Dear Younger Me

It was sort of surreal to be surrounded by so many brand new people this weekend, many of whom were younger than me, and look back on the past 10 or so years of my life. It was difficult at times to think about how other people might be seeing me, and to see myself in that way, but in a lot of ways, I realized that I really like what I see in myself and that’s all that matters. I’m comfortable in my skin, however stretch-marked and soft it may be.

I’m in a good place in my life. A place that younger me never thought she’d reach.

Throughout the past decade or so, I lost a lot of that confidence. Or I just tucked it away somewhere, I guess. I’m not really sure what happened.

Becoming a mom shook me up a little. Motherhood is a learning curve that gets steeper and steeper every time there’s a new milestone.  It’s the one “job” I’ve had for which there is no training and the one where I’ve had the hardest struggle to be good instead of just good enough. That constant battle to be the best mother I can be and feeling like I’ve let myself and my kids down sort of beat me up a bit.

I will probably never be confident as a mother, but motherhood has made me confident everywhere else.

This weekend and its challenges made me tap into a part of me I thought was lost. When I got the invitation to do all of this, I said yes with no hesitation. Not a single part of me was ever nervous. A little starstruck, maybe, and giddy, but nervous? Nope. I knew I would be great at this. I knew it all the way down to my still-numb toes.

That’s the girl I used to be. I knew she was in there somewhere.