Becoming Someone My Younger Self Would Be Proud Of

Sometimes, when life feels overwhelming or uncertain, I close my eyes and imagine her.

The younger version of me.

Barefoot on the grass, wild dreams tangled in her hair, eyes wide with wonder.

She had questions no one could answer, hopes too big for her world, and fears she didn’t yet know how to name.

I wonder what she’d think if she saw me now.

Would she recognize me? Would she feel proud? Would she understand all the choices I had to make, the things I had to lose, the people I had to outgrow?

I hope so.

Because everything I’ve built—every painful pivot, every whispered prayer, every brave new beginning—was done with her in mind.

Childhood Isn’t as Distant as We Think

There’s a belief that childhood is something we leave behind. That once we grow up, we shed those earlier selves like old skins and move on.

But I don’t believe that.

I think the younger versions of ourselves stay with us. Watching. Listening. Waiting to be remembered.

They show up when we’re scared to try something new.

They whisper when we’re about to give up.

They cheer for us when we do something bold.

And more than anything, they long to see us become what they once dared to imagine.

The Dreams I Let Go Of

There are dreams I had as a child that I didn’t pursue. Some because I changed. Others because life did.

I thought I’d become an astronaut. Or a poet. Or someone who lived by the sea and wrote novels in notebooks.

Instead, I became someone who paid bills. Managed anxiety. Navigated heartbreak. Learned boundaries. Rebuilt myself.

And yet, I don’t feel like I failed her.

Because the deeper dream—the one beneath all the details—wasn’t about the job or the house or the accolades.

It was about becoming someone who felt free, kind, and alive.

And that’s exactly who I’ve been learning to become.

The Choices That Took Courage

If I could sit with my younger self, I wouldn’t tell her all the “right” choices I made. I’d tell her about the ones that scared me—but shaped me.

I’d tell her about:

Leaving situations that looked good on paper but felt hollow

Choosing healing over numbing, even when it hurt

Speaking up when silence would’ve been easier

Starting over—more than once—with nothing but hope

She wouldn’t understand the details. But she’d understand the courage.

And maybe that would be enough.

Who I Had to Unbecome

Before I could become someone my younger self would be proud of, I had to unbecome who the world told me to be.

I had to let go of perfectionism, people-pleasing, and the obsession with proving my worth.

I had to stop chasing applause and start chasing alignment.

I had to learn that growth sometimes looks like loss.

That the strongest version of me was not the one who had it all together—but the one who kept going when everything fell apart.

My younger self didn’t have the words for this kind of strength.

But she’d recognize the fire in my eyes.

What Pride Really Looks Like

The kind of pride I feel today doesn’t come from trophies, titles, or Instagram posts.

It comes from knowing I kept showing up.

Even when I was scared.

Even when I didn’t feel ready.

Even when the world told me I wasn’t enough.

It comes from being gentle with myself. From honoring my capacity. From choosing integrity over image.

My younger self wouldn’t care about my job title or bank account.

She’d care that I learned how to love myself.

That I didn’t let the world harden me.

That I still believed in magic—even after all the mess.

Messages I’d Send to My Younger Self

If I could write her a letter, I’d say:

Dear You,

You are not too sensitive.

Your dreams are not silly.

Your voice matters, even when it shakes.

One day, you’ll be the one holding space for others.

One day, you’ll understand why it all had to happen this way.

And you’ll be proud—not because you avoided pain, but because you turned it into purpose.

Love,

Future You

Becoming Her Hero

I used to look for heroes in movies, books, and people older than me. Now, I look inward.

I want to live in a way that makes her proud—not because I’ve done everything right, but because I didn’t abandon myself.

I want to be the kind of adult who protects her curiosity, who honors her softness, who tells the truth about how hard it is—and how worth it it all becomes.

Final Thoughts: You’re Becoming, Too

Maybe you’re not where you thought you’d be. Maybe your life looks different than the vision board you made when you were ten.

That’s okay.

Because becoming someone your younger self would be proud of isn’t about perfection.

It’s about alignment.

It’s about integrity.

It’s about wholeness.

It’s about becoming someone who listens to their heart, speaks their truth, and keeps going—even when it’s hard.

And if you’re doing that?

You’re doing just fine.

In fact, I think your younger self would be cheering right now.