What I Wish I Told My Younger Self

If I could sit across from my younger self—the quiet, unsure, wide-eyed kid staring out at the world—I wouldn’t waste time with small talk. I’d dive right in, because there’s so much I wish they knew before life got loud, messy, and complicated.

First, I’d tell them: You don’t need to have it all figured out.

The world will make you feel like you should. People will ask what you want to be when you grow up, as if choosing a dream is as simple as picking a flavor of ice cream. You’ll stumble over your answer, convinced you’re already behind—but you’re not. You’re exactly where you need to be, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Perfection is a myth.

You’ll waste time chasing flawless grades, perfect performances, spotless reputations. You’ll believe that mistakes define your worth. But trust me—mistakes shape you. They crack you open, show you your edges, reveal your strength. Every stumble, every failure, every awkward misstep? It belongs to your story.

Your emotions are not weaknesses.

You’ll hear people say, “Be strong,” as if strength means silence. But your tears? Your trembling hands? Your breaking voice? They’re not signs of failure—they’re signs of feeling, of caring, of being real. Don’t bottle them up. Let them out. The world needs your softness just as much as your strength.

Not everyone stays—and that’s okay.

Friends will drift away. People you love may disappoint you. Some doors will close without warning. But every ending, every goodbye, makes room for new beginnings. You’ll lose people, but you’ll never lose yourself—unless you try to be who they expect instead of who you are.

Love yourself first.

It sounds cliché, but it’s the hardest lesson. You’ll crave approval—from parents, teachers, friends, strangers. You’ll try to earn love like it’s a prize. But the truth is, you’re worthy of love simply because you exist. You don’t need to prove it. You don’t need to perform. You’re enough.

Set boundaries early.

It’s scary to say “no,” to disappoint people, to take up space. But boundaries aren’t selfish—they’re survival. Protect your peace. Guard your energy. Respect yourself enough to walk away from what dims your light.

Healing is messy.

There’s no straight line to feeling better. Some days you’ll feel unstoppable. Other days, brushing your teeth feels impossible. That’s normal. Growth isn’t pretty, but it’s worth it. You’ll break, but you’ll rebuild. Stronger. Wiser. Softer, too.

You’ll make mistakes—and you’ll survive them.

You’ll trust the wrong people, say the wrong thing, believe lies about yourself. But those moments won’t define you. What matters is how you rise, how you learn, how you keep showing up.

Your dreams matter—even if no one else believes in them.

You’ll have wild ideas, impossible goals, quiet passions. Nurture them. The world needs dreamers, creators, rebels. Don’t shrink your dreams to fit someone else’s comfort zone.

And finally, give yourself grace.

You’ll mess up. You’ll fall short. You’ll wish you could rewind time. But perfection isn’t the goal—progress is. You’re growing, learning, becoming. That’s enough.

If I could tell my younger self these things, maybe they’d stand taller, love deeper, hurt softer. But maybe those words aren’t just for them—they’re for me, now. And maybe, just maybe, they’re for you too.

Because no matter where you are on your journey—young, old, lost, found—you’re still becoming. And that’s the most beautiful thing of all.