake the foundation of what you thought you knew. It can change how you view old photos and make memories feel different. It can lead people to wonder if they missed something, lost something, or didn't fully understand someone they loved. I can empathize with that. I truly can.

But understanding doesn't mean I have to go back to who I used to be.

When someone says they miss the old me, I wonder who they really miss. Do they miss me, or do they miss the version that made more sense to them? Do they miss my smile, or do they miss that I didn't correct them? Do they miss having me around, or do they miss how easy I was when I was trying to survive by being quiet?

I miss things too. I miss the years I spent pretending. I miss the childhood I never had as my true self. I miss the moments when I could have been honest but was too scared. I miss the photos where my smile looks real because I had become so good at faking it. I miss the version of me who thought being loved meant being agreeable, easy, and small.

Maybe that's what people forget. While they grieve who they thought I was, I am grieving too. I am grieving the time I spent trying to be someone I was never meant to be. I am grieving the energy I wasted making others comfortable while feeling disconnected from myself. I am grieving all the little deaths that happened before I finally chose to live.

There's a strange kind of pain in being mourned while you're still alive. It's hard to explain unless you've felt it. You stand there, breathing, growing, trying, healing, and becoming more yourself than ever, while someone looks at you like you're a ghost.

Like the real you is gone. Like this version is a replacement. Like your honesty took someone away from them. But I didn't die when I came out. I stopped hiding.

There's a difference.

The old me was not exactly fake. I want to be fair to that version of myself. They did the best they could with what they knew. They survived things I am still learning to name. They carried me through years I thought I wouldn't survive. They kept going long enough for me to get here.

But that doesn't mean I want to return.

I can honor who I was without being stuck there. I can be grateful for the version of me who survived without letting others use that version as a cage. I can look at old photos with kindness and still know I wasn't meant to stay frozen in them.

Some people think acceptance means pretending nothing changed. But love needs to be more flexible than that. Real love makes room for growth. It makes room for new names, new language, new understanding, and new versions of people we thought we already knew.

We are all changing. All the time. Trans people just have the courage to be honest about it in a way the world can see.

So yes, maybe you miss the old me. Maybe you miss the name, the voice, the clothes, the role, or the future you imagined. Maybe you need time to grieve that. I can understand that more than you might think.

But please know this.

I lived inside that old version. I know what it cost me to be them.

If you miss them because they were easier for you, then I need you to reflect on that. If you miss them because they never challenged what you believed, never asked you to grow, and never made you uncomfortable, then maybe what you miss is not me. Maybe you miss the comfort of not having to know me fully.

I do not want to be loved only when I am easy to understand. I do not want to be accepted only when I am quiet enough to make others feel safe. I do not want to spend my life being loyal to a version of myself that mostly existed for survival.

I want to live. I want to laugh in photos and recognize the person looking back at me. I want to hear my name and feel it belongs to me. I want to build a life where I am not constantly apologizing for being real. I want to be loved as I am now, not as a memory someone struggles to let go of.

Maybe that is the real sadness of it all. Some people miss the old me because they loved me. Some people miss the old me because they never had to meet the real one. I can have compassion for the first. I am done shrinking for the second.

So if you miss the old me, I hope you know this: I do too, sometimes. But not because I want to go back. I miss them like you miss someone who carried a heavy burden for too long. I miss them with sadness. I miss them with gratitude. I miss them with tenderness that says, "Thank you for getting us here."

But I am here now.

Not as a stranger. Not as a replacement. Not as someone you lost.

I am the same soul, just less buried.

And if you can love me here, in the truth, then maybe we didn't lose each other after all.