When The Leaves Change, So Do I

The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.

This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at CU Boulder chapter.

Every year as the leaves begin to change and fall, I can’t help but feel like I’m changing right alongside them. There’s something about watching the world around me transform that stirs something deep within— the crisp air and shifting colors remind me that growth is inevitable, even when we’re not quite ready for it. The leaves change, the world moves forward, and so do I.

It’s funny how something as simple as nature can mirror what’s going on inside us. When summer fades and the air cools, I notice myself entering a new mental space—one that’s a bit more reflective, a bit more introspective. I’ve always associated autumn with a sense of shedding the old and making room for the new. Just like the trees let go of their leaves, I find myself letting go of the things I no longer need: old habits, outdated mindsets, and even emotions that I’ve been holding onto for far too long.

The changing leaves remind me that maturity isn’t always something you notice in real-time. It happens quietly, in the background, just like the gradual shift from green to gold, crimson, or brown. One day, you wake up, and suddenly, everything feels different—not because something major has happened, but because you’ve changed. Just like the trees, we’re constantly evolving, shedding parts of ourselves, and growing into something new.

For me, autumn is a season of reflection and emotional growth. As the world slows down, I find myself slowing down too—taking time to check in with where I am emotionally. The leaves falling signal that it’s time to let go of the emotional baggage I’ve been carrying. Whether it’s the lingering frustrations, the doubts, or the insecurities, I realize it’s time to release them when they no longer serve me.

There’s a quiet beauty in that release, just as there is in watching leaves flutter to the ground. It’s not about erasing or forgetting what we’ve been through, but about making peace with it. The leaves don’t mourn their fall; they simply let go, trusting that something new will bloom in their place when the time is right. In the same way, I’ve learned that growth doesn’t come from clinging to what’s comfortable—it comes from letting go and making room for what’s next, even when you don’t know what that will be.

This mindset shift, from holding on to trusting in the process of change, is something I’ve been learning to embrace more each year. Maturity, I’ve found, is less about having all the answers and more about being okay with the uncertainty. It’s about knowing that change is coming and accepting that it’s part of the cycle. Just like the trees, we have our seasons—times of bloom, times of shedding, and times of quiet growth beneath the surface.

As I reflect on the past year with the changing leaves as my backdrop, I notice the small ways I’ve matured. I’m more comfortable with who I am, more at peace with the things I can’t control, and less afraid of letting go. The old fears that used to keep me up at night feel distant now, like memories from a past version of myself. I’m learning to trust my own growth, even when it doesn’t look the way I expected.

The leaves teach me that maturity isn’t about having everything figured out, but about being willing to grow through the changes—embracing the messiness of it all. Sometimes that means letting go of relationships or dreams that no longer fit, or adjusting my mindset when I realize I’ve outgrown old ways of thinking. It’s a process, just like the seasons, and it doesn’t happen all at once. But little by little, I can see it happening in the way I react to challenges, how I approach my emotions, and how I choose to move forward.

So, as the leaves change and the air cools, I remind myself that it’s okay to let go. It’s okay to change. Growth is constant, and just like the trees, I’m allowed to shed what no longer serves me. Because when the leaves change, so do I—and that’s the beauty of it. Every season is a chance to become a new version of myself, more in tune with who I am and who I’m becoming.