I Met My Younger Self For Coffee...

I met my younger self for coffee today. She sat across from me, small and unsure, hands wrapped around her cup like it was the only thing grounding her to this moment. Her eyes flickered with hesitation scanning the room, scanning me, searching for something. Proof that I was real, that I wasn’t just some cruel trick her mind was playing.

Neither of us ordered coffee. We never liked the taste, but for some reason, my younger self still looked skeptical of my drink choice.

“Hot chocolate?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged and with a smirk said, “some things never change.”

She nodded slowly, stirring her drink. Something sweet, something safe. She put her hands back around the cup like it’s tethering her to the moment as if she was still waiting for me to disappear.

She looked at me, cautious. “You look… okay.”

I smile. “I am.”

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for years.

“Do we still want to work with kiddos in the hospital?” Her voice was quiet, like she was afraid of the answer. Like she was bracing for another dream to be ripped away.

I nodded. “We do. And we made it. We’ve worked at a highly ranked children’s hospital for over 2 years now.”

Her hands tightened around the cup. “No way.”

I laughed softly. “Yes way.”

She studied me, searching my face for the lie. “But we’re–” She stopped, as if saying it out loud would make it true again.

“Broken?” I finished for her. “Too much of a mess? Too lost? To much of a burden?”

She swallowed hard.

I met her gaze. “We’re not. We never were.”

She looked away, eyes glistening. “I don’t believe you.”

I leaned forward. “You don’t have to yet, but one day, you will.”

She traced the rim of her cup. “Does it get easier?”

I thought about how to answer. “Not always,” I admitted. “Some days are still hard. Some nights still feel heavy. But, you get stronger. You learn how to carry it without letting it swallow you. And even how to share the load with safe people.”

She didn’t speak for a moment. Then, barely above a whisper, “Do we still want to die?”

I hesitated, not wanting to lie. “Sometimes.”

Her breath hitched. She valued my honesty, but wished for a different answer.

“But,” I continued strongly, “we want to live so much more.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet mine. “Really?” She said with a shake in her voice.

I smiled, and for the first time, she didn’t flinch at it. “Really.”

She stared down at her hands, processing. “I didn’t think I would live this long.”

I reached across the table, resting my hand near hers; not touching but close enough for her to feel the warmth. “I know.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to keep it together. “So… what changed?”

I let the question sit between us. “A lot of things. Time. People. Small moments that reminded us that even when it feels like we are alone, we’re not. We find reasons to stay. And then, one day, we become someone else’s reason.”

She inhaled sharply, like the weight of that truth had landed deep in her chest. “Someone else’s reason?”

I nodded. “We get to work with kids who feel like we did. And we get to be the person we always needed.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry.

After a moment, she opened them again, and for the first time, I saw something different; something I remembered searching for so many nights.

Hope.

I took a sip of my hot chocolate and grinned. “Oh, and we are an auntie now!”

Her head snapped up again. “What?”

I laughed. “Yeah! The two most precious girls you’ll ever meet. Both Elizabeth’s named Eloise and Madelyn.”

She looked at me, stunned. “We really have nieces?”

“Yup. And we love them even more than we thought possible.”

Her face softened, for a second, I could see her picturing it; tiny hands grabbing ours, little voices calling out “Auntie Jo!” I could see her trying to imagine what it would look like to be loved like that. To be needed in such a simple, beautiful way.

“They love us?” She asked, almost as if she was scared of the answer.

“So much,” I said, “and we love them right back.”

“Do we ever find any friends?” She said quickly as if she had been longing for this answer.

“Yes!” I say, “and not the kind that make you feel like you have to shrink yourself down to be worthy of them. Real friends. The kind that see you - the real you - and don’t run away. The kind who stay and challenge you to be a better person.”

She stared at me, skepical yet again, but wanting to believe me.

She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual, and in an almost whisper said, “So… we made it, huh?”

I grinned. “Yeah. And we are going to help other kids make it too.”

She shook her head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. “That’s wild.”

“Tell me about it.”

She sat back in her chair, looking at me like she was seeing something new in her own relection. And then, a slow smile spread across her face.

“I think I like you.”

I laughed. “Good. You’ll be spending a lot of time with me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t stop smiling. As she stood to leave, she hesitated for just a second. “One last thing.”

“Yeah?”

“... Thank you. For not giving up on me.”

I felt my throat tighten.

“Anytime,” I said. “And hey. Thank you for holding on.”

She nodded, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Then, with one last glance over her shoulder, she walked away.

A little lighter.

I watched as she stepped out of the cafe and disappeared down the street, heading back to a life that feels unbearable and hasn’t unfolded yet.

And then I sit here, alone.

I take a breath. The world around me is the same as it was before. Cars passing outside, baristas calling out for orders, the low hum of conversation. But something inside me feels different. I am also lighter, somehow.

I pick up my phone, scrolling to my sisters’ names. I send a quick message. Just “Hey, how’s you day?” Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. But a connection, however small.

Then, I open my computer to my see grades. I smile, already shifting back into the person I am now. The one who made it. The one my younger self never though she’d become.

Outside, a group of friends walk by, laughing about something I’ll never know. A warmth speads through me as I think of my own friends; the ones I’ve found, the ones who stayed.

I take one last look at the empty seat across from me before standing up, grabbing my things, and heading out the door.

Life is waiting. And I am so ready for it.