A Love Letter to the Girl I Used to Be

Dear khuzaifa ali

I see you.

Sitting on your bedroom floor, knees pulled to your chest, trying so hard not to cry too loudly because you don’t want anyone to hear. You feel like the world is moving forward without you, like everyone else has a map and you’re just wandering in circles. You’ve convinced yourself that you’re too much for some people and not enough for others—and somehow, both feel true.

I want to tell you something that no one else will: You’re doing better than you think.

You don’t believe it now, I know. You think your kindness makes you weak. You think your silence makes you invisible. You think love only comes when you’re prettier, thinner, more confident—when you’re finally “fixed.”

But love? Real love? It won’t come when you’re perfect. It will come when you’re honest—with yourself first.

Let me be honest with you.

You’re going to lose people you thought would never leave. Some slowly, others suddenly. The goodbyes will sting, and you’ll wonder what you did wrong. But later, you’ll understand: some people were lessons, not lifelines. Some left because their chapter in your story ended. And that’s okay. You will still write the next one—on your own terms.

There will be days when getting out of bed feels like lifting a mountain. Days when your own reflection feels foreign. You’ll look for validation in places that don’t deserve your presence. You’ll mistake attention for love. You’ll confuse silence with peace. And through all of it, you will grow.

Quietly. Painfully. But undeniably.

I won’t sugarcoat it—growth isn’t pretty. It’s messy. It’s crying on the bathroom floor. It’s letting go of the person you thought you needed to be. It’s setting boundaries that make you feel guilty at first but free later. It’s choosing yourself even when it feels selfish.

But with every version you shed, you will step closer to the one you were always becoming.You’re going to lose people you thought would never leave. Some slowly, others suddenly. The goodbyes will sting, and you’ll wonder what you did wrong. But later, you’ll understand: some people were lessons, not lifelines. Some left because their chapter in your story ended. And that’s okay. You will still write the next one—on your own terms.

There will be days when getting out of bed feels like lifting a mountain. Days when your own reflection feels foreign. You’ll look for validation in places that don’t deserve your presence. You’ll mistake attention for love. You’ll confuse silence with peace. And through all of it, you will grow.

Quietly. Painfully. But undeniably.

I won’t sugarcoat it—growth isn’t pretty. It’s messy. It’s crying on the bathroom floor. It’s letting go of the person you thought you needed to be. It’s setting boundaries that make you feel guilty at first but free later. It’s choosing yourself even when it feels selfish.

But with every version you shed, you will step closer to the one you were always becoming.And I love you for that.

With everything,

Me

Healing doesn’t arrive all at once. It comes in small, quiet ways—like the day you say “no” and mean it, or the first time you look in the mirror and don’t criticize what you see. It’s found in the friendships you protect, the boundaries you no longer apologize for, and the peace that starts to replace the chaos in your chest. The girl I used to be didn’t know how strong she was, but every hard moment shaped the woman I am now. I’ve learned that becoming doesn’t happen overnight—it happens every time you choose growth over comfort, truth over fear, and self-love over approval.

Moral of the Story:

We often look back at our past selves with judgment, but those broken, confused, and hurting versions of us carried us through the hardest parts. Growth may not always be graceful—but every scar, every setback, and every moment of self-doubt leads to strength. Honor who you were, because she is the reason you’ve become who you are.