Dear nineteen-year-old self,
You, in fact, do not know everything.
You will find true love, so chill with the worry.
More importantly, stability is going to happen for you, and I know this is scary because it’s only the beginning with your new diagnosis, but it’s the end of something that was bad, too. The end of “no-direction” in your life. The end of dramatic, traumatic and messy days. Now you will start to work towards a better future for yourself. There will be crappy times coming, for sure, but the best times of your life are also yet to come.
Don’t drink so much. Don’t try drugs, you don’t like them anyways. Quit smoking now, you look so gross when you smoke. Make wiser choices about who you call a friend. Listen to your conscience, and try obeying him for a change. Love your parents better. Don’t be so defensive all the time. Learn to be a more patient driver. Be as confident as people think you are. Strive for greatness. Forgive easily.
Most importantly, don’t change a damn thing, because what doesn’t kill us actually DOES make us stronger. It’s a cliche because it’s true, and who you are today at thirty includes the sweet six-year-old you, the idiot version of you at seventeen, the out of control person you are at nineteen and the stable person you became at twenty-three, the blessed wife you became at twenty-five and the devoted mother you became at twenty-six and again (double time) at twenty-eight… it all adds up, sweet girl.
Forever grow, and always be willing to learn new things. At thirty, what I wish I could tell you at nineteen is to always go with your instincts, always persevere for there is fresh new light at the end of the long, dark, dirty tunnel. Always hope and always, always trust God, for he knows the plans he has for you, sweet girl. Love yourself more, respect yourself more and live with the dignity and the honor that God desires for his daughter.
At thirty, I can say I love you, nineteen-year-old self, I love you, but I wouldn’t want to be you. Hang in there, you.