I’ve been thinking a lot about the woman I was five, ten, fifteen years ago.
The one who thought everything depended on getting it right the first time.
The one who believed exhaustion was proof of ambition.
The one who mistook anxiety for drive.
If I could sit across from her now — really sit with her — here’s what I would say.
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Dear You, At 22
You don’t have to prove your worth by enduring everything.
You think being strong means tolerating discomfort without complaint. You think being capable means saying yes to every opportunity, every request, every expectation.
You will learn that strength is often subtraction.
You will learn that “no” can protect you better than overachievement ever will.
And you will survive the things you think will undo you.
Not because you are invincible.
But because you are adaptable.
You don’t know that yet.
Dear You, When You First Felt Lost
You will have a year where nothing feels aligned.
Your body will feel unfamiliar. Your mind will feel louder than usual. Your work will feel heavier than it should.
You will think: “Something is wrong with me.”
Nothing is wrong with you.
You are recalibrating.
Growth doesn’t always feel like expansion. Sometimes it feels like disorientation. Like standing on ground that won’t stay still.
Stay anyway.
Dear You, Who Thought Love Meant Shrinking
You don’t have to soften yourself into something easier to handle.
You are allowed to be intense. Curious. Ambitious. Tender. Complicated.
There will be people who misunderstand that combination.
Let them.
The right people will not need you reduced.
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Dear You, Who Feared Slowing Down
Rest is not regression.
You will eventually learn that pushing harder does not always create balance. Sometimes it creates collapse.
You don’t need to earn rest.
You need it.
And one day, you will begin to treat your body not as a machine — but as a partner.
That shift will change everything.
For All of Us
International Women’s Day can feel loud.
Celebratory. Powerful. Public.
But I’ve started thinking of it differently.
Not as a day to declare who we are.
But as a day to acknowledge who we’ve survived becoming.
The younger versions of us did the best they could with what they knew.
They stayed in things too long.
They overextended.
They doubted themselves.
They tried so hard.
And because of that, we are here.
If you could write her a letter today, what would you say?
Would you forgive her?
Would you thank her?
Would you tell her to rest?
Maybe self-love isn’t about becoming someone new.
Maybe it’s about finally speaking gently to the woman you used to be.
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