The idea that they might contradict themselves, that someone might call them a hypocrite, that their identity might collapse like a poorly-stacked house of cards, is too much to bear.

But the past version of yourself doesn’t get to hold you hostage. They don’t get a vote on who you’re allowed to become, or what you’re allowed to believe now that you’ve learned more, lived more, seen more. And yet, we let them.

We let our own ghosts, the echoes of who we were five years ago or five minutes ago, dictate the rules of our evolution. We feel loyalty to that person, even when they were clearly floundering, clueless, or flat-out wrong.

We feel guilt for outgrowing them, as though self-betrayal is somehow worse than self-stagnation. It’s not. Your past self doesn’t need your loyalty—they’re not real anymore. They’re just an outline you’ve already colored in, a scaffolding you’ve since torn down. Let them go.

The world changes, people change, and you change. This isn’t weakness; it’s survival. To refuse this natural evolution is to entrench yourself in stubborn denial, to cling to a caricature of yourself that no longer exists.

Think about it: how many of your beliefs, habits, or preferences would you defend now with the same fervor as you did ten years ago? The band you were obsessed with in high school? The hobby you swore you’d die without?