I met my younger self for coffee.
We were both late.
Her nails were perfectly manicured, makeup flawlessly applied, and hair meticulously straightened. She had spent hours getting ready.
I had rushed out the door—chipped nails, barely any makeup, my wild curls unrestrained.
We both ordered hot Americanos with oat milk. I sipped mine slowly, savoring each taste. She gulped hers down, restless and anxious.
She fidgeted in her seat, her energy buzzing with uncertainty.
I sat still, breathing deeply, grounded.
"Did we find our dream man?" she asked.
"It doesn’t matter," I told her. "Because we had found and fallen in love with ourself."
She said she wanted to change the world.
"We are," I assured her.
"Does it ever get easier?" she asked.
I exhaled. "No. It actually gets harder. But we become stronger, more grounded, and equipped to move through the challenges with grace."
She hesitated. "The panic attacks… do they stop?"
"They get worse," I admitted. "But then we learn how to get rid of them altogether. The anxiety gets heavier, but eventually, it fades—almost completely."
She swallowed. "Do we ever fall in love again?"
"Many times," I smiled. "With people, with friends, with the ocean, with animals, with ourselves, with life."
"But why does it have to be so hard?" she whispered.
I reached for her hand. "I don’t know," I said. "But it’s worth it."
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