writing in life
I used to think
growing up meant
knowing who I was.
Like one day
I’d wake up
and everything would make sense.
I’d know what I wanted,
who I loved,
where I belonged,
and why some things
had to hurt so badly.
But I’m learning
that becoming
is not a straight line.
Sometimes I go backward.
Sometimes I outgrow people
I thought I’d know forever.
Sometimes I miss versions of myself
I was so desperate to leave behind.
And sometimes
I look in the mirror
and don’t recognize the girl
looking back.
Not because she’s lost—
because she’s changing.
She’s learning
that not everyone deserves
a front-row seat to her life.
She’s learning
that forgiveness
doesn’t always mean
letting someone back in.
She’s learning
that being soft
doesn’t make her weak.
And maybe that’s what growing up is:
not becoming someone new,
but finally meeting
the parts of yourself
you were too busy surviving
to notice.
I’m still becoming.
Still breaking.
Still healing.
Still figuring it out.
But for once,
I don’t think
I need to have
the ending figured out.
Maybe it’s enough
to know
I’m still here,
and I’m still becoming.
Copyright © angel robinson | Year Posted 2026
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