204. Summer Song Series 2026; I Miss Me Too by Kyndal

Introduction

Welcome back to the Summer Song Series. Music has been one of the most powerful parts of my own healing journey, and I keep coming back to it because of what songs do that clinical language sometimes cannot — they put words to the experience in a way that lands in your body, not just your brain.

Today's song is called I Miss Me Too. Before I dive into the lyrics and what they bring up for me, I want to name something that I think every woman who has been through betrayal or chronic deception understands at a gut level, even if she has never had the exact words for it.

There is a moment in healing — and so many of you have described this moment to me — where the grief shifts. You are not just grieving the end of the relationship anymore. You are not just grieving what was done to you. You are grieving yourself. The version of you that existed before all of it. The version that felt hopeful. That had dreams. That had edges. That took up space without apologizing for it.

Before the lies. Before the walking on eggshells. Before you started making yourself smaller to make room for someone who was never going to show up the way you needed. And then one day — driving in your car, hearing a song, reading something — it hits you.

I miss me.

That is what this song is about.

The Lyrics

"You say you don't know why we can't go on like this, but tell me what this is. Then all your bitter lies and broken promises that you refuse to fix. It's not what I wanted. You know it, too. The moment I called it, you hit me with that 'I'm missing you.'

I miss me, too. I miss the way I took my feelings, lived my life without a ceiling. I miss me, too. I miss the girl who made him nervous 'cause she knows just what her worth is. No, it's not personal, baby, but it's killing me not to say it. I miss the me I was before I started messing with you.

I'm partly responsible for letting this go on, for writing all of those songs about you, hoping you'd hear me out, but no, you never did. That's why I had to quit.

Oh yeah? Well, I miss me more. I miss me more when I'm with you."

"I Miss the Me I Was Before I Started Messing With You"

This lyric named something that I do not think has a clean clinical label — and yet every woman who has been through betrayal knows it viscerally. It lands in the body before the brain even catches up.

What it is describing is identity erosion. And it almost never happens all at once.

It is gradual. You start reorganizing yourself around this person's moods, their needs, their version of reality. You become the responder. The manager. The detector. The hope-keeper. Your needs stop mattering. Your voice stops feeling safe. You start overriding your own instincts to keep the peace, to make sense of what is happening, to survive.

And slowly, without fully realizing it, you lose not just your sense of what is real — you lose your sense of who you are inside it.

For a while, I blamed myself for that. How could I let myself go so far? What was wrong with me? But here is what I want you to hear: there is a version of you — a higher self, a capital-S Self — that does not get destroyed by trauma. She gets quiet. But she does not leave. The fact that you miss her means you remember she is there. And sometimes finding your way back starts with just that — the memory of her.

"I'm Partly Responsible for Letting This Go On"

I will be honest. When I first read this line, I bristled. I did not want to take any responsibility. This was not my fault. And that is true — you did not cause the betrayal. You did not choose the rupture. This is a life-saving divorce for a reason.

But there is an important distinction here, and I think this lyric is pointing to it. There is a difference between responsibility for their choices — which belongs entirely to them — and responsibility for the ways we abandoned ourselves inside the relationship. Those are two completely different things.

What she is saying is not: what he did was my fault. She is saying: I stopped listening to myself, and I kept going anyway.

That is self-betrayal. And it matters to name it — not in a shame-filled, self-critical way, but in a tender, honest way. Because owning that piece is not self-blame. It is self-reclamation. And it is actually the beginning of rebuilding a relationship with yourself that you can trust.

When I do somatic work with women around this, what comes up again and again is the memory of a moment where the body knew. The stomach dropped. The chest tightened. Sleep became impossible. Nightmares came. And then — the override. I am being too sensitive. Too suspicious. Too dramatic. Too much.

That override has a cost. Naming it is not punishment. It is the beginning of coming home to yourself.

"The Moment I Called It, You Hit Me With That 'I'm Missing You'"

This one deserves its own conversation.

