A Letter to Myself

Dear 12-Year-Old Me,

I know you feel so alone right now. You probably feel like no one really sees you, like your thoughts and your feelings are locked inside, and no one understands. It’s like you’re surrounded by people, but there’s this wall, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to break through it. You’re not sure who you are yet, and you’re terrified of the idea that you might never figure it out.

You’ve already started hiding pieces of yourself. You tell yourself you’re being “good” and “quiet,” but deep down, you’re scared. Scared that if you let yourself speak, if you let anyone see the real you, they won’t like what they find. You’re so used to blending in, to molding yourself into whatever shape feels safest in the moment, even if it doesn’t feel right. You think if you just keep quiet enough, just fade into the background, maybe—just maybe—people will like you. Maybe then, you’ll finally feel like you belong. But it doesn’t work. It never really does.

I know how much it hurts to feel like you’re invisible, to feel like your voice doesn’t matter. To feel like you’re screaming inside, but it’s just… silence. I know how hard it is to watch others and think, Why can’t I be like that? Why can’t I have the confidence they have? And how you twist yourself into knots trying to fit into places that don’t feel like home because you’re just so desperate for someone to tell you, “You’re okay. You’re enough. You matter.”

But listen to me now—you are enough. You don’t need to be anyone else. You don’t need to change who you are to earn love or acceptance. You’re worthy just as you are. I know it’s hard to believe right now, but I need you to hear it: You will find your people. And they will love you, not because you fit into their mold, but because you are you. Not because you hide or hold back, but because you show up, as yourself.

I wish I could be there with you, hold you, and tell you how things will get better. How, one day, you won’t feel this lost. I wish I could stop the fear in your chest that keeps you from speaking your mind, from standing up for what you believe in. I wish I could take away the ache of feeling so small, so insignificant. But all I can do is tell you that you will grow. You will evolve into someone who is unrecognizably strong, and one day, you’ll look back at this version of you and be in awe of how far you’ve come.

You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Life won’t give you the perfect road map, but the journey—oh, the journey—it will teach you things you never thought possible. It will show you that mistakes aren’t failures. They’re lessons. It will teach you that you can feel lost and still find your way. That you can break and still heal. That you are allowed to be messy and imperfect and still be deeply loved.

You’re going to make it through this. You’ll grow into someone who trusts herself enough to speak up, to be seen, to say, “This is me, and I’m enough.” And you’ll finally believe it.

So, my sweet, quiet, beautiful 12-year-old self, know that it gets better. Life will hurt, but it will also be so, so worth it. And when you finally realize your worth, it’ll change everything.

With all my love and everything you need to hear,
Your 31-Year-Old Self