What was I thinking?

What I wish she knew

I have a digital frame on my desk, and I love it. It’s filled with pictures of happy times and special places I’ve visited—people and pets I adore, people and pets I’ve lost, and old family photographs that I treasure even more with each passing day.

The other day, a picture of my 18-year-old self popped up while I was working. I glanced over, and there she was—slender, with long, reddish-blond hair parted down the middle (like nearly every girl back then), and legs I never gave a second thought to… until the wolf whistles came when I walked down the street.

It was a time when people noticed me when I walked into a room. Admired me, even. And yet, inside, I never felt good enough. My nose was too big. My breasts were too small. My hair wasn’t the right kind of straight. My skin had blemishes. There was always something to fix, something to hide, something to wish away.

Looking back now, I wonder how that beautiful young girl—because that’s exactly what she was—could not see what others saw.

Sometimes when I come across those old photos, I pause and ask myself, What was I thinking? What was I so worried about? Why did I waste so much time doubting, comparing, and shrinking?

If I could go back and whisper in her ear, I would say:

“You are radiant. You are more than enough. You have no idea how much you’ll grow, how much you’ll survive, and how much beauty and wisdom already lives inside you.”

And I’d add this: “Please don’t wait decades to love yourself.”

Now, in this silver season of my life, I still carry that young girl within me. But she’s softer now. Wiser. No longer chasing perfection—just choosing presence.

My legs have changed. The hair has changed. The whistles have long faded.

But something far better has taken their place: A quiet confidence. Not earned by being seen by others—but by finally seeing myself.

If you're reading this and still carrying the echoes of your own inner critic, I invite you to pause.

Find a photo of your younger self. Look at her—really look. Not for the flaws, but for the light that was always there.

And ask yourself:

What would I say to her today?