TO THE WOMAN YOU WILL BECOME

TO THE GIRL I USED TO BE

An older woman's words to the girl she once was.

Little girl, I know you're in a hurry.

I know you're standing in front of the mirror,
studying the woman you're becoming,
wishing your hips would widen,
your breasts would grow,
your face would lose its childish softness,
and the world would finally stop treating you
like you're too young to understand anything.

I know you're counting the years until eighteen,
dreaming of freedom,
of late nights and lipstick,
of love that feels like forever,
of a world where nobody tells you what to do.

You think growing up means getting to live.

But, sweetheart,
nobody told me that sometimes growing up
feels a little like watching your childhood die
while everyone around you applauds the woman
they think you're supposed to become.

And God,
how I wish I had known then
what I know now.

Because one day,
you will look back at that girl in the mirror
and ache for the softness you once hated,
for the innocence you couldn't wait to outgrow,
for the days when your body belonged to you
without the world insisting it had something to say about it.

You'll miss the girl who didn't know
that growing breasts meant growing uncomfortable
beneath the eyes of people
who suddenly looked at her differently.

You'll miss the girl who could run, jump, laugh,
and exist without wondering
whether her shirt was too tight,
her skirt too short,
her legs too visible,
or her body somehow responsible
for the thoughts inside somebody else's head.

And I wish I could reach through time
and tell her that none of it was her fault.

Not one damn bit.

Because growing into womanhood
isn't simply about your body changing.

It's about learning to live inside a body
that seems to change overnight
while the world changes the rules around you
without ever explaining why.

It's the blood that arrives unexpectedly,
the cramps that twist your stomach,
the aching breasts, the bloating,
the exhaustion that settles into your bones
when all you want to do is sleep.

It's the embarrassment of checking your clothes
for a stain you pray nobody else can see,
of hiding a pad in your sleeve,
of whispering to another girl in the bathroom
because neither of you knows
how to ask for help without feeling ashamed.

It's learning that your body has a rhythm
that doesn't always care about your plans,
that hormones can turn a perfectly ordinary Tuesday
into a day when everything feels too heavy,
when tears arrive without warning,
when anger burns beneath your skin,
when you don't recognize your own emotions
and wonder what on earth is wrong with you.

Nothing, sweetheart.

Nothing is wrong with you
for being human in a body that is still changing.

You are not weak because you cry.
You are not dramatic because you feel deeply.
You are not broken because some days
you cannot explain the storm inside your chest.

Your body is learning.
Your mind is learning.
Your heart is learning how to carry a world
that has never been particularly gentle with girls.

Give yourself the grace
you would give another girl standing beside you.

You deserve it, too.

But the changes won't stop at your skin.

Oh, no.

Somewhere between childhood and womanhood,
you will discover that people have started keeping score.

Your friends will compare their bodies,
their clothes, their faces, their figures,
measuring themselves against impossible standards
they didn't invent but have been taught to obey.

Someone will call a girl ugly
because she doesn't look like the others.

Someone will call another girl a slut
because she does.

Someone will mock the girl who hasn't kissed anyone
and whisper about the girl who has.

And somehow,
the same world that tells you to be desirable
will punish you for being desired.

It will tell you to be pretty,
but not vain.

Confident,
but not conceited.

Friendly,
but not too friendly.

Beautiful,
but not as beautiful as the girl beside you.

Smart,
but never so smart that a boy feels small.

Strong,
but still soft enough to be rescued.

Independent,
but never so independent
that anyone mistakes you for difficult.

And you will spend years wondering
how to become a woman
who never disappoints anybody.

Let me save you some time, little girl.

You can't.

And you shouldn't have to.

There will always be somebody
who thinks your body is too much
or not enough.

Somebody who thinks your voice is too loud,
your ambition too big,
your confidence too threatening,
your boundaries too inconvenient.

There will be people who mistake your kindness
for an invitation to take more than you offer.

People who confuse your silence with agreement,
your forgiveness with permission,
your compassion with an obligation
to keep accepting what hurts you.

Please, sweetheart,
do not spend your life shrinking yourself
to make other people comfortable.

You were not born to be a decoration
in somebody else's world.

You were born to occupy space.

To think.
To question.
To learn.
To make mistakes.
To change your mind.
To become someone you haven't even imagined yet.

And you do not owe the world
a prettier, quieter, smaller version of yourself
just because it has decided
that is what a good woman should be.

Now, let me tell you something
about boys.

Not because every boy is cruel,
and not because every man is dangerous,
but because I love you enough
not to lie about the world you're entering.

