Every scar has a story. “Letter to My Younger Self” invites you into the reflective hearts of people who've walked winding roads—offering gentle truths, bold lessons, and encouragement for anyone still figuring it out. These weekly letters are full of grace and grit, showing how setbacks shape wisdom and how the past still holds power to teach. From nurturing curiosity to embracing mentorship, each piece is a tribute to growth through lived experience.
Lydiah Nyawira, a Writer/Artist and a Creative pens this week’s heartfelt Letter to My Younger Self.
Dear younger self,
Let’s stay a little longer! A letter to my 12-year-old self…
I don't know if you will understand what I’m about to say to you, but you need to hear it. From the age of 12, you have always had that feeling of wanting to stop the world and get off…
But my dear, you will have an epiphany that will tell you to revisit that feeling when you turn 28 years old.
So for now, you just need to get through this day. And so your journey to just live one day at a time began.
And this principle worked so well for us.
We just needed to get through that boring Physics class, the teasing, the crush on that boy, that dreadful Agriculture assignment that included growing rose cocoa beans. Just get through it.
Anyway, it worked. We got to our 20s... and then the most amazing thing happened, the firstborn. Of course, we were scared, but once again, you just tried to get through each day.
And so we did… the uncertainty, the disappointments, the excitement. Then came the labour, and then the joy — and once again, we took one day at a time, focused on getting to 28 so we could “get off.”
But then that one son had a little brother, and the two boys came into our lives.
Looking up to me, relying on me, and I realised… No, they need me. I cannot get off yet.
So I focused on the most basic things I could: keep them safe, keep them alive, keep them together, clean them, play with them, do what you can.
I forgot myself and focused not on how hard everything was, but on just getting through that one day, that one milestone, the first day of school, the first flu, the stomach ache.
Which worked out so well until my dear friend (wish I knew where you were or could see me now) told me to celebrate the little things, and not give in to the grind of surviving.
I tried to smile more often, I really did. I tried not to give in to the fears, the matters of the heart, the desire to achieve more in my career, the hustle.
But I failed. And eventually, my inability to stop and analyse where I was or how far I'd come led me to tolerate violence in my life.
And once again, I went back to my old habits… just get through that week’s deadline, that week’s argument, that day’s black eye, that day’s bruises.
Just get through it. Until these two boys, whom I was supposed to be protecting from harm, decided to protect me.
They sat me down and told me, “Mama, please STOP.”
And they were right.
We had come so far, and the way I was charting a path without assessing my current situation was leading us into darkness.
So I stopped and looked at myself, and what I had tolerated and lost along the way, and made the decision to change.
I walked out, away, and firmly pulled myself out. And no matter how hard or dangerous it became, I kept moving, trying to get back to the right path.
It hurt, and once again, my one-day-at-a-time strategy worked to get through the pain, addiction, loneliness, and fear.
Fast forward to last year. The two boys I was determined to protect are slowly but surely taking their own paths into independence and adulthood.
This year was tougher for me psychologically than I expected because that 12-year-old urge to “jump off the planet” returned.
And as I spiraled out of control, I decided to step out of the grind and look critically at what was going on.
I didn’t know what to do, everything was moving too fast, and I was collapsing into chaos. My weight was out of control, my drinking creeping into my mornings, and I could barely feel anything except darkness and emptiness.
So once again, I reverted to the old habit: pick one thing and try to fix it.
I picked the recreational thing, I quit everything that altered my state of mind or that I had used to numb reality.
With the help of an unlikely online friend, someone I’ve never met in person but whose kindred spirit was willing to hold my hand, I waded through the fog and let go of the habits I had used as a crutch.
It has been one year and counting of keeping away from it. Four months since I decided to do something about my health and weight.
And while it remains a struggle, I focus on just getting through one more plank, one more step, one more session.
It’s slow, but it’s progress.
I haven’t figured out how to look back and appreciate how I got here. I remember a friend once told me, “If you keep going at this pace in life, I’m going to leave you behind.”
At first, it scared me because I felt I was failing by not moving as fast as everyone else, not hitting those milestones others seemed to reach so effortlessly: new jobs, new projects, new relationships, more money, new cars or houses, weddings, transfers, promotions, and even peer recognition.
But then I remembered…
When I was having that conversation with myself at 12, I was alone in a dark room.
And while I’ve met the most amazing people who have been invaluable in this journey, people who have inspired me to keep going and improve my life, I must recognise that their milestones are their own journey, not mine.
Their pace and struggles are theirs alone. I should not try to keep up.
The only battle or race I must reach the finish line in is the one where I face the mirror alone in the dark.
I am not competing against anyone. The race is not with other people’s milestones, the race is to get through the day and be okay.
Now, I know I still have a lot to get through, and my focus is on getting through the rest of the month, the year, and eventually the boys’ journey in this uncharted territory called life.
But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t look back and accept that, even though it didn’t feel like it, each time I got through the day, every day I kept going, even when I wasn’t sure where I was heading, I was hitting milestones.
Climbing hills, and eventually mountains. Conquering peaks.
We were conquering peaks. I hope I won’t jump off this planet just yet… Because I have a lot of celebrating to do. I am not ready to leave yet.
So to my 12-year-old me, sorry to disappoint you, but: “Baby girl, our life is just beginning. Let’s stay a little while longer.
Everyone has a story worth sharing. If you’ve ever wished you could talk to your younger self—with wisdom, forgiveness, or clarity—we invite you to write to us. Your real, heartfelt letter might just be the encouragement someone else needs today. You may remain anonymous if preferred, but your truth matters. We don’t pay contributors, but we believe in the power of shared experience. Join us in building a collection of life’s hard-earned lessons and gentle reminders.
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