Heat Waves

There’s a song called Heat Waves by Glass Animals.

But not the regular one.

The one that hits me is Heat Waves slowed version.

Something about it stretches the feeling out longer. The notes linger. The emotion sits in the air instead of rushing past you.

For years when I listened to that song, I thought about people.

A boy once.

My dad.

My old best friend.

And for a season, even my mom.

The song always reminded me of someone I missed. Someone who had drifted away or someone I felt distant from.

But somewhere along the way, the meaning of that song changed.

Now when I hear it, the person I think about isn’t someone else.

It’s me.

The girl I used to be.

The girl on the playground at 2am laughing with her best friend like the night would never end.

The girl dancing in the grocery store aisle.

The girl riding in the cart through the parking lot like she was flying.

Light.

Light as air.

The girl who carried herself with class and confidence.

Not the one who walks with her head down and a chip on her shoulder.

The girl who didn’t wake up calculating pain levels.

The girl who didn’t need TENS units.

Didn’t need SI joint belts.

Didn’t go to physical therapy three times a week.

Didn’t need Tramadol like it was oxygen just to function.

Back then life felt simple.

Feelings came and went like passing weather.

Moments didn’t carry so much weight.

Problems felt temporary.

Tomorrow felt wide open.

Now everything feels heavier.

Every decision feels like it carries consequences.

Every conversation seems to echo longer than it should.

Every situation feels like it holds more weight than the moment itself.

Sometimes depression isn’t loud.

Sometimes it’s quiet.

It’s the strange realization that you haven’t felt like yourself in a very long time.

It’s looking back at old photos or videos and recognizing the girl in them, but also feeling like she’s far away.

Like someone you once knew very well but haven’t seen in years.

There’s a kind of grief people don’t talk about very often.

Not just grieving people.

Not just grieving circumstances.

But grieving the version of yourself who once felt lighter.

The girl who laughed easier.

The girl who danced without thinking about how heavy life might become.

The girl who carried herself with confidence instead of armor.

True depression can sometimes look like this.

Missing yourself.

But I do see her sometimes.

Little glimpses of her in lighter seasons.

Small moments where the laugh comes back naturally.

Moments where the weight lifts just enough to breathe.

She isn’t completely gone.

But things haven’t been light in a long time.

Still, I hold on to the belief that the light version of me still exists somewhere under all of this.

Maybe healing isn’t about becoming someone new.

Maybe healing is slowly uncovering her again.

One small moment at a time.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” -Matthew 11:28

Kristen, Unfiltered Xo 💋