If She Could See Me Now

One of my favorite exercises in the personal development world used to be writing a letter to your younger self.

However… sit with that for a bit — 

Is that something we really want to do?

Do we really want to read letters from our adult selves, giving away all the experiences, secrets, and events 

that will transpire and become lessons and memories?

Do we really want to have the path of our failures laid out ahead of us, 

just to be told: “Don’t worry, younger version… the road is hard but worth it in the end. 

Be brave”.

Do we really want little cryptic clues about the person we are going to become?

I certainly do not.

Of all that I have learned and come to understand — 

it’s important to learn from the past but not carry it with us every single day.

I don’t want to wear the past like my favorite dress I save for special occasions…

bringing it into my present and future, so when I walk by windows, I see it in the reflection.

I want the past to be like a photo album that collects dust — 

something I glance at every now and then.

Not to reminisce deeply on the moments themselves, 

but just to remember that they are part of the story I am still writing.

When I think about it,

if she could see me now — 

that little girl version of me,

peeking through all the moments where she cowered and hid — 

hid from life

hid from herself…

I know she’d be excited.

If she could see me now,

Her eyes would light up at all the possibilities.

Because even though it’s hard — 

even though heartbreak and change are real — 

joy and opportunity still find a way to fill in the cracks.

I honor her.

The girl from my past who held pain and hope in the same hand.

The girl who made mistakes,

Even with all the outside voices warning her of what could happen — 

and she dove headfirst into them anyway.

Because lets be honest…we often seek advice, knowing we’re not going to follow it.

I honor the girl who survived things quietly

who kept walking a rocky road into who I have now become.

When I see her now, I see those dreams she wore on her sleeve,

right next to her heart — 

like when you let your hand float out the car window,

feeling the wind lift and dip it in rhythm.

If she could see me now,

She’d know it’s okay to be both soft and powerful.

To be still, while still moving.

If she could see me now,

she’d know that you can fall apart and still take painful breaths — 

still fill up your chest with air — 

still take tiny steps forward,

even while something inside you is being pulled backwards.

If she could see me now,

she’d see the pieces slowly coming together — 

some are new,

some repaired

some still broken,

but shaped into something entirely different — 

something beautiful.

A mosaic of what was,

what is,

and what’s still becoming.

She’d see that the shattered parts

made room for something new to grow

not perfect — 

but honest,

and whole in a different way.

If she could see me now,

she’d dance in wild circles at the freedom,

at the warm, soft, bold, sprit I’ve become.

The woman who is curious,

who takes risks,

who accepts failures as just another lesson,

another chance.

On the winding path toward her own unique version of greatness.

If she could see me now…

but she can.

And maybe — just maybe — 

you can too.