If I Could Sit Across From My Teenage Self

If I could sit across from my teenage self — knees pulled to my chest, heart a little too loud, trying so hard to be enough — I wouldn’t overwhelm her with a long speech.

I would simply say this:

You are not behind.

You don’t have to rush love.
You don’t have to shrink to fit in.
You don’t have to earn your worth.

I would tell her that the things she thinks are flaws — her sensitivity, her intensity, her deep feelings — will one day become her strength. The tears she hides will teach her compassion. The rejection she fears will build resilience. The detours she resents will shape her purpose.

I would tell her to stop measuring herself against other people’s timelines.

Life is not a race. It is a becoming.

I would tell her that heartbreak will not destroy her. Failure will not define her. And the opinions of people who don’t truly know her should not get to write her story.

Most of all, I would lean in close and whisper:

You are already enough.

Not when you lose the weight.
Not when you achieve the dream.
Not when someone finally chooses you.

Now.

And if she didn’t believe me — I would sit beside her anyway.

Because sometimes the best advice isn’t instruction.

It’s reassurance.