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 five of her series
Dear Younger Self
University was supposed to feel like freedom. And in many ways, it did.
You had survived high school. You had done well academically. You had made it into a private university in Nairobi, something that already carried a certain image and expectation around it. You were young, hopeful, curious, and finally old enough to start imagining yourself as an adult.
But adulthood is rarely as glamorous as young people imagine it will be.
Nobody really prepares you for how confusing your early twenties can feel.
One day you are a child living under structure and routine. The next, you are expected to suddenly know who you are, what you believe, where you are going, and how to make good decisions consistently.
Most young people are not lost because they are irresponsible. They are lost because identity takes time.
And somewhere during those university years, you started losing pieces of yourself quietly.
Not dramatically. Quietly. You wanted to belong.
That is the part many adults judge too harshly when they speak about young people. They forget how deeply human the need for belonging is. At that age, acceptance can feel like survival. Friendship feels permanent. Validation feels necessary. Being included feels important.
So like many young people, you slowly started adjusting yourself to fit environments that were never fully aligned with who you truly were.
Peer pressure is often misunderstood.
People imagine it as direct coercion. But sometimes peer pressure is much softer than that. Sometimes it is simply the fear of being left behind. The fear of seeming boring. The fear of not fitting into the version of youth everyone else appears to be enjoying.
And before you realise it, you start drifting. Not because you are bad.
Not because you are weak. But because becoming yourself is much harder than becoming acceptable.
I think that season confused you deeply because outwardly, life still looked fine. You were educated. Social. Functional. Moving through life like everybody else. But internally, something felt disconnected.
You were performing adulthood before fully understanding yourself. And honestly, many young women do this.
They become versions of themselves that are easier to love socially. Less intense. Less thoughtful. Less different. Less complicated. They silence parts of themselves to make relationships easier, friendships smoother, environments more comfortable.
Sometimes they do not even notice it happening. Until one day they wake up and realise they no longer recognise themselves fully.
I think that is what was beginning to happen to you.
The girl who once loved learning deeply was becoming distracted by external validation. The girl who once moved through life with natural confidence was beginning to seek approval from people who had not earned that power over her.
And yet, even in that confusion, there was still something inside you refusing to disappear completely.
That part matters. Because some people lose themselves and never return.
You found your way back. Not instantly.
Not perfectly. But intentionally.
And strangely enough, the beginning of your healing came through service.
Reviving that club for young women in campus changed something inside you. At first, it may have looked like leadership. Like student engagement. Like empowerment work.
But underneath it, something deeper was happening.
You were rebuilding yourself.
Every conversation with another young woman slowly mirrored parts of your own struggles back to you. Their insecurities sounded familiar. Their fears sounded familiar. Their need for confidence sounded familiar.
And somewhere in trying to empower them, you began empowering yourself too.
I think that is one of the most beautiful things about healing. Sometimes we become what we needed.
You did not yet have all the language for it then, but you were already discovering purpose. You were beginning to understand that leadership is not about attention; it is about impact. It is about helping people feel seen. It is about creating spaces you wish had existed for you.
That experience pulled you back toward yourself.
Toward substance. Toward meaning.
Toward the version of you that cared deeply about people, dignity, growth, and possibility.
And perhaps that is why I do not judge the girl you were during those years.
She was experimenting. Learning. Searching.
Trying to understand herself in a world constantly telling young women who they should be.
There is courage in finding yourself after losing your way.
And there is wisdom in admitting that self-discovery is rarely linear.
Today, many years later, I understand something you did not know then:
Belonging is beautiful, but not when it costs you yourself.
The right people will never require you to abandon your values, your depth, your softness, your intelligence, or your voice in exchange for acceptance.
And the most important relationship you will ever build is the one you have with yourself.
That lesson took years to learn. But eventually, you learned it.
And honestly?
That changed everything.
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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