my younger self would be proud of me
there are days where i think i’m not enough, times where i blame myself for trying so little, and moments where i believe i should have just given up at the first place.
it’s a daily occurrence for me to compare myself to others. i wonder a lot on how could others able to achieve so much. i wonder what makes me unable to be like them. sometimes, i actually feel ashamed of my achievements.
to me, what i did seems so little. so insignificant. my brain doesn’t let any moment goes by without reminding me on how i’m, quite literally, falling behind.
but then, i remember who i used to be.
The younger version of me, full of dreams and ambitions, wouldn’t have believed just how many obstacles i have tackled, tears i have let out, or the strenght i’ve shown.
if she could see me now, still standing despite all the failures i’ve went through, she’d be in awe.
she’d be so, so proud of me.
i realized that my old self probably wouldn’t care about what others did, about all the comparison or self-doubt. well, okay, maybe she might. i started comparing myself to others since i was little, after all.
but i’m sure she’d understand. i’m sure she knows how it feels. i’m sure that despite the change of plans and expectation, all she would think about is how amazing her older self is for achieving so much.
if she could actually see me now, she’d be so excite. she’d urge me to tell all about what i have done these past 16 years of living; my digital art journey, painting, how i got interested in debating, and the fact that i actually own a lot of cats now.
little me would appreciate the progress, the silent tears, and little moments of bravery that took so much strenght in my body.
she’d remind me to stop comparing myself to others, that i need to acknowledge that what i did is already impressive. she’d praise me for being the coolest person ever, and that other people doesn’t matter. not to her.
every step i take, no matter how small, is a proof that i’m strong, that i’m brave, and that i’m trying.
i try to imagine my younger self, actually beside me, on moments where i feel i’m not enough. i imagine her holding my hands, looking up to me with reassuring eyes. i imagine her smiling brightly at me, happily saying that ‘you’re doing great!’
i cling to the remains of my younger self; the little girl that’s still in me. i try to hang her ambitions one by one, constantly hoping that she’s proud of me.
it puts me at peace that even if myself in the present feel like i should’ve done better, myself in the past would not stop jumping from how pleased she is with me.
she’d see that i really did try, that i really gave my everything, and that i really am enough.
i need to remember that my life isn’t a novel; it’s a collection of short stories.
my achievements and progress isn’t always about grand gestures or fancy monuments. sometimes, it’s about the small, consistent effort that i’ve poured my heart, soul, and tears to.
so, even of the days when i feel less, i remind myself to look back and see the little girl i used to be.
i remind myself of her dreams, her hopes, and her belief of her older self achieving many great things.
she’d encourage me to keep trying. she’d encourage me to keep moving forward to my goals. she’d encourage me to keep being me.
and for that, i am forever grateful.
