The Lost Years

The years I thought I lost, and the lessons they left behind

“In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.”
— Albert Camus

If I had to give one chapter of my life a title, I think I would simply call it The Lost Years.

The reason I would call them that is because it was a time filled with doubt, struggles, and uncertainty. Not because those years didn’t matter, but because I felt lost within them. I didn’t really know who I was, where I was going, or how to find my way back to myself.

In my mid to late twenties, I went through a really difficult period in my life—socially, physically, mentally, and internally. I felt like I had no sense of direction. Which path do I choose? That question was constantly on my mind.

But it wasn’t just the big life decisions. It was all the little things that added up each day.

I was in a deep state of depression. I barely left my bed. Tears seemed endless. My mind replayed everything that had ever gone wrong in my life and convinced me that things would never change. That I would never find stability, happiness, or a sense of safety.

There was one major event during that time that changed me in ways I never expected. I don’t really want to get into the details, but it left a lasting impact on me.

For a long time, I felt worthless. Like I was an afterthought. Like everyone else was moving forward while I remained stuck.

I had one friend during that time who helped pull me out of my funk every once in a while. He had the kind of personality that could always make me laugh and smile. We were practically inseparable for years.

Looking back now, I realize I spent much of my twenties helping him pursue his goals, dreams, and plans for the future. Mine, however, quietly took a back seat.

I’m not blaming him for that. If anything, it made me realize how much of a people-pleaser I was. At the time, I didn’t see it that way. I thought I was just being supportive and being there for someone I cared about. It wasn’t until later that I realized I had become so focused on helping someone else build their life that I stopped asking myself what I wanted for my own.

I didn’t socialize much outside of him and his partner. I had never been in a relationship, which made me feel behind in life. I felt like everyone else was moving forward while I was somehow stuck in the same place.

And because my depression had convinced me that I was somehow unworthy, I never really focused on building a life for myself.

So instead, I lived vicariously through him.

When I look back now, I think, it is what it is.

I can’t go back and change it.

I can only learn from it.

The reason I call them “The Lost Years” is because I only knew how to be there for other people. I didn’t know how to be there for myself.

I didn’t know who I was outside of helping others. I didn’t know what I wanted, where I was going, or what kind of life I wanted to build.

I think we all have a chapter like that. A season marked by grief, uncertainty, burnout, disappointment, anxiety, and simply trying to keep our heads above water.

I remember isolating myself from the outside world. I’d spend day in and day out locked away in my room, trying desperately to quiet the negative, nagging thoughts about how much of my life I had wasted.

I kept thinking, my life could have been what I always envisioned if I had only tried to make it a reality.

But no.

I was stuck.

Stuck in a never-ending cycle of past decisions, past experiences, and things that changed the trajectory of my life.

I kept myself “entertained” by watching comfort shows and movies. I couldn’t read because it was too hard to focus on anything other than my misery.

I ate comfort foods: cheese quesadillas, grilled cheese sandwiches, beef taquitos—anything familiar and safe.

Exercise was out of the question because I could hardly move beyond my comfort zone.

It’s funny how the place that brings you the most comfort can also become the place where you hide from your life.

I felt so disconnected and dissociated that I couldn’t even imagine who the real person was beneath all of the weight I was carrying.

Essentially, I had zero clue who I truly was.

Mind you, I was undiagnosed at the time and didn’t understand my feelings and emotions as well as I do now.

For years, I carried all of this without understanding why I felt the way I did. I thought I was lazy. I thought I was too sensitive. I thought I was too emotional. I thought everyone else had somehow figured out life while I was still trying to understand myself.

Then, a few years ago, I attended an ADHD conference.

Something there struck me to my core.

For the first time in my life, I felt seen.

I remember listening to people describe experiences that I had spent years thinking were just personal flaws or things that made me different. Suddenly, I had words to explain things I had struggled with for years.

It was a true “aha” moment.

That conference changed me.

Not because everything suddenly became better.

It didn’t.

I still had struggles. I still had difficult days.

But something shifted.

A massive weight lifted from my shoulders because I finally had a better understanding of myself.

It gave me hope.

It gave me a reason to start again.

I felt a little more comfortable in my own skin.

So, I started writing. A lot.

Eventually, I created this blog to share my story in hopes that others might resonate with it.

Writing became a way for me to process my experiences. It became a way to connect with others. It became a reminder that the things I thought made me feel alone were actually things many other people quietly experienced too.

It gave me passion. It gave me a desire to make improvements and small changes.

I no longer wanted to sit back and watch life happen.

I wanted to be a part of it.

That’s why the quote above resonates with me so much.

Even in the midst of winter, there was still an invincible summer within me.

I just couldn’t see it yet.

Looking back now, I realize I spent so much of my life trying to become who I thought I should be that I never stopped to ask myself who I actually was.

I was constantly comparing myself to other people. I was measuring my life against timelines that didn’t belong to me. I thought I was behind.

But I think that’s the thing about difficult seasons.

You don’t always recognize how hard they were until you’re on the other side of them.

At the time, I thought I was wasting years of my life.

I thought I had fallen too far behind.

Now, I have a little more compassion for that version of myself.

She was depressed. She was overwhelmed. She was carrying more than she realized. She was trying to survive without understanding why everything felt so difficult.

And maybe that’s why I don’t look at those years quite the same way anymore.

Were they hard? Absolutely.

Were they years I wish had looked different? Yes.

But they also shaped me.

They helped me understand myself.

They led me toward writing.

They led me toward building something meaningful.

They led me toward finally asking myself what kind of life I wanted.

Maybe they were lost years.

But maybe they were also the years that slowly brought me back to myself.

Have you ever had a season of life where you felt lost? What helped you find your way back?

Listen to the podcast episode here: