To the calm, rational roommate I was in my first apartment away from my childhood home. You are the me I want to channel whenever someone says something particularly ignorant in class or pushes in front of me to get on the bus. You are zen me, who was unfazed by living with someone who was your polar opposite, not to mention a pair of feuding friends.

To the comedic version of myself that my sister brings out in me. She may be the easiest audience ever, but you’re damn funny! You aren’t afraid to giggle, chortle, chuckle, snort, and be your most rambunctious self. Thank you for turning off your filter for a little while and letting it all out.

To the me that works with kids, thank you for proving how resilient you can be when someone else’s life is your responsibility. Whether it’s camping trips, scavenger hunts, or just math homework, you prove to me that you can be authoritative and powerful when you need to be.

To the me I am when I draw, please stay creative. You might be studying all the time, but don’t forget that artistic expression and creativity are just as fulfilling (arguably much more) than good grades. Don’t compare yourself to others, just let yourself be imaginative.

To the authentic, unrestrained version of myself I am with my college friends. I know it’s hard to unlearn a lifetime of being labeled the responsible one and of censoring the parts of yourself that feel gross, rude, or too loud. Thank you for beginning to remember that being genuine, caring, passionate, and interesting is more important than appearances or being polite.

To the anxious, nervous, stressed and overwhelmed me: I know I don’t give you a lot of credit. You may not be my favorite version of myself, but you’re one that I’m learning to understand and appreciate. Thank you for making me listen to my emotions and intuitions instead of ignoring them.

And to the me I was around you. To the me that was spontaneous and fun, because if you didn’t give a shit about what people think, why should I? To the me that didn’t always think things through, who let herself be young and stupid (at least by my standards). The me that ended up liking music I never expected to and meeting people I would never have talked to otherwise. To the me that learned to be vulnerable, the me that learned to feel comfortable and safe around a family so different from my own. You’re the version of me that I miss most and yet the version that might have only been possible by being temporary.

And finally, to the me that needs to be reminded of the good parts of herself. The me that sees the insecurities in brighter colors and sharper outlines than the beautiful parts.

You’re the me I try to silence, when instead I should focus on lifting up all these other versions of myself.