For a long time, reflecting on the past felt like reopening things I had already decided were embarrassing or painful. Every time I looked back, my brain went straight to what I messed up, what I should have done differently, or how I could have been better.
I thought reflection meant picking everything apart until I found the mistake.
Lately, I’ve been trying to change how I do that. Instead of judging my past self, I’ve been trying to understand them. Not excuse everything, but at least be fair.
I started noticing how much I’ve actually changed. Things that used to completely stress me out now barely register. Situations that once felt huge now feel manageable. And when I think about who I was back then, I can see that I was just reacting to what I knew at the time.
Reflection usually sneaks up on me in quiet moments. Late at night when everything slows down. On walks where I forget my headphones. When a random memory pops up and I let it sit instead of immediately pushing it away.
Some of those memories still make me cringe. Others make me sad. But some of them feel surprisingly neutral now. Like they belong to someone I understand better.
I realized that being kinder to my past self makes it easier to move forward. When I stop treating old versions of me like they failed, I can see patterns instead. Why I stayed in certain situations. Why I avoided others. Why some things mattered so deeply at the time.
Reflection isn’t about getting stuck in the past. It’s about noticing growth, distance, and change. It’s about realizing that I’m not who I was, even if that version of me still exists in memory.
Looking back doesn’t mean going backward. Sometimes it’s just a quiet reminder that I survived things I once thought would break me. And honestly, that feels worth acknowledging.