The Letter I Should Have Written Myself Years Ago
What it feels like to ask your younger self for forgiveness
Dear Young Me,
It’s been a long time since we’ve reconnected.
I’m sorry, that’s entirely on me.
To be perfectly honest I’ve tried not to think of you often because, on the rare times I do, it’s born out of anger or frustration.
In the past, I’ve often wondered how much my life could have been different if you’d simply not given up so often.
“If only you’d had the courage to not hop on board those stupid self-defeating trains of thought,” I rage at times. “Trains filled with nothing but ideas that derailed what could have been a happier, simpler life.”
I’m sure this is hard to hear, which explains the long silence. After all, Mom always said if we didn’t have anything nice to say…
Today, I’m writing to ask for your forgiveness.
Having four little boys of my own, I see you so much more clearly now through their eyes. I can see how much they want to be good from the moment they wake; how they long to make choices that bring love and acceptance. I also see how hard it is to figure out how to get to there.
I’m sorry to have never given you the credit you deserve.
I’m sorry to have thought so little of you.
For years, I cast you as the scapegoat in my life drama; the one person keeping me back from my hero’s journey. I recognize today how wrong I was and that, in fact, you are amazing.
You are amazing for every decision you made that brought me today.
Remember when you were a 10-year-old Californian baseball all-star and moved to Utah, only to discover that everyone played basketball? Remember all those hours alone you spent throwing the ball at the hoop behind the neighbor's house, trying to learn how to play?
Or what about every afternoon you spent after high school running hundreds of stairs at the nearby park to try and get into shape?
Nobody asked you to do those things.
No one bribed you to make a change.
You just did it.
You did it because you knew there was something you could do to feel self-acceptance and love. You wanted to feel it so badly, so you hustled after it.
You didn’t wait for life to change around you.
You were the change.
Please know today that every stair you climbed and every shot you missed planted a seed that today has grown into a rich, dense forest of self-confidence. Twenty-five years later, I never sit around wondering if there’s something that I should do to improve my situation.
I simply do, and that’s entirely on you.
You’ve also taken a lot of unnecessary heat over the years for thoughts that I wish you had avoided entirely. I’ve heaped any and all discomfort on your shoulders without a second thought, making you the ugly problem child in a life filled with feeling uncomfortable in my skin.
I’m writing to let you know I was wrong and that you are beautiful to me. The thoughts, the feelings, the fears that defined your time in life — all of it is beautiful to me.
I know now I would not be the person I am today without both your triumphs and failures, but mostly your failures.
Because of you, I know how it feels to stand in front of a mirror and wish I looked like anyone but you. I know the searing pain of failure and the bitter aftertaste of disappointment. I know loneliness and self-doubt and what it feels like to have your world crumble around you.
I know all of these things thanks to you. You had to experience them first, which seems too much to ask of a little boy, but you did it.
You did it back then so I could choose to feel confidence and strength, love and acceptance today.
You did it so I could know how my little boys feel when they fall short or fly high.
You went before me, before them, to show us all the way.
Thank you. I love you.
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say it.
Sincerely,
Me
