I Miss the Woman I Used to Be

There are versions of me my son will never know. The one who lived in heels. The one who thought the world was hers for the taking. The one who was naive enough to leap and brave enough to land. She got me here, but she couldn’t stay. And sometimes, even in the gratitude for where I am now, I grieve her. Because growth always asks us to bury one version of ourselves to birth another.