On shedding what shaped us to discover what is ours

One afternoon, I was sitting alone on a bench in a nearby park.
It was fall. The kind of afternoon where the air feels settled, almost reflective.

Above me stood a large tree — old, steady, familiar. Its leaves were changing. Most had turned yellow. Some still carried traces of green. A few were already on their way down, resting quietly on the ground.

As I watched them drift and gather, a simple thought came to me:
these leaves are, in a way, the identities of the tree.

They emerge from it.
They take shape from it.
They serve a season.
And when the time comes, they let go — not in protest, but in completion.

It felt uncomfortably familiar.

Long before we are conscious of ourselves, identities arrive in much the same way — from a large socio-cultural tree we are born into. Family, society, education, expectations — all offering us ready-made roles to step into.

A child.
A good student.
A responsible one.
A dependable sibling.
A high performer.
A problem solver.

They come gently, almost invisibly, through family expectations, cultural scripts, social approval. And before we realize it, we are living inside a layered structure of roles — each one asking us to be competent, consistent, and acceptable.

For a long time, this works.

We are rewarded for excelling in these identities. We learn how to perform them well. Society reinforces them. We feel valued, needed, useful. And somewhere in that usefulness, a subtle confusion begins.

Not because the identities are wrong —
but because our unique self starts getting buried beneath them.

The uneasiness doesn’t arrive as rebellion. It arrives as restlessness. A sense that despite doing everything “right,” something essential is being postponed. The more we perfect the identities we carry, the quieter our own voice becomes.

At some point, without a clear trigger, a different awareness emerges.

We begin to notice that certain identities no longer serve growth — or worse, actively oppose it. Some roles demand a version of us that is shrinking, repetitive, or exhausted. Others pull us away from curiosity, creativity, or honesty.

That is when the shedding begins.

Not dramatically.
Not defiantly.
But selectively.

We stop investing equally in every identity. We loosen our grip on roles that once defined us. We allow certain expectations to fall unmet. This is not irresponsibility — it is discernment.

And then comes the part no one prepares us for: loneliness.

People notice the change before they understand it.
“You’ve changed,” they say — sometimes with concern, sometimes with accusation.
Our usefulness to some relationships fades. And with that fading, some connections quietly dissolve.

This is the most vulnerable phase.
Not because we are lost, but because we are between versions.

Old relationships either adapt — or they don’t. Mature bonds stretch and recalibrate. Superficial ones slip away. New connections begin forming, but they are tender, untested, still finding shape.

Loneliness here is not a failure.
It is a passage.

And if we don’t rush to escape it — if we resist filling it with borrowed identities again — something else slowly takes its place.

Liberation.

Not the dramatic, spiritual kind.
But a deeply personal one.

Ease increases.
Confidence quietens but deepens.
Decisions feel less noisy.
Life stops feeling like a performance review.

Relationships get tested, yes — but they also become more honest. You are no longer meeting people from obligation or identity, but from presence.

This phase becomes a foundation.
For psychological maturity.
For self-realization.
And, for those inclined, the earliest soil of spiritual growth — not as belief, but as clarity.

The quiet exit from old identities is not about rejecting who you were.
It is about releasing what once helped you belong, so you can finally begin to be.

And if you find yourself here — lighter, lonelier, clearer — know this:

You are not losing yourself.
You are finally meeting the one who was waiting underneath.

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Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar