A.k.a Be someone who would make young-you proud
Written while listening to: “Hold Back the River” — James Bay
I miss you.
I can’t tell you that because you wouldn’t understand it. Hell, even if you could…it’s not like I can talk to you anyways. But I really f-cking miss you.
It was only recently that I even thought about you again, if I’m being honest. I was going through old pictures, really old pictures of us that hadn’t seen the light of day through the thick film of dust they’d gathered in years. The more I uncovered of us, the more the spiderweb of memories spread its tendrils. I remembered all the things that made you laugh, all the weird things you did without wondering who would judge you, how your imagination would run wild without being infected by the poison of wondering what others might think about your ideas.
Where I had forgotten you for so long, you now demanded my attention again…and I obliged. I still oblige. Because I want to remember.
I want to remember what we used to be like, you and I. What was important, what mattered — or seemed to matter — back then, the carefreeness of your unabashed creativity. You know, all of the things that we could look back at now and cry tears of laughter or sorrow for from the tower of hindsight.
I can’t decide if you’d look at me today and be proud of all I’ve accomplished…or if you’d be disgusted with the mental prison I so often confine myself to. I’m not sure if you’d notice the fact that I’m not sure I’d pass the Bechdel test, that sometimes I fear I wouldn’t know who I was without the anchor of external validation to feed my self-worth — the same anchor offering me support while simultaneously holding me down. I don’t know if you’d think I’ve come a long way…or if I’ve devolved into the kind of woman I always swore I’d never be.
So here’s to you, younger me. Here’s to growing up. And here’s to you being here now, with me.
To love you is to love myself. And I think I’m learning how to do that again.
Originally published on Medium