Some boys will be kind.

Some will become the men
who listen when you speak,
respect your decisions,
celebrate your accomplishments,
and never make you feel
that love is something you must earn
by surrendering pieces of yourself.

But others will teach you lessons
you should never have had to learn.

Some will call you beautiful
when what they really mean
is that they want something from you.

Some will tell you that you're mature for your age
when what they really mean
is that they want you to ignore the difference
between their desires and your safety.

Some will call you cold
when you say no.

Some will call you selfish
when you choose yourself.

Some will make you feel guilty
for having boundaries
they never intended to respect.

And some will convince you
that if you truly loved them,
you would prove it with your body.

Listen to me carefully, baby girl.

Your body is not a bargaining chip.

Not for love.
Not for affection.
Not for acceptance.
Not for the promise that somebody will stay.

You do not owe anyone a kiss
because they bought you dinner.

You do not owe anyone your time
because they gave you a compliment.

You do not owe anyone an explanation
for refusing a touch that makes you uncomfortable.

And you do not owe anyone access to your body
simply because you once allowed them close.

Consent is not a debt.

It is not a prize someone earns
by being persistent enough.

It is your choice,
freely made,
without fear, pressure, manipulation, or guilt.

And you are allowed to change your mind.

Even if you said yes yesterday.
Even if you love him.
Even if you have loved him for years.

Even if he gets angry.

Especially if he makes you afraid.

I wish I could tell you
that being a good person will always keep you safe.

That dressing modestly will protect you.
That avoiding strangers will protect you.
That being polite will protect you.
That making the right choices
will guarantee you never get hurt.

But that would be another lie
girls have been handed
to make the world seem fairer than it is.

You can do everything right
and still encounter someone who chooses to do wrong.

And if that happens, sweetheart,
their wrongdoing does not become your shame.

You are not responsible for another person's decision
to violate your boundaries.

You are not responsible for another person's cruelty.

And you are never responsible
for making someone who frightens you
feel comfortable at your own expense.

If your instincts tell you something is wrong,
you are allowed to leave.

You are allowed to be rude.

You are allowed to make a scene.

You are allowed to disappoint someone
if pleasing them puts you in danger.

You do not have to smile
when you want to say no.

You do not have to soften your refusal
until it sounds like an invitation to negotiate.

And you do not have to protect a man's feelings
more carefully than you protect your own safety.

Learn the names of the people you trust.

Tell someone where you're going.

Keep your own way home when you can.

Stay close to people who respect your boundaries,
and pay attention to how someone reacts
when you tell them no.

A person who respects you
will not punish you for protecting yourself.

And remember this:

A man's attention is not automatically a compliment.

Sometimes it is welcome.

Sometimes it is sweet.

Sometimes it makes your heart race
for all the right reasons.

But sometimes it feels like a weight
you never asked to carry.

Sometimes you will feel eyes following you
before you are old enough to understand why.

Sometimes an ordinary walk home
will become a calculation of distance,
streetlights, footsteps, and exits.

Sometimes you will hold your keys between your fingers,
text someone that you've arrived,
or pretend to be talking on the phone
because the world has taught you
that being alone can require vigilance.

And I am sorry, sweetheart.

I am so deeply sorry
that so many women know these rituals
as naturally as they know how to breathe.

You deserve to walk without fear.

You deserve to wear what makes you happy
without being blamed for somebody else's behavior.

You deserve to exist in public
without feeling that your body is an invitation
for strangers to comment, stare, follow, or touch.

The fact that you may have to learn
how to protect yourself
does not mean you are responsible
for the people who make protection necessary.

Never confuse those two things.

And when the world begins telling you
that your worth is measured in attention,
please remember what attention cannot measure.

It cannot measure your courage.

It cannot measure your compassion.

It cannot measure the way you comfort a friend
who thinks nobody sees her hurting.

It cannot measure the intelligence
that makes you question what others accept.

It cannot measure the dreams
you carry quietly inside yourself
because you are afraid someone will laugh.

And it certainly cannot measure your worth
by how many people find you beautiful.

Beauty is a cruel little currency
in a world that convinces girls to spend their lives
trying to earn more of it.

You will see it everywhere.

In the pictures edited until nobody looks human.

In the advertisements selling you a solution
to an insecurity they deliberately created.

In the comments beneath a woman's photograph,
where strangers dissect her face
as though she exists for public evaluation.

In the way people praise a woman for looking young
while treating aging like a personal failure.

