Change Hurts, Even When It’s Good

I keep telling myself this: I want this change. I chose it.

As an INFJ, I dream about change like other people dream about vacations. I crave transformation. I want fresh chapters, blank pages, new beginnings. The suburbs have started to feel too small for me, too quiet, too settled. My soul has been whispering for months: It’s time to go.

And so, I’m going. I’m moving into downtown Boston. A new apartment. A new neighborhood. A whole new rhythm of life.

But here’s the thing no one tells you: even the changes you want the most can break your heart a little.

The Sentimentality of Furniture

I thought it would be easy. Just furniture, right? A chair, a bookshelf, a coffee table. Things you can buy again. Things you can replace.

But when I started letting go of them, something cracked open in me. Because it turns out these objects are not just things. They are witnesses. They’ve been with me through late-night tears and quiet mornings. They’ve held my books, my coffee, my whole heart while I figured out who I was in this last chapter of my life.

And saying goodbye to them feels like saying goodbye to her — the version of me who lived in the suburbs, who carried these pieces in and built a home around them.

INFJs don’t just live in places. We soak them in. We become them. Which means leaving isn’t just packing boxes — it’s peeling off an entire layer of self.

Why Change Still Feels Like Loss

Here’s what I’m learning: every change, even the good ones, is a death of sorts.

You can be wildly excited about your next chapter and still grieve the last one. You can crave the city lights and still mourn the quiet streets. You can believe with all your heart that this is right — and still cry over an old couch you never really liked.

It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human.

For INFJs, this duality is even louder. We see the big picture — the bright new life waiting just ahead. But we also feel every goodbye in our bones. Our depth means that we don’t just move apartments. We move universes.

Walking Into Boston

Soon, I’ll step into my new place in Boston. I’ll set down the boxes. I’ll look out the window at the skyline instead of the trees. I’ll breathe in that feeling of new.

And my heart will expand and ache at the same time. Because that’s what change does: it cracks us open, makes us more tender, more awake, more alive.

INFJs live for meaning, and change is how meaning finds us. It pushes us forward, reminds us that we’re not done yet, that there’s more to see, more to feel, more to become.

So here I am — packing, letting go, grieving, and leaping. It’s messy. It’s beautiful. It’s hard. It’s holy.

Change isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to make you new.