You are not meant to stay the same
We change. Our work changes. The way we show up changes. And if something no longer fits, that’s not failure. That’s a sign you’re still growing.
There’s a version of you who once wanted exactly what you have now. The job. The apartment. You worked hard for this life. You earned it. And for a while, it made perfect sense.
You’re still good at what you do. You still show up. You still meet expectations. But something feels off. Not in a dramatic, tear-it-all-down kind of way. More like a quiet voice in the background. The energy you used to bring to your work or your days isn’t quite there. The conversations that once left you inspired now feel rehearsed. The version of success you once chased now feels like someone else’s definition.
You try to ignore it. You tell yourself you’re just tired. That a holiday will help. That this is what adulthood feels like. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It’s not burnout. It’s not failure. It’s something else. It’s the slow realisation that you’re not where you once were, and not quite where you want to be either. You’ve changed, evolved. And the life around you hasn’t caught up yet. It doesn’t mean something is wrong. It just feels different.
When others don’t see the shift
One of the hardest parts of growing is realising how many people in your life still relate to the version of you that no longer exists. They remember who you were at a certain time, in a certain role, and they stop there. Not because they don’t care, but because it’s easier to place you in a box they already understand.
Not long ago, I ran into someone I hadn’t worked with in over 15 years. Back then, I was a brand manager—working in marketing, focused on packaging, advertising, websites, and campaign rollouts. I loved it at the time. It mattered. I would go as far as to say that it defined my identity.
We hadn’t spoken in over a decade, but he smiled and said, “Still doing packaging and websites, but now freelancing, right?”
They meant it kindly. Familiar. Safe. And suddenly I stopped. Because no, that’s not what I do anymore. Not even close.
My path has shifted. My work looks and feels different. I’ve evolved in ways that don’t fit into their memory of who I was. I’ve changed. I’ve discovered a new purpose. Now I help people and organisations feel and work better. I help create cultures where people can enjoy their work, not just endure it. Where purpose and wellbeing live alongside performance.
When you are ready to work on the next chapter
Most of the time, growth doesn’t come as a lightning bolt. It arrives slowly. You begin to notice small things:
The work you used to love now leaves you feeling flat.
The goals that once excited you now feel like obligations.
You spend more time fantasising about change than actually enjoying the present.
You show up, but a part of you feels like you’re just playing a role.
There’s no dramatic moment. No obvious trigger. Just a quiet, persistent knowing: This doesn’t fit anymore.
Outgrowing a version of your life doesn’t mean it was wrong. It simply means it served its purpose.
You are not walking away from a mistake.
You are moving forward from a chapter that helped you grow, and now, you’re ready for the next one. This is the part no one prepares us for: the quiet grief of leaving behind something that once made you happy. Not because you regret it, but because it no longer reflects who you are.
What to do when the shift starts
Let yourself grieve the version of you that needed this: you can be proud of who you were and still let that version go. Write it down if it helps. Thank them. Then move gently forward.
Stop waiting for others to understand it: some people will hold onto the story they’ve already written about you. That’s okay. You don’t need to correct them. You just need to keep becoming.
Give yourself permission to not know what’s next: you don’t need a new five-year plan. You just need space. You need honesty. You need rest. You’ll find the next step through clarity, not pressure.
It requires courage
You are not meant to stay the same. Not for the version of you who once needed this life. Not for the people who still expect you to be that person. Not for the comfort of familiarity. You are allowed to want something different now. You are allowed to walk away from things that no longer fit, even if they once made you proud. You don’t have to rush into answers, just start with honest noticing.
What was once a “yes” in your life that now feels like a “maybe”? Sometimes, the things we outgrow are the ones we used to care most deeply about. You don’t have to rush to replace them, just notice what’s changed.
What part of your day feels heavier than it used to? The heaviness isn’t always loud. It can show up as a sigh before a meeting, a delayed response to a message, or the quiet wish to be somewhere else.
Where are you still showing up as an older version of yourself? Are you holding onto a role, a label, or a routine that no longer reflects who you are?
Whose expectations are you carrying? We all have people who remember us as we used to be. Are you still making choices to stay familiar in their eyes?
What are you craving that you haven’t said out loud yet? Space? Slowness? Creativity? Rest? Freedom? Often, we’re clearer than we realise, we just haven’t admitted it yet.
What would you thank your past self for? Even if you’ve outgrown who you were, they got you here. What did they give you? What did they protect you from? What are you ready to release?
What small shift would feel kind right now? It doesn’t have to be bold or final. Just something that makes you feel more like yourself. A boundary. A pause. A beginning.
You are allowed to change, even when it means letting go of a version of yourself that once made perfect sense. Let the version of you who once needed this life be proud. Then let them rest. You’re not finished becoming.
