Hey everyone,
I don’t usually share personal stuff on here, but something happened today that I can’t keep inside. It’s been weighing on me, and I think writing it out might help me understand it better. I guess I’m hoping that by sharing, I might find some clarity and maybe offer some to others, too.
It started this morning while I was cleaning out some old boxes from my parents’ attic. They’ve decided to downsize, and my mom politely insisted that I should sort through my ‘treasures’—things I hadn’t touched since high school.
I stumbled upon this old shoebox, dusty and unlabeled. Inside, I found my childhood collection of postcards—each bursting with vibrant images of places I’d never been. I smiled, remembering how my dad used to bring me one from every business trip. At the bottom of the pile, something unexpected caught my eye: a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age, tucked among the postcards.
As I unfolded it, my heart sank—it was a note from my younger self, written to my future self. I’d forgotten all about it. The childish scrawl was hard to decipher at first, but eventually, it all came into focus:
“Dear Future Me,
Are you happy now? Did you make Mom proud? I hope you’re less afraid.
Love,
Past You.”
Reading those words felt like a punch to the gut. I remembered writing the note during a particularly hard time in my childhood. I was always an anxious kid, worried about not living up to expectations, fearful of letting people down. My mom, she was always my rock, but there was this unspoken pressure to make her proud.
Back then, I must have hoped this letter would serve as a reminder to strive for happiness and courage. But as I sat there, shoebox in hand, I realized I hadn’t thought about that note in years. But more importantly, I began to question if I had really changed since writing it.
Have I actually made my mom proud? Am I truly happy? These questions circled my mind like a relentless storm. I thought about my life—my job, my relationships, my ambitions. It was like watching a film reel spinning out of control, showing moments of my life where I chose safety over passion, fear over love.
Later, I sat with my mom over tea. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, bathing the kitchen in a soft, golden light. I decided to ask her directly, “Mom, are you proud of me?”
She paused, a little startled by the question. “Of course, sweetheart. Why do you ask?”
I showed her the note. Her eyes softened as she read it, and she took my hand in hers. “You’ve always made me proud,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “You’ve faced so much with grace and strength. But what matters most is if you’re proud of yourself.”
And there it was—the personal truth I had been blind to for so long. It wasn’t just about making others proud; it was about finding pride in myself. Realizing that I am enough just as I am, with all my flaws and fears.
It stirred something deep within me. Sitting there with my mom, I understood that my happiness was my responsibility. I needed to let go of the fear of disappointing others and the obsession with meeting expectations.
In that quiet moment, I felt an unexpected sense of freedom. I hugged my mom tightly, whispering a silent promise to the little girl who wrote that note: “I will be proud of you.”
So, here I am, sharing this because maybe some of you are also holding onto fears or expectations that are not truly yours. Maybe we can learn to let them go together. Thanks for reading, and for letting me share a part of my journey with you.