In the way a girl can be taught to hate her thighs
before she has even learned
what those wonderful legs can carry her through.

And one day,
you may look at a photograph of yourself
and see only the things you wish were different.

The stomach that isn't flat enough.

The skin that isn't clear enough.

The face that doesn't resemble the girl
you have been taught to admire.

Please, when that day comes,
remember that your body is not a failed photograph.

It is the home that carries you through this life.

It lets you dance in your bedroom,
run toward someone you love,
hold a child, hug a friend,
feel rain against your skin,
and stand back up after the world knocks you down.

Your body is not an apology.

It is not a project that must be perfected
before you deserve kindness.

It is yours.

Treat it with respect.

Feed it.

Rest it.

Listen when it hurts.

Seek help when something feels wrong.

And never let another person's opinion
become the reason you punish yourself
for having a perfectly human body.

You do not have to love every inch of yourself
every single day.

Some days, acceptance is enough.

Some days, looking in the mirror
and deciding not to insult the girl looking back
is an act of courage.

Start there.

Start by speaking to yourself
as though you are someone worth protecting.

Because you are.

And one day, little girl,
you will become the woman
who understands why her mother worried,
why older women sometimes watched you quietly,
why a stranger's kindness could bring tears,
and why a simple question like
Are you okay?
could mean more than the person asking realizes.

You will understand that womanhood
is not a finish line you cross at eighteen.

It is a thousand small awakenings.

It is learning that periods are normal
and shame is something we were taught.

It is learning that hormones can complicate your feelings
without making those feelings meaningless.

It is discovering that friendship can be a lifeline,
that jealousy can be taught,
and that women are not born to compete
for the approval of men.

It is learning that some of the strongest women you know
have cried in bathrooms,
questioned their reflection,
stayed too long in relationships,
and wondered whether they were asking for too much
when all they wanted was basic respect.

It is learning to forgive the younger version of yourself
for not knowing what you know now.

For the times you stayed quiet.

For the times you accepted less.

For the times you believed someone else's opinion
before believing your own heart.

You were learning.

You were growing.

You were doing the best you could
with the knowledge and courage you had at the time.

Give that girl some grace.

She was never supposed to know everything.

And if I could sit beside you now,
if I could take your hands in mine
and look into the eyes of the girl
who cannot wait to grow up,
I would tell you this:

Do not be in such a hurry to become a woman
that you forget to enjoy being a girl.

Enjoy the afternoons that seem to last forever.

Enjoy the laughter that makes your stomach hurt.

Enjoy your friends before life scatters you
across different cities, different dreams,
different versions of yourselves.

Enjoy the days when your biggest worry
is whether someone will sit beside you at lunch.

You will have enough time to be serious.

Enough time to carry responsibilities.

Enough time to understand heartbreak,
to pay bills, to lose people,
to rebuild yourself after disappointment,
to become the woman the world expects you to be.

But please, please,
do not spend your childhood trying to prove
that you are old enough to deserve respect.

You deserve respect right now.

Not because your body is changing.

Not because boys are beginning to notice you.

Not because you are becoming beautiful
by somebody else's definition.

Not because you are smart enough,
quiet enough,
good enough,
or mature enough.

You deserve respect because you are a person.

And you matter.

Even when nobody chooses you.

Even when your friends leave you out.

Even when someone makes you feel ugly.

Even when your body changes in ways you don't understand.

Even when your emotions feel too big
for the little room you have to hold them in.

Even when you make mistakes.

Even when the world tells you
that another girl is better,
prettier, thinner, smarter, or more deserving.

You matter.

You mattered before the first boy called you beautiful.

You mattered before the first person broke your heart.

You mattered before you learned
to hide your insecurities behind a smile.

And you will matter long after
the people who judged you
have forgotten what they said.

One day, you will be the older woman.

You will see a young girl tugging at her shirt,
trying to hide a body she hasn't learned to love.

You will hear a teenager apologize
for taking up too much space.

You will watch a girl laugh too loudly,
then look around to see if anyone thinks
she has made herself too noticeable.

And you will recognize her.

You will recognize the hurry in her eyes,
the uncertainty in her shoulders,
the desperate little hope
that somebody will tell her she is enough.

So tell her.

Tell her before the world gets the chance
to convince her otherwise.

Tell her that her body belongs to her.

Tell her that being kind does not mean being available.

Tell her that being beautiful is not a responsibility.

Tell her that she can be gentle without being weak,
confident without being arrogant,
ambitious without being selfish,
and alone without being lonely.

Tell her that she does not have to earn love
by abandoning herself.

