Dear 15 Year Old Me

July 26, 2016

Hello to the 15 year old me, from your 31 year old self.

I just saw a rather unflattering photo of you earlier, while mindlessly browsing through Facebook on this gloomy July afternoon. The mouse’s pointer hovering over the un-tag button. You, I mean, I, just had a hell of a week, month even and in no mood to be bombarded with comments today.

I closed the window on your grinning face and went back to typing my report on how many people bothered customer services this quarter. By hour 2 of me futilely searching for yet another word to say ‘increased’, I looked for your face again.

I can still remember you.

Carefree, you with the bright eyes and wide smile. Big heart full of dreams and ideals.

I looked at myself and tried to see if you are still there.

Face is slightly pudgy now, eyes tired and beaming lips almost perpetually on a frown. Squinting, I tried to look harder. And then gave a small smile.

Though faintly, I can still see a glimmer of you, 15 year old me.

And as if on cue, you looked up from the book your head is buried in (like I always remembered you), and gave your slightly older version a thumbs up. Like saying, hang in there old hag, it’ll get better. It always does.

My heart revived, with self-love swarming back. It was so easy to get lost, so easy to just fade in, to lose sight of who I was.

Thank you, 15 year old me. That felt like an antidote. With no other reason, I felt slightly better. I straighten my slouch and gave myself a much needed pep talk.

Yes, 31 year old self, it felt like you’re drowning now but remember, YOU DO KNOW HOW TO SWIM.

And swam I did.

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If truth be told, 2016 has not been kind to me. I’ve been feeling down, maybe it’s postpartum baby blues, maybe it’s stress.

I’m in a bad mood for most of the time, taking out my unhappiness at home and at the office. I just want to sleep and had to literally drag myself to do things, I’ve been unproductive and it’s alarmingly evident at work. I overate and gained pounds.

I knew I hit rock bottom when husband and I no longer talk and I was snapping at the kids. I’d go to work and just stare at my computer hoping that I won’t be asked what the hell I’m doing because, I was just spacing out.

But I’d like to think that I’m better now.

It was a struggle and it took awhile for me to get to my happy place. There were things I hoped I’ve done differently, like I could have tried speaking to a friend about it.

But what saved me, as always, was writing.

Pretty much like when I was in high school where I’d write in my diary, putting into words  my small victories and big worries. Reading through them now, I now have a renewed appreciation of what I have in my life.