Becoming Her Without Losing You
The Quiet Grief of Growing Into the Woman God Called You To Be
What if part of becoming is letting go — of expectations, old versions of you, and who you thought you'd be by now?
I didn’t know becoming would feel like breaking.
I thought it would be louder. More confident. More put together.
But most days, it feels like peeling off layers I’ve worn for years—
Roles. Titles. Versions of me that used to work, until they didn’t.
Becoming the woman God called me to be sounds beautiful in theory.
But no one warned me that it would also mean grieving who I thought I’d be by now.
The In-Between Is Holy (and Awkward)
You know that space between who you were and who you’re becoming? That weird, quiet middle?
Yeah, that’s where I’ve been living lately.
Not quite who I used to be—less reactive, more rooted.
Not quite who I want to be—still insecure, still figuring it out.
And stuck in the tension of it all.
They don’t tell you that growth can be lonely. That healing can be disorienting. That walking in your purpose can also feel like walking away from things that once felt like home.
The Grief No One Talks About
You don’t just grieve people.
Sometimes, you grieve the version of yourself you thought would “arrive” by now.
The 25-year-old you thought would be married.
The 30-year-old you imagined would be thriving, not just surviving.
The woman who had plans, a timeline, a dream life—and then got handed a different story.
Maybe you grieve the girl who was so full of energy, or hope, or confidence.
Or the one who didn’t carry this anxiety. This extra weight. This invisible heaviness.
And it’s okay. It’s okay to mourn her while you honor where you are now.
When Becoming Feels Like Losing
Everyone celebrates becoming—your “glow-up,” your breakthrough, your calling. But no one really talks about the internal cost.
Sometimes becoming looks like:
Losing friendships that only fit the old you
Walking away from opportunities that once defined you
Saying no to things you used to say yes to, even if people don’t understand
Letting go of people-pleasing, even if it means people are… unpleased
You will not be able to carry your future if you’re still gripping your past.
And letting go doesn’t mean betrayal. Sometimes it means obedience.
But Who Even Am I Now?
That’s the part that really messes with you, right?
When you’ve grown so much that the old things don’t fit…
…but the new things haven’t quite arrived.
And in that liminal space, you ask:
“God, who even am I anymore?”
If that’s where you are—can I just say—you’re not crazy. You’re not lost. You’re not broken.
You’re becoming.
God doesn’t rush the becoming process. And He doesn’t skip the grief. He walks with you through it.
What if This Is the Most Honest Version of You?
You, mid-shed.
You, showing up tired but honest.
You, without the need to impress.
You, rooted and raw and not “performing faith” but actually living it.
That’s not weakness. That’s transformation.
And maybe, just maybe—this version of you, the in-progress, unsure, unfinished woman—is the most real you’ve ever been.
God’s Not Asking You to Be Her—He’s Calling You to Be His
Let go of the pressure to be “her”—the ideal version of you, the one that gets all the likes and praise and validation.
God is not calling you to be her.
He’s calling you to be His.
And when that becomes enough, something shifts.
You realize: you can let go without falling apart.
You can change without losing your essence.
You can evolve and still be anchored.
You can grieve and grow—at the same time.
Lay Down What Doesn’t Fit Anymore
So here’s your gentle permission slip:
You don’t have to be everything you thought you’d be by now.
You don’t have to cling to outdated dreams out of loyalty.
You don’t have to fake excitement for things you’ve outgrown.
You can lay down:
The timelines
The pressure
The guilt
The “shoulds”
The past version of yourself that no longer reflects who God is shaping you to be
You can lay it all down—and still rise.
Becoming Is a Holy Undoing
If you’re in a season where everything feels like it’s shifting…
where you don’t quite recognize yourself…
where the applause has faded but God feels near—
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re not too late.
You’re in the middle of becoming.
And yes, it might feel like a quiet grief. But it’s also a sacred invitation.
To trust the process.
To release what’s expired.
To meet the woman emerging on the other side.
She’s not better than the old you. She’s just braver.