A Letter to My Younger Body and the Things I Wish I had Known

To the Girl I Treated Like a Battleground

Dear Younger Body,

I’m writing to you across time, not with regret, but with a sense of profound tenderness. For too long, I treated you like a project that was never finished, an adversary to be conquered, a battleground where I waged wars against your softness, your cycles, and your very nature.

I demanded you be smaller, smoother, less sensitive, more resilient. I held you to standards of perfection that were not only unattainable but also entirely beside the point. And I am so deeply sorry for that.

I’m writing to you now to offer the kind of gentle wisdom that only time and healing can provide. Here are a few things I wish I had known back then.

Lesson One: Your Worth Was Never an Equation to Be Solved

I spent years, decades even, treating your worth like a mathematical equation. I thought it was a number on a scale, a size on a clothing tag, a calorie count in a journal. I believed that if I could just solve for ‘X,’ I would finally arrive at a state of happiness and acceptance.

What I know now is that your worth was never in question. It was never something to be earned through restriction or punishment. Your value was in your ability to carry me up mountains and dance with abandon at concerts. It was in your strength to heal from scraped knees and broken hearts. It was in the simple, miraculous act of breathing, of being. The pursuit of a number was a distraction from the deep, unwavering truth of your inherent worth, a truth that had nothing to do with gravity. A healthy body is a home, not a calculation, and true mental health began the moment I stopped trying to solve you.

Lesson Two: Your “Flaws” Were Chapters in Your Story

I spent so much energy trying to erase your stories. The acne scars & marks on your cheeks were not flaws; they were the tender battle maps of your teenage years. The stretch marks I so feared were not imperfections; they were the beautiful, silvery evidence of your ability to grow and adapt.

The future wrinkles & fine lines you were so terrified of are not signs of decay; they are the physical record of a million laughs, the creases of concentration, the marks of a life fully and emotionally lived. I wish I had known that the goal was never to keep you as a pristine, untouched sculpture, but to honor you as a living, evolving biography.

Lesson Three: Rest Is Not Weakness; It Is Your Superpower

I pushed you. I ran you ragged on too little sleep, fueled you with caffeine, and believed that exhaustion was the price of admission for a productive life. I treated rest as a reward you had to earn, rather than a fundamental requirement of your being.

I wish I had known that your need for deep sleep was not a weakness, but the source of your resilience. That a restorative night routine wasn’t an indulgence, but a powerful declaration that you were worthy of care. The quiet moments of stillness I denied you were the very moments you needed to heal, to process, and to gather your incredible strength. True power isn’t in constant motion; it’s in the wisdom of strategic rest.

Lesson Four: You Were Speaking to Me All Along

You were in constant communication with me, but for the longest time, I refused to listen. The tightness in my chest was anxiety asking for a deep breath. The persistent fatigue was a plea for rest. The upset stomach was a sign of stress & health being out of balance.

I treated your signals like inconvenient interruptions to my plans. The greatest journey of my life has been learning to quiet the noise of the world and tune into your language. Learning to listen when you are tired, when you are hungry, when you are joyful, when you are in pain. This communication is the deepest form of self-love I have ever known.

With Gratitude, Your Future Self

Thank you.

Thank you for your unending resilience. Thank you for carrying me through every mistake, every heartache, and every moment of unkindness I showed you. Thank you for never giving up on me, especially in the years when I gave up on you.

Be gentle with her. She is doing her very best with what she knows. And trust that one day, she will learn how to love you back, completely.