I grew up in a tense environment marked by conflict and emotional distance. I won’t unpack the specifics, but the constant sense of walking on eggshells affected how I saw myself and how I navigated the world.
In many ways, that fearful child inside me learned to hide parts of my personality—parts that might have flourished if I’d felt safer, more supported, and genuinely free to explore who I was meant to be.
It’s a bittersweet honesty to admit that some facets of my identity were never given the chance to unfold. Sometimes, when I see others living out the dreams I once harbored, I feel this unmistakable ache. A quiet voice inside me says, “That could’ve been you, if only…” Childhood trauma can rob us of many things: safety, innocence, and stability. But the hardest part is often coming to terms with the fact that our sense of self might have been irreversibly altered.
After a lot of soul-searching, I’ve learned that genuine healing isn’t just about addressing old wounds or learning coping strategies. It’s also about acknowledging the loss of a self who never had the opportunity to thrive. Recognizing that absence can sting, but it also opens a door to deeper understanding and, ultimately, acceptance.
Confronting the lost self
One reason it’s so painful to recognize who I never got to be is that it forces me to acknowledge a huge void: the many opportunities, decisions, or facets of my personality that were shaped by fear, shame, or a sense of unworthiness rooted in my childhood experiences.
When I reflect on my early years, I think about the times I stayed silent when I wanted to speak up, or the passions I brushed aside because nobody noticed them. It’s an unsettling feeling to see how differently life might have unfolded if I had been raised in a healthier environment.
According to trauma expert Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, “Trauma is not just an event that took place in the past; it’s also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body.” This imprint can shape our relationships, our worldview, and the space we hold for our own dreams. If there wasn’t room to be myself, how could I discover and nurture the gifts inside me?
I used to feel guilty for longing after what could have been, especially because I have many blessings in my life today. But I’ve come to realize that it’s okay to feel gratitude for what I do have while also grieving what was lost. Both emotions can coexist. In fact, allowing them both can be a critical step toward healing.
Why it’s so difficult to let go of who we might have been
It might sound more straightforward to simply accept the past and focus on the future, right? I tried that approach for a long time, telling myself that it’s no use crying over something that never even happened. But that line of thinking only suppressed how I truly felt.
The truth is, the self that never got the chance to emerge still occupies a space in my heart. That lost self represents my inherent potential—creative interests I didn’t cultivate, relationships I never formed, or even personality traits I hid because I was so busy dealing with childhood chaos.
As noted by Dr. Gabor Maté, “The attempt to escape from pain creates more pain.” If I try to brush aside my regrets or the lingering sadness, I end up stuck in a loop of unresolved emotions. Part of healing, I’ve found, lies in acknowledging that those regrets and unfulfilled possibilities matter. They represent real emotional threads that shaped the person I am now.
This doesn’t mean I’m doomed to be defined by that void forever. It means I need to make space for it, to let that grief breathe. There’s a certain liberation in saying, “Yes, I wish I’d had a childhood where I felt safe, loved, and free. And it’s heartbreaking that I missed out on that.” Naming this truth is the beginning of real acceptance.
Allowing room for grief
I used to resist the idea of “grieving” an alternative life that never happened. How do you mourn something intangible? But it turned out to be a vital process. For me, grief involved a new kind of honesty. Instead of rationalizing my experiences (“It wasn’t that bad” or “At least I survived”), I allowed myself to fully feel the sadness of what I lost: the childhood freedoms, the sense of certainty, the unconditional support every child deserves.
This process has been different than grieving a physical loss, though it can feel just as heavy at times. I’ve found ways to express this grief by writing letters to my younger self in my journal. Sometimes I get emotional—imagining what I would say if that child version of me were sitting right in front of me, full of fear and longing. Other times, I create small rituals. For instance, lighting a candle in the evening and dedicating a few minutes to reflect on the versions of me that never got to flourish.
At first, this felt awkward and somewhat pointless. But over time, it has become a sacred practice of giving my pain the respect it deserves. I don’t bury it under positivity or rush to fix it. I just acknowledge it. And in doing so, I lighten the emotional load I carry.
Moving forward with self-compassion
There’s a crucial flip side to grieving who I never got to be: discovering who I still can become. Just because I missed out on certain opportunities doesn’t mean I’m forever stunted. Yes, childhood trauma can create formidable roadblocks, but it doesn’t have to lock me into a single version of myself.
Over the past few years, I’ve embraced practices like mindfulness and journaling, often sharing these moments with my son when we have quiet time together. During a particularly rough patch, I remember exploring one of the exercises in Rudá Iandê’s “Free Your Mind” masterclass. I’d mentioned this class before, but it really did open my eyes to the limiting beliefs I was carrying around. One exercise helped me examine the old narratives that said “It’s too late” or “I’m not worthy of something better.” I realized how much of my negative self-talk stemmed from a time when I felt powerless.
I won’t pretend that a single course instantly erased all my wounds, but it certainly nudged me to be more compassionate with myself. Now, if I catch myself thinking, “That part of me died in childhood,” I stop and question it. Is it really true, or is it just an old belief that reappeared? More often than not, it’s just a leftover script from a painful past. The more I challenge it, the more room I make for new possibilities.
Wrapping up
Healing from childhood trauma is layered. Sure, there are the immediate scars and insecurities. But what often lingers is the knowledge that parts of us—the curious child, the fearless dreamer, or the carefree kid—never got a chance to thrive. Recognizing that absence can be painful, but it also holds a seed of hope.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that grieving the person I never got to be is a testament to how fiercely I value my authenticity. That longing is proof that I yearn for wholeness. And every step I take toward acknowledging this loss is also a step toward nurturing the woman I am now—and the woman I’m still becoming.
Maybe the life I imagined during childhood is out of reach. Maybe certain pivotal chapters can’t be rewritten. But each day I choose to lean into self-compassion, to hold space for my past without letting it define my future. Because even though I missed out on many things, I’m determined not to miss out on who I can still be.
Wherever you are on your path, know that you’re allowed to grieve what was stolen from you. You’re also allowed to claim the next chapter of your life. We may never entirely shake off the sadness of losing a potential self, but we can find purpose and power in the selves we create today.
I hope this resonates with anyone who feels the ache of not knowing who they could have become under different circumstances. You’re not alone in this. And you deserve the space to explore who you are now, with all the compassion and courage you can muster. Let that be the guiding light in your healing.
