Her Campus Logo Her Campus Logo
placeholder article
placeholder article

An Open Letter to My Younger Self

This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Harvard chapter.

 

Dear younger self,

Along the sidewalks of Appoline St, I saw you cartwheeling, laughing, rolling across the green grass. You’d wait for the ice cream truck to pass by and when you’d hear the familiar jingle, you’d run to your lunchbox covered in Pokémon stickers and count the quarters you were saving in there for a Tweety popsicle. It was your favorite because Tweety’s eyes were gumballs. At parks, you’d stay on the slides, monkey bars, and swings for hours until baba would call out “Bata (which means duck in Arabic), time to go home.” Whenever any of the neighbors would see you in the backyard and tell mama how grown up you were becoming, your cheeks would flush red and you’d “waddle” back inside. You hated the attention. I remember you being such a shy kid. But always happy.

 

Alas time went by and it seemed like summer days became shorter while winter days lengthened. Playing outside wasn’t as fun anymore. You wanted to stay indoors and just listen to your Jonas Brothers (who aren’t together anymore) music and design clothes on girlsense.com (which does not even exist anymore). Homework was no longer just coloring by numbers or simple arithmetic.  Friends were no longer just the people you wanted to share your toys with during recess. The noises of crashing bicycles and rollerblades transformed to sounds of door slammings. Love letters folded into paper airplanes were now just weird. And soon you realized that you weren’t as thin as all the other girls in middle school.

 

I’d be lying if I said you had it worse than other children growing up though, because you certainly didn’t. Your family was stable and loving, you had a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your stomach. In comparison to others, you were living a great life.  But I’m not here to make comparisons. Even if someone else had it worse, it didn’t change the fact that you felt what you felt. I would also be lying if I said that the world became worse the older you got, because it also certainly didn’t. You just became more aware, school began to address social and worldly problems instead of “How many apples does Jeff have left?,” your friends began to have opinions a lot different from yours, and your priorities changed.

 

When high school came around, you grew more and more shy and turned to alternate methods for expression like dying your hair red, decorating your backpack with tacky buttons and keychains, and turning to slam poetry. When you visited your old elementary school, you were barely recognizable to those who used to know you so well. I know that must have made you feel like you changed. Like you were no longer the person they used to love. I wish I did something about it for you then. I should have looked in the mirror and told you I loved you every time you felt like you were no longer the same person. I wish I had let you acknowledge the talents, beauty, and wisdom that came with what you thought were the darker ages.  Because, yes, time did change, but you weren’t any less special.

 

I really don’t mean for this to be a somber letter since I’m sure you know me as the optimist. But I guess that’s the tone that normally comes with reminiscing. I just wanted to let you know that there’s still a long way to go. And it does not get worse, or better. It just gets different. I so badly want to tell you what to do and what to avoid, because when I say I’ve been there and done that, I REALLY mean it. But I want you to explore, experiment, and empower on your own. I wrote this letter to remind you about the things you used to love and the things you didn’t so that you know where to go from here. Learn to take risks because they will certainly teach you more about yourself than you would’ve imagined possible. Stay open to outcomes. And don’t get too attached to things because in a matter of years, you may be living across the country and departing them. Hint hint.

 

The jolly rancher days are now over, but I’m sure you still get the same exhilarating sensation when your tongue changes color. I think the grape one was your favorite back then. It still is.

 

Good luck with your future endeavors,

Your older self

Elizabeth is a junior at Harvard, concentrating in comparative religion. She loves to dance, run, and write, and loves working for Her Campus!