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.
Wawira Gathoni (Not her real name) pens this week’s heartfelt Letter to My Younger Self. Here is part four of the series:
Dear Younger Self
High school was the first place that taught you intelligence alone would not protect you.
Up until then, life had still carried some softness. Childhood had its innocence. Primary school still allowed room for curiosity, achievement, and hope. But high school introduced you to something far more complicated:
People. Their insecurities. Their cruelty. Their power.
And the painful reality that systems are not always fair.
You arrived in high school carrying confidence you did not even realise you had. You were bright, outspoken, expressive, and emotionally alive. You still believed honesty mattered. You still believed that if you defended yourself, adults would listen fairly. You still believed friendships were built on sincerity.
You were still young enough to think the world made sense.
High school slowly dismantled that illusion.
You got into trouble sometimes, not necessarily because you were rebellious, but because you struggled with injustice. You defended yourself. You questioned things. You reacted emotionally when hurt. And in many school environments, especially for girls, assertiveness is often interpreted as disrespect.
That lesson hurt you deeply.
Because there is something psychologically confusing about being punished for trying to protect yourself.
Especially as a girl.
Girls are often taught to be agreeable before they are taught to be safe. To remain polite before they remain honest. To absorb discomfort quietly so other people can remain comfortable.
And when girls resist that conditioning, they are frequently labelled difficult.
You experienced some of that very early.
There were moments you felt misunderstood by teachers, isolated by peers, or judged more harshly than others. Sometimes you carried anger you did not know how to express properly. Sometimes you carried sadness disguised as toughness.
And perhaps for the first time in your life, you began understanding loneliness.
Not physical loneliness. Emotional loneliness.
The kind that happens when you are surrounded by people but still feel unseen.
High school also taught you about betrayal.
Friendships at that age can feel enormous because teenagers experience emotions so intensely. A friend becoming distant can feel like grief. Exclusion can feel humiliating. Gossip can feel devastating. And betrayal cuts especially deeply when you are still young enough to love people sincerely.
You learned quickly that not everybody who laughs with you is loyal to you.
That lesson changed you. It made you more cautious. More observant.
More protective of yourself emotionally.
I sometimes think that was the beginning of your transition from extroversion into introversion. Not because you stopped loving people, but because life taught you that vulnerability without discernment can be dangerous.
And yet, despite all the pain, high school also revealed something important about you:
You were resilient. Even when you felt isolated, you kept going.
Even when friendships disappointed you, you kept showing up.
Even when systems felt unfair, you survived them.
Looking back now, I realise high school was never just an academic experience for you. It was emotional training. It forced you to develop survival skills long before adulthood officially arrived.
You learned how to read rooms.
How to identify safe people. How to regulate emotions publicly even when you were struggling privately.
How to recover from humiliation.
How to rebuild confidence after disappointment. Those are difficult lessons for a teenager to carry.
And maybe that is why I feel tenderness toward the girl you were during those years.
Because underneath the stubbornness, the defensiveness, the emotional reactions, and the occasional troublemaking was simply a young girl trying to protect her dignity in environments that did not always know how to hold girls gently.
But high school was not only painful. There were beautiful things too. The friends who stayed.
The ones who saw you clearly.
The ones who defended you in rooms where others misunderstood you.
The ones who reminded you that loyalty still existed.
Real friendships are often born in difficult seasons because struggle reveals character quickly.
And those friendships helped carry you through some of the hardest emotional years of your young life.
There is another thing high school gave you, though you did not realise it then:
Strength. Not the loud kind. Not performative toughness. Real strength.
The kind built quietly through disappointment, survival, and recovery.
The kind that later allows women to navigate difficult workplaces, heartbreak, motherhood, leadership, loneliness, and life itself without collapsing every time something hurts.
High school did not always feel kind to you.
But it sharpened you.
It forced you to become emotionally aware earlier than many people do.
And perhaps most importantly, it taught you a lesson you still carry today:
That surviving difficult environments without losing your humanity is its own form of success.
And somehow, despite everything, you managed to do exactly that.
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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