Dear Younger Me

There’s a trend floating around — writing letters to our younger selves.
And I thought about skipping it.
Because for a long time, looking back was hard. Tender. A little too close to the bone.

But then I realized...
She deserves a letter.
Not because she was broken.
But because she was trying so damn hard.

Dear Younger Me,

I see you.

God, I wish you could see what I see now.

You’re standing there in those too-tight jeans, sucking in your stomach, trying to be small — trying to be liked more than you’re trying to be whole.

You’re brushing your hair, checking your reflection, wondering if you’re enough.
And I want to reach through the years and hold your face in my hands and say:
“You are. You always were.”

I want you to stop apologizing.
For being loud. For being soft. For being emotional. For not knowing what you want yet.

You’re not supposed to have it all figured out.
You’re not supposed to look perfect.
You’re supposed to live.
Messy, loud, heart-on-your-sleeve kind of living.

And babe… you’re doing it.

There Will Be Days You Break

You’ll cry in bathrooms.
You’ll love the wrong people.
You’ll lose pieces of yourself trying to make everyone else comfortable.

And you’ll come back stronger — not tougher, just truer.

You’ll stop measuring your worth by how little space you take up.
You’ll stop letting silence eat your truth.

You’ll finally stand all the way up in your own life.
And it will be the most sacred, powerful thing you’ve ever done.

One Day You’ll Look in the Mirror…

And you won’t suck anything in.
You’ll run your fingers through your grey hair, your soft skin, your worn-in laugh lines — and you’ll smile.
Not because you gave up.
But because you finally came home to yourself.

That feeling you’ve been chasing?
The peace, the ease, the enough-ness?

It was always waiting for you.

So Here’s What I Need You to Know…

You’re not failing. You’re becoming.
Everything you’re scared of right now?
You’ll live through it. And it’ll shape you in the most beautiful, necessary ways.

I won’t lie — it’s going to hurt sometimes.
But you’ll be okay.

More than okay.

You’ll be free.

And one day, you’ll write her a letter.
Not because she needed fixing.
But because she was the beginning of you.

With all the love in the world,
Me

Let Me Know

If this letter stirred something in you, I want to invite you to write your own.

Not the polished, pretty version — but the real one. The version your younger self actually needed to hear.

You don’t have to post it. You don’t have to share it. But if you do — tag me. Or message me. I’ll read every word.

We are not alone in this becoming.
And maybe the healing starts with telling her: “You made it.”