July 04th, 2025

Dear Lindsay,
A lot has changed in my life in the last year.  A lot of positive things.  I met my partner, I found a job I love, I’m in the best living situation I’ve ever been in.  But still sometimes I feel really sad.  Sometime I mourn who I used to be, even though I’m so much happier now.  Is that normal? What do I do with these feelings?
Sincerely,
Happily Sad

Dear Happily Sad,
Is it normal to grieve who you used to be? Yes, absolutely.  But I think a lot of people don’t realize that’s what’s going on.  So I’m proud of you for recognizing that feeling and identifying that there’s some grief work to be done. And maybe more people never actually change their life that much and so never have to deal with what you’re feeling.

  But also, it doesn’t really matter what’s normal.  Even if you were the only one who was feeling this way, which I’m absolutely sure is not the case, it would still be entirely valid.  I, for one can relate to how you’re feeling.  I’ve had the similar experience of changing my life, several times actually, and loving my new direction while also being sad about what I’ve left behind.
It’s honestly, a really normal part of growing up.  And, being able to hold multiple different feelings at once is a mark of maturity.  You can be both delighted for where you are now, and sad about the ending of what was.
You don’t have to choose between those too feelings.  You can have them both, and so many more nuanced ones in between.

I’m proud of you for identifying that there is grief work to be done.

Mourning can take many forms: walking in the woods and moaning.  Crying in your car.  Writing in your journal.  Making art about it.  Writing sad poetry.
You could try writing a letter to your past self.  You could try planting a tree to commemorate the chapter of your life that is closing.   You could write a song.

You might do all of this in private, or in might feel important to include other people in your process. Maybe you need witnesses.  These could be strangers (big random art piece on the side of the highway) or intimate friends (a small gathering with candles and soft poetry).  There’s no rule book for how to grieve all sorts of passings, including the passing of our past selves.

What I can say is that, hopefully, this won’t be the last time you grieve. Maybe that’s a strange kind of optimism, but I hope that you live long enough, and love yourself, and places and people and animals and ideas so much that you experience grief over and over again.

So you could also see this as practice.  You get to try out different ways of working with grief and see how they suite you.  That way, the next time you’re mourning a loss (because there will be a next time) you’ll have some skills and supplies around how to do it.

Our culture isn’t good about talking about this, but grief is work.  There are books and “grief tending” workshops that can help.  There are sad songs and blue paint tubes.  There is a lot of ocean, and some soft, soft cats.  Find what works for you.

Personally, I’m a very physical person, in that I love working with my hands and am always interested in things I can touch.  When I’m grieving I need to make something.  I need to take something sentimental and rework it.  Because I’m a sewer, this usually involves fabric.  For example, recently I was sorting my clothes.  There were quite a few clothes that held special memories for me of a previous chapter in my life.  But clothes that no longer suit my style and lifestyle.  I didn’t want to throw them out, or give them away.  I need to honour the person I was who had loved and worn and been loved while wearing them.  So I cut them up into triangles and made a bunting garland decoration.  I’m going to hang it up on my birthday between two trees and let the wind dance with my past skins.  I might tell my friends about it.  I might send a picture to the person who was closes to me when I wore those clothes.

I’m getting a little bit sad now actually, as I think about it.  I’m fond of who I was then.  I think I might like to be her friend.  And I’m also relieved now that I’m in a different place in my life.

I’ve noticed that eventually the sentimental grief pieces I’m made in the past loose their poignancy.  They serve a purpose and then, one day (sometimes a week or sometimes many many years later) I look at them and it’s as if the life force is all gone.  They once held part of me, and now they don’t anymore.  It’s a subtle difference that I study.  It’s kind of the like the “sparks joy” metric that some people use in sorting their things.
Once the grief has settled, or composted, or whatever, then the art I’ve made about it usually becomes unnecessary to keep.  Sometimes then I can throw it out, or I burry it, or recently I chucked some sticks that were once sentimental, in the river.

My point being, I hope you develop your own process.  And be willing to also let go of the thing you made in your process.  Learning what to hold on to and what to let go of is perhaps one of the greatest themes of mature serenity.

I’m so happy for you that you’re happier now.  I’m so proud of you for recognizing that every development carries some loss.

I wish you baskets to carry your precious grieve, and holes in your pockets big enough to loose what weighs you down.
I hope this helps.
​
Lindsay ​