I Met My Younger Self For Coffee

Who are we kidding? It wasn’t coffee—it was some overpriced energy drink.
I showed up ten minutes early; she barely made it on time.
I pulled her into a hug, already knowing what was running through her mind.

I told her I see her—
her heart, her love, her fear of the unknown.
She blinked back the tears, trying to stay tough.

She asked about our tattoos and dyed hair.
I smiled and told her the story behind every piece of art on our body.
I remembered when we used to draw on ourselves, never knowing it would one day become permanent.

She asked if we still loved reading.
I told her about the powerful characters who felt like friends, the worlds we longed to live in.

She asked if we still had a lot of friends.
I told her it’s not about how many—it’s about how deeply we connect.
The love they give matters more.

She asked about life in the church.
I told her we hadn’t been in years—and we’re finally at peace with it.

She asked about her old friends.
I saw the shock on her face when I admitted we’d drifted apart.
She asked why, and I told her: some people couldn’t accept the version of ourselves we’re most proud of.

I told her she doesn’t need to hide her questions anymore—
about life, faith, or anything else.
There are incredible people who will encourage her to ask, to explore,
people who will love her unconditionally, who will never make her feel wrong for taking her time to grow.

I told her about the people we have now—
the ones who stick through every high and low,
who love us, flaws and all, and who grow alongside us.

She asked if we’d met “the one.”
I told her dating is complicated, but we’re learning to put ourselves out there.
Our worth doesn’t come from anyone else—it starts with loving ourselves.

She asked if we were following our dream.
I told her we still don’t know what that dream is.
She asked if we still worked for Dad.
I told her we’ve moved on—but we’re still figuring it out.

She asked what we do now.
I told her about bartending—
the creativity, the people, the stories we hear every day.

She asked about our family—if life still felt chaotic.
I told her so much has happened, and it’s not always easy,
but we’re learning how to take care of ourselves.

She asked if we loved the freedom of living on our own.
I admitted we’re back home for now—and that’s okay.

She asked about our relationship with our parents.
I told her it’s been rocky, but they’re finally starting to see how much we’ve grown.

She asked if our sister still drove us crazy.
I smiled—no, our sister has always been our biggest cheerleader,
pushing us to grow outside our comfort zone.

She asked about the animals we always dreamed of.
I told her the horse that made us fall in love with riding is ours now,
and we’ve learned so much together.
I told her about the dog who showed up in the most chaotic moment,
but who was worth every second.

She asked about our mental health—if we’d ever felt stable, focused.
I told her about the therapist who helped us fight for ourselves.
It’s not perfect, but we’re better.
I reminded her to advocate for herself—
we only get one body, and it deserves love too.

I encouraged her to leave her comfort zone,
to go to concerts alone, to meet amazing people along the way.

I told her to stay creative—
to design, to build a portfolio, to follow her curiosity.
You never know where it might lead.

I told her it’s okay to have a dozen half-finished projects.
Better messy than boring.

As we parted, I hugged her again.
She whispered, “Will we be okay?”
I held her tighter, knowing how hard it would get.

I told her there would be moments she’d want to give up—
but the people and experiences waiting for her would make it all worth it.
She’d get stronger through every trial.
It’s okay to ask for help.
The people who truly care will always show up.

I told her again: I see her. She is worth every moment.

As she walked away, I breathed deep.
Seeing who I was hurt—but I’m proud of who I’ve become.
Maybe one day, when we meet again, I’ll have even more good news to share—
and a little less for her to worry about.