✉️ To the younger version of me

If I could go back to that quiet afternoon in my old bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor after another long day of trying to be enough, I’d hold her hand. I’d look at her teary eyes and say, “You’re allowed to cry.” I’d tell her that being sensitive isn’t a weakness, that her softness is something beautiful. Her worth was never in her grades, the size of her body, or the way someone looked at her in the hallway. I’d remind her she doesn’t have to carry the world to be loved. That she could lean on her parents, speak a little louder, be a little messier. Real friends would never ask her to shrink herself. And love, the real kind, won’t make her feel like she’s just an option or a backup. She’s not here to be someone’s second thought. She deserves a love that feels safe, one that sees her fully and stays. She’ll fall. She’ll doubt herself. But one day, she’ll grow into someone gentle and strong, someone who chooses herself even when it hurts. And even on the days she can’t see her worth, I’ll still whisper to her, “You are enough. You always were.” Thank you for surviving, little me. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

• Gratitude
• Memory
• Reflection