The End of the Person You Might Have Become.

When we are children, the potential of who we might become feels limitless. We are free to be anyone, with an abundance of time ahead. During these formative years, our sense of identity is malleable, shaped more by our imagination than by external expectations. We simply exist.

Early setbacks appear insignificant, mere blips in the broader narrative of our lives. A misstep here, a wrong turn there most are easily brushed aside, learned from, or forgotten.

However, as we mature, each decision begins to carry more weight. Mistakes no longer feel like transient inconveniences; they leave marks that cannot be easily erased, serving as permanent reminders of choices we cannot undo.

The true anguish, however, often lies not in the mistakes we made, but in the opportunities we failed to take. The dreams we gave up too early. The risks we were too afraid to take. Over time, the distance between who we are and who we could have been grows, widening into an insurmountable gap that seems impossible to bridge.

This sorrow has a name ambiguous grief. It persists, slowly compounding, until it solidifies into a more profound fear: the fear that it may be too late for transformation.

What if I’ve missed my chance? What if I’m too old, too entrenched, or too set in my ways to ever become the person I once envisioned?

Ambiguous grief is not mourning what was lost, but rather what never came to fruition. It’s the painful awareness that something you once believed was destined to happen a dream, an experience, a version of yourself will never materialize.

There comes a moment when you recognize that the future you once envisioned is no longer within reach. A moment of clarity that feels like a quiet devastation: This will never be my reality.

Like tangible grief, ambiguous grief comes in waves unexpected and lingering. It waits, always present in the background.

Yet, unlike tangible grief, ambiguous grief rarely finds recognition in the world. There are no memorials for the person you never became, no condolences for the aspirations that slipped away. And while it may be difficult to understand, I can empathize with this absence. Even on a personal level, it’s challenging to articulate how this form of grief manifests.

How do you mourn something that never truly existed? How can we expect others to understand the distress we feel over a future that, in reality, was never ours to begin with?

Still, the pain is undeniably real. Consider the athlete who dedicated their life to training, believing they would play at a collegiate level, perhaps even go professional, only to suffer a career-ending injury. Their dream didn’t just fade; it was abruptly taken from them.

In its place, they face a version of themselves they never anticipated, navigating a life they never imagined.

I once saw myself in various roles an athlete, a chef, a student living the conventional path. But one by one, these versions faded, replaced by a reality I was unprepared for.

Ambiguous grief resides in the space between what is and what could have been. It isn’t always overwhelming, but it lingers, quietly persistent. It feels like mourning the death of a parallel self the one who lived in dreams, in plans, in quiet moments of certainty about the future.

It is the ache of alternative possibilities slipping away, the gradual realization that some paths will remain closed, no matter how hard we try.

Looking back, it seems almost naive, but who could fault you for believing, in your youth, that a specific future was within reach? Hope isn’t merely a fleeting desire; it is the very foundation upon which we build our lives.

And when that foundation begins to fracture, the grief we feel is not just for what has been lost, but for the version of ourselves we once were the one who believed, without doubt, that things would unfold differently.

Thank You

EL!!!h