CATEGORY: Little Pieces Of Life

Dear Self,

I’m writing you this letter to say one big thank you.

Thank you for all those beautiful moments we shared. For those trips and little getaways we still remember and smile about. For our studies, for the anxiety, the excitement, the pride when something that once seemed so far away became a reality. For those birthdays with friends when we laughed until our stomachs hurt. For the Carnivals when we dressed up and did all sorts of crazy things, without caring too much about how we looked or what people might say.

Thank you for our spontaneity. For all those times we said, “Let’s go!” without thinking too much, for the things we decided at the last minute, for those moments when we put all the “shoulds” aside for a while and simply had a good time.

And more than anything, thank you for the company. Our own company. Because now that I think about it, we’ve been together from the very beginning. We grew up together, we were afraid, we fell in love, we were disappointed, we made plans, changed plans, started all over again. And no matter how different we were at every age, it was always the two of us.

We shared so much laughter. That real, uncontrollable kind of laughter you can’t stop even when you try. But we shared tears too. And there were times when things weren’t beautiful at all. Times when we hurt, when we broke down, when we didn’t know what to do next.

And you know something? Maybe those moments turned out to be some of the most important ones for us. Because when things were easy, the two of us got along just fine. But when things got hard, our relationship was tested. Sometimes we stood together, and sometimes we disagreed. Sometimes I listened to you, and sometimes I was angry with you.

I was angry that we got hurt. That we trusted. That we allowed certain situations to hurt us more than we would have wanted. There were times when, instead of standing by your side, I put you on trial too. “Why did you do it?”, “Why didn’t you realise sooner?”, “Why did you stay?”, “Why did you leave?”, “Why didn’t you speak up?”

And then we searched outside ourselves. For someone to tell us we were right. Someone to reassure us, give us an answer, explain what had happened, make us feel a little better. We looked everywhere for comfort, except in the one place where perhaps we needed it most: between the two of us.

Today, I don’t want to tell you that you should have done something differently. Nor that I would have done it better. I only want to be a little kinder to you. And to myself. To look back at those moments without saying, “You should have known,” without asking, “How could you?”

From the inexperience of adolescence to the knowledge we gained as we grew older, each time we tried to do what we believed was best for us. With the age we were, the experiences we had lived up to that point, our fears, our needs, even those certainties that we later discovered weren’t quite so certain after all.

Some choices turned out well. Others didn’t. But when we made them, we didn’t know how the story would end. We didn’t have the knowledge we have today, just as today we don’t have the knowledge we will have ten or twenty years from now.

And that is what I want us to remember when we look back. Not so that we can justify everything, but so that we can be a little more tender with who we were then. Because every version of us, with what she knew at the time, was trying to take us somewhere she believed we would be okay.

And now I want to tell you something else. We don’t always have to be so strong. There were times when we were hurt and pretended nothing had happened. When we were angry and kept that anger inside. When we wanted to shout, “It’s not fair,” but stayed silent. When someone disappointed us and we rushed to understand them before we had even taken the time to understand ourselves.

There were fears we never shared. Sadness we hid behind an “I’m fine.” Words we never said because we were afraid of upsetting someone, of someone getting angry with us, of losing someone, or of seeming too sensitive.

And you know something? Today, we don’t have to keep everything so neatly tucked away anymore.

We can admit that we were angry. That we were jealous. That we were afraid. That some things hurt us far more than we ever let anyone see. That there were people who hurt us and people we hurt too. That sometimes we simply wanted someone to understand us, without having to explain so much why we felt the way we did.

We don’t need to fix any of those feelings today. We only need to give them a little space. Let’s simply allow them to exist, without scolding ourselves for them all over again.

I’m sorry for all those times I didn’t set boundaries with others and neglected you. For the times I made the needs of the people around me a priority and pushed ours aside. For the times I told you to be quiet and gave importance to people who didn’t deserve it.

I’m sorry for the times you felt that something wasn’t good for you and I tried to convince you otherwise. When I stayed a little longer than you wanted me to. When I said, “It doesn’t matter,” when it did. When I smiled even though you wanted to cry, and when I swallowed my words so I wouldn’t upset someone else.

I’m sorry, too, for the times I doubted you and trusted what I heard around me more. When I looked outside ourselves for confirmation of something we already knew deep down. And more than anything, I’m sorry for the times I was harder on you than I would ever have been on someone I love.

And now I want to tell you something I may not have told you often enough.

I love you.

I love you because you are the one constant person in my life. The only one who was there at every age, through every change, every beginning and every ending. You know all my secrets, even the ones I never told anyone. You know what makes me laugh, what moves me, what I’m afraid of, what I dream about. You’ve seen me at my best and at my worst and, despite it all, you’re still here.

You are my oldest friend and my most faithful companion. I love you for your tenderness. For the way you care. For how deeply you can love. For your spontaneity, your laughter, your curiosity, for that part of you that can still get excited about new things.

I trust you because, no matter how many times you lost your way, you found your way back to us. You weren’t always strong, nor were you always sure. But you never stopped searching for your truth. Learning, making things right, forgiving, getting back up again. I trust you because I know that, whatever life may bring, you won’t abandon me. You’ll hold my hand, just as you have from the very first day we met.

If there is one person I want to have a beautiful relationship with for the rest of my life, it’s you. Because I will live every age of my life with you. With you, I will wake up to all those mornings that haven’t come yet. I will make new plans, change just as many, meet people, and say goodbye to some.

I want us to grow older beautifully together. To keep each other company, to laugh at our silliness, to talk, to disagree and then make up again. To listen to you more and scold you less. To take care of you without holding you back and to give you room to change, because I know you will change. And I will change with you.

I don’t know who we will be at sixty-five, seventy-five, or eighty-five. I don’t know what you will love then, who will be beside you, or what you will consider important. I only hope you will have kept some of our spontaneity, our curiosity, and that ability we have to laugh out loud.

Wherever life takes us, I want you to know that you and I will always have each other.

With love,

yourself ❤️

A letter to ourselves can become a safe space for personal expression, where thoughts and feelings that often remain unspoken can finally find words. It gives us the opportunity to look at different periods of our lives with greater kindness and self-compassion, to recognise that at every age we made choices with the knowledge, experience, and abilities we had at the time, and to express anger, sadness, fear, disappointment, or hurt without needing to judge or fix those feelings. At the same time, it can help us recognise what we have accomplished, express gratitude for what we have lived through, and nurture a more tender and supportive relationship with ourselves. Perhaps the greatest value of a letter like this lies precisely there: for a little while, instead of standing opposite ourselves in judgement, we stand beside ourselves and listen.