You Don’t Know You’re Getting Older—Until One Day You Do

When you’re a kid, getting older feels like a destination. You imagine what it’ll be like to be a teenager, then an adult. You count down birthdays, look forward to milestones. But no one tells you that growing up doesn’t usually feel like a switch flipping. Most days, it’s just life happening—until one day, it hits you all at once.

That moment comes out of nowhere. Maybe you hear a song you haven’t heard since middle school, and suddenly you’re flooded with memories of who you used to be. Maybe your body aches in a way it didn’t before, or you look in the mirror and realize your eyes don’t carry the same lightness they used to. Maybe you see how young someone else is and realize, “That used to be me.”

It’s not just about age—it’s about loss. The loss of innocence, of time, of versions of yourself you never got to properly say goodbye to. You start to realize that some parts of you only existed for a season, and you didn’t even notice them fading until they were gone.

And it’s heavy. It’s the grief of outgrowing places, people, and identities that once felt like home. It’s the ache of realizing that you can’t go back—not really. And maybe the hardest part? Understanding that younger you didn’t get the closure they deserved. You just kept going, doing your best to survive.

But that moment—the one where it all hits you—isn’t just sad. It’s also sacred. It means you’ve lived. You’ve changed. You’ve come far enough to look back and see the distance. And maybe now, for the first time, you get to grow with awareness instead of growing on autopilot.

That’s a gift. A painful one, but still a gift.