The Things You Outgrow

You will outgrow shoes. This is expected. You will outgrow clothes, bedrooms, the backseat of the car where you once felt enormous. But you will also outgrow things that don't have sizes. Friendships that fit you at fourteen will be too small at twenty-five. This is not betrayal. This is the body of your life growing the way bodies do— not asking permission, not apologizing. You will outgrow the need to be liked by everyone. This is the most expensive thing you'll ever lose and the most important. You will outgrow the version of yourself that said yes when it meant no. The one that laughed at things that weren't funny. The one that shrank to fit into rooms that were never built for you. Growing up is not linear. It's not a ladder. It's more like a house you keep renovating— knocking down walls, finding rooms you didn't know were there, learning to live in the mess of construction while still calling it home. Some days you will miss the smaller version. The one who didn't know what she didn't know and was happier for the ignorance. That's okay. You can visit her. You can't move back in. Because growing is not a choice. But growing well— with grace, with honesty, with the courage to leave rooms that no longer fit— that's the bravest thing you'll ever do on a regular Tuesday.