Somewhere in life, a moment happens—a moment so profound and so powerful that it knocks you off course. It could be a very early trauma, a devastating loss, or the slow erosion of hope over years of struggle that makes us feel that feeling of mourning the life that wasn’t, even if we don’t know what that would have looked like. For some, that moment comes like a lightning strike, sudden and irreversible. For others, it creeps in quietly, unnoticed until the realization dawns that the life they were meant to live, the one they were born to inhabit, is no longer within reach.
If I had to illustrate what this feels like for the lay person, I would say that it feels like being a twin separated at birth. Though one may not remember the separation or even know it occurred, there is an innate sense of something missing—a void that no amount of love or success can truly fill. Or perhaps it’s like the experience of young soldiers sent to war. They leave their homes as hopeful, innocent boys, only to return as the equivalent of old men weighed down by the unspeakable things they’ve seen and done, forever changed, unable to step back into the lives they once had, and for ever mourning the life that wasn’t.
This sense of derailment is not uncommon. Life throws curveballs—loss, betrayal, or just the grinding weight of responsibility—and these events leave a mark. The trajectory shifts, sometimes subtly, sometimes drastically, but always irrevocably. What follows is a mourning process, not just for what was lost but for what could have been.
There’s a particular kind of heartbreak in revisiting fleeting moments of joy from the past. Those rare, beautiful instances—so few and far between—take on an almost mythical quality. They’re the “what-ifs” that haunt sleepless nights, the fragments of happiness, the flashbacks, be them imaginary or not, that seem to taunt with their brevity. Yet, these moments are often overshadowed by the deep mourning for a life that never fully unfolded—a life that existed only in potential.
For some, this mourning a life that wasn’t could be the result of being born with a disability, or growing up in a single parent family, or experiencing untold violence as a child, or it could be due to a premature loss of a loved one, like a child, a sibling, or a parent. For some, this could be due to growing up with a narcissistic parent.
For those who carry this weight, this sense of loss and/or mourning, the world can feel alien. They become warriors of survival, navigating their days with raw and painful wounds that don’t show but bleed all the same. Their pain is invisible to most, hidden behind high-functioning facades. It’s as if they walk through life undetected, carrying a burden so heavy that if others could see it, they’d stop in their tracks to offer a comforting hand. But the pain remains unseen, and the journey feels solitary.
Yet, even in this mourning the life that wasn’t, there is hope. There’s a quiet strength in continuing despite the derailments, in striving to rebuild something meaningful out of the fragments. The warrior learns to cultivate a garden, a space of peace within themselves, even as they carry the memories of the battlefield. They may not be able to return to the path they were meant for, but they can forge a new one, however imperfect it may be.
This is not a path of forgetting but of integration—of finding a way to honor the life that was lost while still living the one that remains. The mourning may never fully disappear, but it can transform, becoming less of a wound and more of a reminder of resilience. For some, this resilience becomes their legacy, proof that even when life breaks us, it doesn’t have to define us.
To those who are in that strange, in-between phase of life where you no longer know who you are, where you are mourning the life that wasn’t. You’ve spent so much time healing, processing, and untangling the mess of your past that the person you once were, the one who once made decisions, the one who followed old patterns, is no longer active. And now, you’re left standing, not quite the same as before, unsure of what comes next. The person you used to be is gone, and the person you’re becoming hasn’t fully emerged yet. It’s as though you’re running in circles, searching for something you can’t quite grasp.
This, though, is a beautiful stage. It’s the point where you get to create yourself anew. It’s the moment where you determine your next steps, where you decide how you want to show up in the world, how you want to respond to life, and what boundaries you’ll set. There’s no map, no right or wrong path to follow. What comes next is trial and error. You try something, see how it feels, and if it resonates, you keep it. If not, you change direction. You get to make this up as you go, and that’s perfectly fine. It’s also okay to simply be — to exist without the pressure of constantly doing or becoming something.
It’s okay to not have all the answers right now. It’s okay to be uncertain about who you are and what you’re supposed to do next. This is the part of the journey where you get to invent yourself. In the past, the world, and the people around you, dictated who you were supposed to be. But now, you’re standing at a crossroads, uncertain of where to go but with the power to decide your direction. All you need to do is take a step, however small, and see where it takes you.
To those who feel this mourning the life that wasn’t, take heart. You are not alone, and the life ahead, while different from the one you envisioned, is still yours to shape. It may not be the life you were born into, or the life your soul feels somehow evaded you, but it can still be beautiful in its own right.
Thoughts Have Power.
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