A Letter to the Younger Self We All Carry

This morning, she sat in the balcony with a cup of coffee. The breeze was soft, the city was just waking up, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself scroll through her memories instead of her phone.

And suddenly, she found herself smiling.

Not because everything was perfect back then,
but because she finally understood how unnecessary so many of those fears were.

She thought of that younger girl — stubborn in small things, rigid when it wasn’t needed, worried about every opinion, every comment, every look, made choices out of fear, not clarity.

Back then, she had no idea that the human brain is wired to remember criticism more strongly than praise — a psychological truth she would only learn years later. No wonder every small judgment felt like a mountain.
No wonder she tried so hard to appear “right.”

She remembers how that girl hated certain things simply because someone else said she should. How she held onto tiny ego battles thinking they defined her worth. How she tried to look confident from the outside while her mind raced on the inside.

But sitting here now, coffee warm between her hands, she sees it all differently.

Those things she fought for?
Those rules she forced on herself?
Those people she was desperate to impress?
None of them matter today.

Science says that as we grow, our brain shifts from “social survival mode” to “self-definition mode.” And she feels that deeply.
The things that once felt like life-or-death… are now faraway stories she barely relates to.

If she could speak to that girl — her younger self — she would keep it simple.

“You’re trying too hard to be what others expect.
One day you’ll realise everyone was too busy dealing with their own insecurities to judge you as harshly as you imagined.”

“Take a breath. You don’t have to rush through your teenage years like you’re running a race.”

“Your ego doesn’t protect you. Your softness does.”

“And the things you fear right now? They won’t even make sense in a few years.”

She would tell her that growing up doesn’t mean being perfect.
It means understanding yourself.
It means letting go of the noise.
It means laughing at the things that once kept her awake at night.

And sitting there in her balcony, she realises something she wishes she knew sooner —
that life becomes lighter the moment you stop living for approval and start living for yourself.

So, she takes another sip of coffee, looks at the sky, and whispers softly in her heart:

“You’ve made it. You can breathe now.”