The moment you start holding a boundary. The moment you name what is happening. The moment you take a step toward ending the relationship. And suddenly — there it is. The vulnerability. The "I miss you." The "I'm going to change." The "Please don't go."

This is love bombing. And I want to be very clear: it is a tactic. Whether it is conscious or not, it works — because it exploits your empathy. Your capacity for compassion, which is a beautiful thing about you, gets weaponized against your own clarity.

I fell for this cycle. I see it happen constantly in the women I work with. She gets clarity about the destructive behavior. He responds with emotional vulnerability. She abandons her clarity to take care of his pain. She loses herself a little more. And then it starts again.

If you recognized yourself in that pattern just now — start by naming it. Without judgment. Just name it. And then ask yourself: what is the cost of staying in this cycle? Your clarity about what is happening in your relationship is not cruelty. Leaving a destructive relationship is not abandonment. Their emotional response to your leaving is not an emergency that belongs to you to solve.

That is the work.

"I Miss the Girl Who Made Him Nervous 'Cause She Knows Just What Her Worth Is"

Maybe that version of you existed before this relationship and got lost inside it. Maybe you have never fully felt her. Either way — she is real. She always was.

She is the version of you who did not perform. Who did not shrink. Who took up space without apologizing for it. Who trusted her instincts. Who had edges. And yes — when a woman like that is fully herself, it makes some people uncomfortable. That is not a problem with her. That is information about them.

When chronic deception enters a relationship, that woman gets managed down. She gets told she is too much, not enough, too sensitive, too demanding. And so she starts distrusting the very instincts that made her strong. That is not weakness. That is what happens when someone skilled at manipulation gets close enough to do damage.

Finding her again can start somatically — in your body. How does it feel when you know your worth? When you are not performing it or proving it, just living from it? You might not be able to access that right now, and that is okay. The goal is not to perform self-worth. It is just to remember that she is still in there.

I watch my four-year-old granddaughter and I think about this all the time. She is at peak authentic living right now. She has no interest in managing my feelings about the shirt I am wearing. She just tells me the truth and moves on. Her body is free. She does not care how she looks in the middle of the grocery store. She is just fully herself.

We all started there. Some of us lost it earlier than others. But that girl — the one who did not need permission to exist — she never actually left.

"I Miss Me More When I'm With You"

This might be the most important line in the entire song.

She does not just miss herself. She misses herself most acutely when she is with him. His presence is the context in which she disappears. And that is the signal — not the arguments, not the betrayals, not the lies. The signal is the disappearing.

When you lose yourself more in someone's presence than you do in their absence, that relationship is not a place where you can grow. It is a place where you have learned to survive. And for too many of you, survival has been the only option for far too long.

This lyric is also, I think, one of the most quietly validating things I have heard for women who feel guilty about leaving. Because most of you did not leave because you stopped loving this person. You left because staying meant disappearing completely. You left because you chose to love yourself again. And those two things are completely different — and that difference is exactly why this is not a normal divorce.

Coming Home to Yourself

Missing yourself is not a sign that something is broken. It might actually be a sign that you are waking up. Some part of you has been standing at the door the whole time, holding it open, waiting for the rest of you to be ready to walk through.

Your job right now is not to have it all together. It is not to sprint into your post-divorce life wearing some crown of arrived-ness. It is just to take one small step back toward yourself today.

Maybe that is getting your favorite drink. Maybe it is watching a show you actually want to watch. Maybe it is listening to this song and letting yourself feel it. Maybe it is just sitting quietly and remembering that you still exist underneath all of this.

Journal Prompt

Describe a moment — before this relationship, or early in your life — when you felt most like yourself. What were you doing? What did it feel like in your body? What did you know about yourself in that moment that you want to remember?

Resources

Healing After Divorce Spotify playlist — link in show notes

Work with Amie: amiewoolsey.com | lifecoachingwithamie.com

Free monthly live Q&A — first Thursday of every month: amiewoolsey.com

Kyndal “ I MIss Me Too”