The realization that you’ve lost yourself is a startling, off-putting, and often demoralizing experience. But what if I told you that realization means you’re already on the road to finding yourself again?

The concept of “losing yourself” is wild. What does that even mean? You’re always there—so how could you lose you? That’s what happens when youthful automation collides with adult adjustment.

When we’re kids, we just are. If we grow up in a good environment, we move through life being ourselves, unfiltered, curious, and kind of chaotic. Then social things start to matter. We want approval. We want belonging. We want to be liked.

And so, little by little, we start to adjust. We edit. We curate. Sometimes it’s a response to trauma or a big life event, but more often, it’s just an attempt to fit in. Over time, those edits start to look like who we really are... but they’re not.

No matter what we do, where we go, or what circles we run in, we’re still Dre.
We’re still the proverbial Ice Spice shaking ass in the deli.
We’re still Jenny from the block, or, in this case, a self-righteous, self-centered, very talented dancer, moderately talented actress, and questionably “talented” singer from the Bronx.
Or as Kesha said, we are who we are.

When I wrote the blog about coming home to yourself, that concept was already simmering. Over the last ten years—being in front of cameras, building The Butters, and just... growing, I started noticing a change in myself. I’m far more subdued now, both on camera and off. You could call it “maturity” or say it was just youthful arrogance fading but honestly, that loud, bold, unfiltered energy is me.

Somewhere between being overmedicated, getting into a relationship, and surviving a bad breakup, I lost parts of my spark. And though I couldn’t put my finger on it until recently, I realized that I only recognized I’d lost myself because I was already so close to finding me again.

Emotionally, I’ve been feeling great—but something still wasn’t connecting. My instinctual hunger and drive felt... quieter. People say that fades with age or success, but I knew that wasn’t true for me.

Tangential detour:
My autistic self will never be content sitting still. That sounds so boring. You might as well kill me if I have to sit down permanently, unless I have a big family to pour love into. Then maybe. 

Tangent over.

So I knew the drive hadn’t disappeared. The Butters still lights that fire. The question was—how do I harness it again?

The truth is, I’d reached the end of instinctual knowledge and hit the point where I needed actual knowledge. When I first started in media, everything I did was pure instinct—every choice was a gut call. But instincts get clouded by feelings over time. You have to understand the why behind your decisions, even when you’re not in that same headspace anymore. Otherwise, you risk destroying what you’ve built, or in this case, losing yourself.

That’s how self-loss happens. You forget why you made adjustments. You forget that the version you’re performing isn’t the full, raw you, it’s a curated character designed to appease people.

Peeling that away takes time. It can feel like filtering mud out of water—slow, messy, but doable. Maybe you need to change locations. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you need to start fresh—or burn it all down and bathe in the ashes.

It might take an Olympic-level effort. It might take years. But remember, it also took years to lose yourself. You built layers. You can peel them back. Slowly. Intentionally.

If you want to over-intellectualize this a bit, you could think of it as inner child work. Essentially, you need to go back and ask your younger self why you did what you did. You need to trust that you were right—even if you don’t fully understand it anymore.

As long as it wasn’t a destructive decision or an antisocial way of being, there was no reason to carve that piece of yourself away. Let’s start restoring the artwork that is your natural, wonderful, powerful, abstract self.

Tangent:
Over the past few years, I’ve often looked at myself and thought, Wow, teenage me would be really happy to see me right now.
When I interact with kids who remind me of who I was, their reactions warm my heart. They make me glow like a thousand suns. Because at the end of the day, it’s not really the adult me I’m ever trying to impress or make happy—because there is no adult me.

Jerome Stuart Nichols of 2025 is the same Jerome Stuart Nichols of 2005.
He’s just more responsible, more talented, and smarter. Not to mention the salt and pepper in my beard has made me even more devastatingly handsome.
Tangent end.

My question to you:

If teenage you saw you right now, what would they think? Would they think you were cool, smart, pretty, mean, or lost? Would they roll their eyes and say your outfit sucks—or would they think it’s rad? Would they like your hair? Your car? Would you feel embarassed explaining the situation you're in to teenage you?

That’s the compass.
That’s the mirror.
If the younger version of you would smile, laugh, or feel proud of who you’ve become, you’re probably getting close to home.

 

Reflections with Mr Butters is a series where I (Jerome Stuart Nichols AKA Mr. Butters) let you into my mind and my growth in real time. If you wanna learn from my learning, grow from my growing, or laugh with me, this is the series for you.