Are you better, now that we’re older?

“Watch the world from the sidelines

Had nothing to prove

‘Til you came into my life

Gave me something to lose

Now I know what it feels like”

— Sidelines, Phoebe Bridgers

It’s okay to outgrow the version of yourself that once felt like your best.

We rarely talk about this grief—the quiet mourning of who we used to be. The version of us who achieved effortlessly, who excelled without overthinking, who reached milestones without exhaustion trailing behind. The younger self who made success look natural.

Most people don’t struggle with failure.

They struggle with comparison to their own past.

Because once, you were exceptional without trying. And now, in adulthood, even reaching the bare minimum feels heavy. Not because you became weaker but because life became fuller. Louder. More demanding. Responsibility arrived quietly and never left.

At fourteen or fifteen, your world was smaller. Your goals were clearer. Your energy felt endless.

At twenty, you carry invisible weights—expectations, uncertainty, pressure to become someone while still figuring out who you are.

So why do we insist on holding ourselves to a standard created by a life we no longer live?

We all know the phrase: comparison is the thief of joy. Some people learn to practice it. Others struggle. Yet even those who believe they have mastered it—who no longer compare themselves to others, often overlook one truth:

Their past self is also an “other.”

They do not measure themselves against strangers or peers. Instead, they compare their present to a version of themselves that once thrived effortlessly. The one who could run five miles without hesitation. The Tokoh Murid. The star of the school. The one who stood confidently on stage, playing in the band, certain of their place.

Without realizing it, they turn memory into a measuring stick.

Moving on from people may be easy.

But, moving on from yourself is hard.

Because you do not simply remember who you were—you mourn them. Quietly. Repeatedly. As if losing a person no one else knows you are grieving.

This is where many forms of sadness begin. Not from falling behind the world, but from failing to live up to a past version of yourself. People rarely praise who they are now, the version that survives exhaustion, shows up despite fear, and keeps going without recognition. Instead, they punish themselves for no longer being who they once admired.

Have you ever noticed how some people, when asked about themselves, only speak of achievements from years ago? High school victories. Old titles. Former glory. It can sound repetitive, even stagnant—but it rarely comes from arrogance.

They have not moved on.

Those memories remain their standard of success. And deep down, they still wish, still try, to become that version again. Allow them to be. Everyone survives differently.

But if you are reading this, know that it is okay if you have not moved on yet.

It is okay to grieve the version of yourself that once felt unstoppable. That grief does not mean you are stuck, it means that version mattered. You are allowed to miss them without trying to resurrect them.

You are allowed to be a different kind of “best” now.

The kind that survives quietly.

The kind that endures without applause.

The kind that learns how to live with uncertainty and still chooses to stay.

The truth is, your younger self never faced what you face now. They never carried this weight, made these choices, or fought these silent battles. If they could see you,really see you—they would not ask you to go back.

They would acknowledge you with pride.

They would thank you for moving forward.

So take your time. Grieve if you must. Let go when you are ready.

And allow yourself to become a new version of your best,one that does not need the past to prove its worth.