Dear Younger Me,
I’m writing this from a place you can’t yet imagine—a version of you shaped by years of triumphs, stumbles, and quiet revelations. You’re standing there, wide-eyed and restless, with dreams too big for your small hands to hold. I see you, teetering on the edge of everything, and I wish I could pull you aside, sit you down, and tell you what I know now. Not to spare you the pain—because, trust me, you’ll need it—but to give you a lantern for the darker paths ahead.
First, stop chasing perfection. You’re spending so much time trying to be flawless—perfect grades, perfect choices, perfect you—that you’re missing the messy, beautiful chaos of being human. I wish I could shake you and say: It’s okay to fail. That test you’re crying over? It won’t define you. That friendship you’re clinging to, even though it’s breaking your heart? Let it go—it’s not your failure to fix. The cracks are where the light seeps in, and one day you’ll see how those fractures made you stronger.
And oh, those dreams you’re sketching in notebooks late at night—don’t let anyone tell you they’re too big. Right now, you’re scared to say them out loud because they sound impossible. But here’s the secret: the wildest ones, the ones that keep you awake, are the ones worth chasing. You don’t need to know how yet; you just need to start. The road will show itself, winding and rough, but every step will teach you something. I wish you knew that the things you’re afraid to try are the very things that will one day make you proudest.
Time feels endless to you now, doesn’t it? You think you’ve got forever to figure it out. But it slips through your fingers faster than you realize. Don’t waste it on people who dim your spark or worries that won’t matter in a year. That boy who doesn’t see your worth? Walk away—he’s a shadow, not your sun. Those late nights obsessing over what people think? They’re not thinking about you—they’re too busy with their own storms. Spend your energy on what lights you up, even if it’s just a flicker for now.
You’re going to hurt, though. I can’t shield you from that. There are nights coming where you’ll feel like the world’s caving in—losses you won’t see coming, betrayals that cut deep. But listen: you’ll survive them. Every single one. You’re tougher than you know, and that resilience is building inside you even now, in the moments you feel weakest. I wish you could see that the tears you’re shedding are watering something incredible—a you that’s braver, wiser, and more alive than you can fathom.
Forgive yourself sooner, okay? You’re going to make mistakes—big, sloppy, cringe-worthy ones. You’ll replay them in your head, wondering how you could’ve been so foolish. But those missteps? They’re your teachers. They’re not your identity. I wish I could hug you tight and whisper: You’re enough, even when you mess up. Stop carrying guilt like a backpack full of bricks—it’s slowing you down from where you’re meant to go.
And love—God, I wish I could prepare you for love. It’s not what the movies promised, all grand gestures and fairy-tale endings. It’s raw and complicated and sometimes it leaves scars. But don’t let that harden you. Stay open, even when it stings. The real stuff, the kind worth having, comes when you least expect it—and it’ll teach you more about yourself than anything else. You don’t need to rush it, though. You’re complete on your own, and I wish you believed that sooner.
If there’s one thing I’d beg you to hold onto, it’s this: trust yourself. That quiet voice inside, the one you keep second-guessing? It knows more than you think. The world’s going to try to drown it out with noise—expectations, doubts, shoulds—but don’t let it. You’ve got a compass in there, and it’ll guide you even when the map’s torn to shreds.
I’m proud of you, you know. Even now, with all your uncertainties and stumbles, you’re fighting to become me. And I’m still fighting too, to become someone even better. We’re in this together, you and I—different chapters of the same wild, imperfect story. So keep going, little me. You’ve got no idea how far you’ll fly.
With all the love I’ve learned to give,
Your Older Self