Tell her that womanhood is difficult,
that the world will sometimes be unfair,
and that she will face obstacles
she never asked for and never deserved.

But tell her that she is not powerless.

She can learn.

She can speak.

She can leave.

She can ask for help.

She can choose differently.

She can build a life that does not require
her to make herself smaller
for the comfort of people who refuse to grow.

And when she is afraid,
remind her that courage is not the absence of fear.

Sometimes courage is the trembling voice
that says no.

Sometimes it is the hand that reaches for help.

Sometimes it is the quiet decision
to try again tomorrow.

And sometimes,
the bravest thing a woman can do
is look at herself in the mirror
after years of being told who she should be
and finally decide to meet herself
as she truly is.

Little girl,
I know you want to grow up.

I know you want the freedom,
the romance,
the independence,
the feeling of finally belonging
in your own skin.

And I promise you,
there will be beautiful things waiting for you.

There will be friendships that feel like family,
love that does not ask you to disappear,
laughter that returns after heartbreak,
and mornings when you wake up
and realize you are no longer afraid
of the things that once made you question yourself.

There will be days when you feel powerful
simply because you have survived.

There will be moments when you look at the woman
you have become
and feel proud of every version of yourself
that helped you get there.

But until then,
please be patient with the girl in the mirror.

She is not behind.

She is not falling short.

She is not a before picture
waiting for the world to approve the after.

She is already worthy.

She is already enough.

She is already deserving of a life
where her voice is heard,
her boundaries are honored,
her dreams are taken seriously,
and her body is treated as her own.

And when the world tells you
that you must become somebody else
to deserve those things,
remember the woman who is speaking to you now.

Remember that she was once your age.

Remember that she spent too many years
trying to become what everybody else wanted.

Remember that she wishes she could return
to the girl she used to be
and tell her what nobody told them both.

You do not have to be chosen to be valuable.

You do not have to be desired to be beautiful.

You do not have to be agreeable to be loved.

You do not have to be perfect to be respected.

You do not have to be fearless to be strong.

And you do not have to wait until you are grown
to start treating yourself like someone who matters.

So grow, little girl.

Grow slowly.

Grow stubbornly.

Grow into the woman you choose to become,
not the woman the world keeps demanding.

Let your body change without learning to hate it.

Let your heart feel without calling it weakness.

Let your mind question the rules
that were never meant to protect you.

Let yourself take up space.

Let yourself say no.

Let yourself say yes when you mean it.

Let yourself leave the rooms
where your worth is constantly being questioned.

And above all else,
learn to be the kind of woman
who never abandons herself
just to keep somebody else.

Because one day,
you will miss your youth.

You will miss the girl who thought adulthood
was the answer to every question.

You will wish you could hold her
for just a little longer,
tell her to stop worrying about her reflection,
and remind her that there is so much more to life
than becoming somebody the world approves of.

You will wish you could tell her
that she was beautiful before she knew it,
strong before she believed it,
and worthy before anybody else recognized it.

And perhaps,
if you listen closely enough,
you will realize that she is still there.

Still living somewhere beneath your skin.

Still waiting for you to forgive her
for all the things she didn't know.

Still hoping that the woman you became
will finally give her the love
she spent so many years searching for.

So give it to her.

Give her the kindness.

Give her the patience.

Give her the safety she deserved.

Give her permission to rest.

Give her permission to be imperfect.

Give her permission to exist
without constantly defending her existence.

And when the world becomes cruel,
as it sometimes will,
remember that you do not have to become cruel
to survive it.

You can be soft and still have boundaries.

You can be loving and still walk away.

You can be strong and still ask for help.

You can be a woman
without surrendering the little girl inside you
who once believed that the world
was full of wonderful things waiting to be discovered.

You are not here to spend your life
proving that you deserve to exist.

You are here to live it.

To experience it.

To make something beautiful from it.

To become someone you are proud to know.

And no matter how old you grow,
no matter how much your body changes,
no matter how many times the world
tries to convince you that you are not enough—

I hope you remember the truth
that every young woman deserves to hear
before she ever learns to doubt herself:

You were enough when you were a girl.

You are enough as you become a woman.

You will be enough when your youth is a memory
and your reflection tells the story
of all the years you have survived.

You have always been more
than the sum of somebody else's opinions.

More than a body to be admired.

More than a face to be judged.

More than a name on somebody else's lips.

You are a whole human being
in a world that too often forgets
to treat women like one.

And you, sweetheart,
deserve nothing less
than the freedom to live
as though you have always known it.