Journal Entry: What Moving Taught Me About the Parts of Myself I Tried to Leave Behind

Here I am, in this new place, thinking upon arrival that it would make me happier—that it was an opportunity to start fresh in a new way, in a new place.
While part of that is true, I believed my old home no longer served me, that I had grown impatient with its ways. And again, while that is partially true, what’s also true is that I find myself missing it—feeling nostalgic for the only place I’ve ever known as home.
The place where my relationship with my husband evolved.
Where we raised our kids.
Where we built a life and made countless memories.
Where I grew up and lived most of my life.
Where I found my practice and my yoga community—both of which helped me discover new ways of being.
All the familiar places that now bring up sweet memories of all of it.

And yet, in that same place, there were also versions of me I no longer wanted to be.
There were mistakes made—choices and behaviors I didn’t want to carry with me. Things that happened long ago, with past versions of myself that I’ve outgrown, yet somehow still feel tethered to.
There were people there who knew those past versions—people who didn’t witness the work I’ve done to shed them. And I fear, sometimes, that they still see me through the lens of who I used to be.
If I’m honest, I think I still let that happen.
Sometimes, I let myself slide back into those patterns because I’m not yet brave enough to stand firm and say: That’s not who I want to be anymore.

So, I thought this new place would bring happiness. That I’d finally get my fresh start.
And while in some ways, it does feel nice, in other ways… it’s not what I had hoped.

First, because as much as I wanted to move on from my old home, I find myself grieving it.
And for certain reasons, I feel a pull to go back—to the only place I’ve ever known to be home.
There’s a deep loneliness in this new place.
And oftentimes, I long for a hug from the familiar.

Second, I’ve come to realize that I can’t get a fresh start by trying to run away from these parts of myself—the versions I no longer want to be.
And that’s exactly what I tried to do.

I’ve tried to run away from past mistakes, old ways of being.
I’ve tried to run from people whose perceptions were shaped by those past versions.
From the ones who pull me back into old patterns because I haven’t been brave enough to say enough. I’m tired of being that way.

But I’ve discovered there is no escape in running—because these parts of me follow me wherever I go.

They’ve followed me into new relationships, showing up in those familiar moments where, instead of being brave enough to act differently, I shrink—to avoid rocking the boat.

And then I ask myself: How can I go back now and be who I truly want to be when they’ve already seen this version of me?

In those moments, I’m tempted to shrink again.
To run again.

But as I’ve experienced time and time again, and as Lao Tzu said, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears.”
And this time, the teacher appeared in me.

As I taught in my yoga class last week on softening the inner critic, I shared that the way to soften it isn’t through exile or forceful silencing—but through presence. Compassionate presence.

To acknowledge that the inner critic isn’t here to harm us—but to protect.
To protect us from rejection, from making mistakes, from seeking connection that didn’t feel safe in the past.
From countless other things that once felt too risky to approach.

And then a light bulb went off.

These parts of me I was running from weren’t chasing me to hurt me—they were following me to teach me.
To send a message I hadn’t yet received.
The more I tried to push them away, the more they clung on—because they weren’t done protecting me.
They didn’t feel safe enough to step aside and let the newer parts of me take the lead.

So now, instead of running, I’m turning toward them.

When I feel them rising again, trying to push my growth aside and take center stage, I meet them with curiosity and ask:
What are you trying to protect me from?
What were you trying to protect me from then?
What are you trying to protect me from now?

And I listen.

I listen as they speak through my body, my mind, my energy, and my emotions.
I begin an inner dialogue—one that’s compassionate and curious.

I thank them for all the ways they’ve protected me until now.
I let them know they’re welcome to stay on standby, should I ever need them again.
And I gently challenge them:

Can we be brave enough to try a different way—just to see what happens?

To open the door to returning home.
Home to myself.

To the me who has always existed beneath the layers of trauma, upbringing, conditioning, habits, and fear.
To the me who knows that others’ perceptions aren’t truth—they’re filtered through their own lenses of pain, experience, and fear.
To the me I return to more often now, thanks to the practices of yoga, mindfulness, and somatic healing—both in my personal life and in the work I do with others.

As with everything, it’s not a quick fix. I know this.
Even though, yes, there are times I wish it were.

It’s a process—a lifelong one, often.

A dialogue.
A relationship with self.

One that requires patience, nurturing, and safety to explore new ways of being.

And while this process may not always be easy, I’ve come to see—it’s always worth it.
Because there is no better feeling than coming home to yourself and being at peace with where you are.

Because no matter where you live…
No matter how far you go…
You can’t run away from yourself.

But you can learn to walk beside yourself—with love.

-Franchesca

PS – If parts of you feel like they’re still stuck in old patterns—even when everything around you has changed—you’re not alone. This is exactly the kind of work I support clients with. In coaching, we explore what’s underneath those patterns, and how to meet yourself with more compassion, clarity, and choice. If you’re curious what that could look like for you, you’re welcome to book a complimentary consultation call to explore whether it feels like the right fit.

Thumbnail pic cred: Michal Balog via Unsplash