An Open Letter To My 12-Year-Old Self
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Student Life

An Open Letter To My 12-Year-Old Self

Because Middle School was the Worst

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An Open Letter To My 12-Year-Old Self
Olivia Velasquez

Dear 12-year-old Me,

Right now you are in love and are focused on growing up. You’ve packed up all of your dolls, all of your posters, and all of your childhood and have placed them in the attic. No more baby stuff. It’s time to grow up, and the sooner, the better. You’ve bought self-improvement books, diet books, and set deadlines for yourself every week. What most people accomplish in 10 years, you’ll do in five.

But I’m here to tell you something — this isn’t you. There is so much more to your life than becoming Mr. Right’s perfect wife. You are Olivia. That’s it. No other label comes close to encapsulating all that you are. Before you protest, believe me I understand — you’re in love. But he isn’t perfect and he will forget you though you will never forget him. But guess what? You will fall in love again. And again. And again until finally you find each other. That’s how it works. You are not exempt. So stop trying to change yourself to make someone love you.

By now you’ve probably crumpled this letter and thrown it in the trash—which you will go grab later because you’re curious—so try to read my words in between the rotten lettuce and coffee grains. Despite your agenda, you will not be married by 18 (trust me, you won’t want to when you're 18). You also won’t have your fantasy series published when you're 13. Sorry, but we were busy! And you won’t be a world-famous movie actress by the time you are 16.

But let me tell you where you will be. You will go to college. And you will actually love it. You will make friends. You will write, A LOT, and you will find that you write well. You will get into film acting, but it won’t be what you think. You will get a puppy that will change your life by loving you better than any man ever could. And you will be set free from your demons. No more night terrors, no more fear, and no more torment. You will be free.

As your future self, I beg you to let go. Let go of your plans. Let go of your lies. In the end, your reality will become beautiful, so beautiful you won’t always want to escape into a book, or a show, or your own imagination. Though your life won’t turn out the way you thought, it will still be rewarding. And once you let go, the possibilities become limitless.

Sincerely,

21-year-old Me

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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