A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Younger Me,

I’m writing to you not from a place of perfection, but from a place of understanding. I’ve lived through the years you’re about to face — the awkward ones, the heartbreaking ones, the deeply uncertain and quietly beautiful ones. And while I won’t spoil the ending, I will offer you the wisdom I wish someone had handed me when I was still in your shoes.

First, let me tell you something that might surprise you: you are already enough.

I know you don’t feel that way. I remember the way you stare into the mirror and try to find something to fix. I remember the feeling of not belonging in your own skin, as if you’re always a little too much or never quite enough. I remember the ache to be liked, to be seen, to be loved in the loud, unquestionable way people are in movies. And I wish I could reach back through time, kneel down in front of you, and say it as clearly as possible: you do not need to earn your worth.

There will be people who try to convince you otherwise. Some of them will mean well, others won’t. You'll find yourself changing parts of yourself to fit into rooms where you never truly belonged. You’ll quiet your voice, smooth out your rough edges, shrink your spirit just to make others comfortable. But let me tell you, the people who truly love you will never ask you to become smaller for their comfort.

You’re going to get your heart broken. I won’t tell you how many times, but I will tell you that each time it happens, you’ll think it’s the end. You’ll stare at your phone waiting for a message that won’t come. You’ll cry into your pillow so softly your parents won’t hear. And yes, you’ll question if you were ever good enough for them to stay. But one day, you’ll be thankful they left. Because the right people don’t make you beg to be loved.

Heartbreak will teach you how to love yourself better. Every tear will water the roots of resilience. You’ll learn how to be your own home. And eventually, when love returns, you’ll recognize it not by how much it hurts, but by how gently it stays.

School will feel like everything, but it’s not. Your grades don’t define your intelligence, and your popularity doesn’t define your worth. You are more than test scores, more than friend circles, more than the clothes you wear or the likes you get. Life is so much bigger than high school — it stretches out in ways you can’t imagine right now. So don’t spend all your energy trying to be someone you're not for people who won’t even remember your last name in ten years.

You’re going to fail. And it will sting. You’ll try things and fall flat on your face. You’ll be rejected — from jobs, from people, from opportunities you wanted so badly it hurt to let them go. But every "no" will bring you closer to your "yes." Failure isn’t the opposite of success — it’s part of the journey toward it. I promise you, the fear of failing will hold you back more than failure ever will.

Let me also say this: don’t wait to start living the way you want. Stop saying, “I’ll be happy when...” Happiness isn’t hiding on the other side of achievement. It’s here, in the messy, in-between moments — dancing alone in your room, laughing until your stomach hurts with your best friend, watching the sunset with no one to impress. Chase those moments. They’re the ones that stay.

You’re going to change — and that’s a good thing. Don’t hold so tightly to the version of yourself you think you have to be. Life will shape you. It will soften you in some places and sharpen you in others. Let it. Evolving isn’t betrayal — it’s growth.

And here’s the part I want you to hear most clearly: forgive yourself. You will make mistakes. You’ll hurt people you care about. You’ll make decisions that, in hindsight, you wish you could take back. But you are human. You’re learning. Don’t carry shame where there should be compassion. Offer yourself the same grace you so freely give others.

Lastly, know this — you’re going to be okay. Better than okay, actually. You’ll survive the days you thought you wouldn’t. You’ll laugh again after the tears. You’ll find people who see you — really see you — and love you just as you are. You’ll create a life that feels like yours. And one day, you’ll look back at the girl you were — scared, brave, messy, and trying her best — and you’ll feel nothing but love for her.

So hold on. Keep going. Believe in something even when you can’t see it yet. Your story is far from over. The best parts are still unfolding.

With love and understanding,

Me — from the other side of the storm.