“And I thought: maybe healing isn’t an event. Maybe it’s a million tiny moments of remembering joy, and choosing to stay when you want to run.” – John Yun

This morning, I went on a walk with the younger me.

She arrived at my door right before the roosters crowed, the sun just barely peeking up through the clouds, leaving the sky a magnetic ash-blue. But there she stood, not caring that it was early, just needing me.

Her shoulders began to tremble as tears poured from her eyes, her breathing heavy, as if the words were caught in her throat.

My heart ached seeing that version of myself. So broken, so convinced she was worthless.

Quietly, I wrapped her in my arms and wiped away her tears.

“Come,” I said. “Walk with me.”

We didn’t talk much as we made our way down the street. Really, she didn’t talk at all. I knew she had something to say, but the words just weren’t there. She just needed a few soft minutes to find them.

A few moments passed… or maybe a couple of hours. It didn’t really matter in that moment—before her soft voice finally cracked:

“I found you…”

My heart ached with understanding. She had felt alone, and my life had long since left her behind. But I never forgot her. I kept her deep in the confines of my heart, where she was safe.

But now… now she was here, giving me no choice but to look into the face of the little girl who was mine—just years younger.

“You found me,” I choked, holding back tears.

“I have so many questions,” she said. “So much hurt.”

“I will do my best to answer them…” I held my breath, waiting. Not entirely knowing what her next words would be, but also knowing them all too well.

Looking her over, she couldn’t have been more than sixteen. At that time in my life, I thought I’d be lucky to make it to twenty-five.

“Are we better?” she asked.

Better.

There it was. A simple word with such deep meaning in that moment—as if she had always been the problem that needed to be fixed. She felt like she was in an endless pit of darkness. Sorrow. Loneliness, mixed with the desire to endlessly please.

Suddenly, all the emotions of never being good enough bubbled to the surface after years of being pushed down. The moments of unkind words, loneliness, rejection. It was all there, wrapped in a tiny little girl’s frame who was much too young to understand.

“Better?” I said gently. “You were always good enough. Just because the actions of others, the ones who were supposed to show you otherwise, didn’t reflect that, doesn’t make it any less true. They made mistakes. But they were learning, too. Experiencing life for the first time, just like you. Give yourself grace. You have so much to learn, and you’ll never stop… or at least, not in this moment in time.” We giggled. “Most of all, give them grace, too. You may not have relationships with most of them anymore in the future, but I promise, you’ll learn to empathize with them. You’ll learn to see the hurt in them, too… even if you have to keep your distance. Just remember to let people talk. They’ll all have their opinions. Don’t let it pull you from your path. Don’t let it harden your heart. Be kind. Love deeply. Enjoy life. Set boundaries. And don’t ever change who you are to meet anyone’s expectations but your own. You’ll be alright. One day, your skin won’t feel so tight. You’ll feel more like yourself. It’ll be a lot of hard work, and there will be lonely moments, but you’ll heal. You’ll thrive…”

As we rounded the corner to my home, my children ran out. Their small, sweet giggles filled the air with warmth. The kind of warmth you only feel when you’ve finally made it home.

When I turned around to say goodbye, she was already gone.

She had made her way into the joy of my soul, which now overflowed with happiness.

We are still hurting.

Still learning.

Still growing.

But we made it home.

Sincerely,

Shay

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This reflection was inspired by the book Dear Me: A Letter to My Younger Self by John Yun. This book was a 10/10 but warning it will make you cry. ☕

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