Dear Younger Me,
I see you.
I see the tears you cry in silence, the kind you wipe away quickly so no one asks questions you do not know how to answer. I see the way you lie awake at night, staring into the dark, wondering if things will ever make sense, if the weight in your chest will ever lift.
I see how hard you are trying.
Trying to be strong when you feel like you are breaking.
Trying to smile when your heart feels heavy.
Trying to hold everything together when no one even realizes you are falling apart.
You think no one notices.
But I do.
I know how deeply you feel things. I know how much you want to be understood, how badly you want someone to look at you and say, “I see you, and you are enough.” I know how often you question yourself, wondering if you are too much or not enough at the same time.
Let me tell you something you do not yet believe.
You are not too much.
You were never not enough.
You are simply becoming.
So please, breathe.
Do not stress yourself over everything. Not every delay is failure. Not every closed door is rejection. Not every tear is a sign of weakness. Life is not against you, even when it feels that way.
No condition is permanent.
The pain you feel today will not last forever, even though it feels endless right now. One day, you will wake up and realize it no longer hurts the same way. One day, the memories that once made you cry will only make you pause, breathe, and continue.
The loneliness you feel now will teach you something beautiful.
It will teach you how to sit with yourself.
How to know your own voice.
How to recognize real love when it finally finds you.
Because it will.
And when it does, you will not have to beg for it. You will not have to shrink yourself to keep it. It will meet you where you are and stay.
The doubts that follow you like shadows will not destroy you.
They will shape you.
Every question you ask, every moment you feel unsure, every time you feel like you are not getting it right, it is all building something inside of you. Strength you cannot yet see. Wisdom you do not yet understand.
Everything that feels like it is breaking you is quietly building you.
I wish you could see what I see now.
I wish you could see the woman you are becoming.
She is strong, but not in the way you think. Not because she never falls, but because she always rises. She is soft, but not weak. She has learned that softness is not something to hide, but something to protect.
She has learned to choose herself.
Not perfectly. Not every day. But enough to know she deserves peace.
Those scars you are afraid of right now, the ones you wish you could erase—one hide but—one—one day you will carry them differently. They will no longer feel like wounds. They will feel like proof.
Proof that you survived.
Proof that you endured.
Proof that you kept going when it would have been easier to give up.
They will become your crown.
And the battles that made you feel small, the ones that made you question your worth, will one day become the stories that help someone else breathe again.
You will speak, and someone will feel seen.
You will write, and someone will feel understood.
You will exist, and it will matter more than you ever imagined.
So be patient with yourself.
You do not have to have everything figured out. You do not have to be perfect. You do not have to carry everything alone.
You are allowed to grow slowly.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to become.
And one day, you will look back at this version of you, not with sadness, but with gratitude.
Because she did not give up.
And because of that, you are here.
