Do you ever think about a time in your life before something big happened? Or before the many bad things that happened to you broke you completely? When you realize you’ve lost all your joy, your spark, your happiness, your sense of purpose—everything.
When what should have been the best years of your life instead became a dark place to exist in. You isolate yourself from your circle, your family, your friends, and the whole world. You sit at home, in your room, and cannot even imagine the light. The person you once were disappears, and you become this empty shell.
How did it happen? When did everything change? Was it in a single moment, or did I lose my spark little by little, day after day? You try your best to make sense of yourself—your feelings, your thoughts—but nothing fits.
You miss yourself. The old you.
But at the same time, you ask: was that me even real? Or was she just a version of me that others wanted to see?
I don’t know.
The biggest question is—how do you get it back?
That question has haunted me for a long time. But more than that—can you get it back?
I’ve spoken to people who’ve lived with depression, PTSD, and grief. They all talk about a “before” and an “after.”
Before the trauma.
After the silence.
Before they were changed.
After they no longer recognized their own reflection.
There’s always that one moment. That one incident that stole everything. The warmth, the joy, the ability to love and feel safe. That one damned moment that makes your heart pound whenever you dare to remember it.
To be honest, I’m still searching for the answer.
The answer to the question: how do you return to the person you once were?
If I can be vulnerable for a second—I, too, lost my spark. I miss the version of me who was naive enough to believe in goodness. I miss the time before I knew how cruel some people could be. Before betrayal. Before disappointment. Before the bitterness took root.
I miss the days when laughter came easily and trust wasn’t something I had to second-guess. I miss the sunniest parts of my soul, the parts I didn’t know could be dimmed.
But how—oh how—do you go back to the time before all that?
Maybe the truth is… you don’t.
Maybe healing doesn’t mean returning to who you were. Maybe it means becoming someone new. Someone softer in some places, tougher in others.
Someone wiser—not despite the pain, but because of it.
Maybe the goal isn’t to reclaim the past, but to build a future that feels just as bright.
Not the same light—but a new one. One that comes from within, not from what life used to be.
You may never go back.
But you can move forward.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s where you’ll find your spark again.
Even if it flickers right now, even if it’s barely visible—it’s still there.
And that means there’s still hope.
RITA KHATCHADORIAN 