An Open-Letter to My 12-Year-Old Self

An Open-Letter to My 12-Year-Old Self

Dear 12-year-old Me,

It has been eight years since I last talked to you. Eight years since I last heard from you, eight years since I last saw you, and eight years since I last knew you. Eight years since I lost contact with you.

I often think about you.

I worry.

Not only about your ideals, your naïve outlook on life, but also how you would see me. How proud you would be of me if we ever met.

I remember in 2008 when your seventh grade class sat down and watched the inauguration of Barack Obama, the first black president of the United States. I remember you thinking, “Hey. Barack Obama is the first black president of the United States. Wouldn’t it be amazing if the next step was Hillary Clinton becoming the first female president of the United States?” But as the recent elections proved, it wasn’t meant to be.

Like you, I’m sure Hilary Clinton had many dreams and aspirations when she was 12. I’m sure she worried about the future, and feared growing up and making a difference; feared failure. And like you, she must have feared that some of those dreams wouldn’t come true. That she wouldn’t be able to achieve them.

I understand your hopes and aspirations. You believe in creativity, being good to people, trying your best. You think thinking positively can get you through almost anything, as long as you understand your limits.

But at 20, I’m just beginning to realise the almost crippling effect your 12-year-old ideals have had on me. You’ve also based your assumptions, hopes, and dreams on an exaggerated ideal projected onto you by movies, TV shows, and even books. Like most 12-year-old girls, you want to grow up pretty, popular, and smart. You want to try makeup; you want to fall in love; you want to interact, be social, and go to parties. But none of that has happened. Why have you placed such an emphasis on these things?

I think what really upsets me is that I fear you wouldn’t look up to me because I don’t fit into the mould of someone who is “pretty, popular, and smart.” But why should your dreams centre on being pretty, popular, and smart? Whenever I think of letting you down, it annoys me how much of an emphasis your ideals are based around looks and romance. Society has imposed on you the idea of a “perfect girl” as one that is pretty, liked, popular, and smart – but not too smart. You’re extremely self-conscious about your pimples, the size of your eyes, and how your peers think of you. You think that growing up, going to high school, going to university will somehow magically “fix” all of your flaws. You can’t wait for the day that you will somehow magically fit into the socially constructed model of the perfect girl. But now that I’m 20, because I haven’t lived up to these ideals, I feel as if I’ve failed you somehow.

At 20, your life hasn’t changed a lot. In fact, it’s still controlled by insecurities and fear, but your beliefs have evolved. You love creativity, but fear that you are no longer creative. You want to be good to people, but are afraid sometimes you haven’t been. You’re afraid to think positively because you know that somewhere, somehow, something will shut your positivity down. You’re afraid to wear makeup because you feel like you’re projecting a lie when you put it on. Then you fear that people secretly judge you because you don’t wear makeup. You haven’t fallen in love. You don’t even have the slightest clue what being in love would even feel like. You don’t go to parties because you don’t like the noise, the people, and you feel as if social gatherings are just one big display.

At 20, you fear and want different things. You’re afraid you can’t compare to your classmates who appear to be achieving so much with just as many resources. You’ve become afraid of success, of displaying your intelligence, of conveying your thoughts. You have the depression and anxiety that you, even at 12-years-old, knew would one day manifest. All because you fear failure, fear condescension, fear that you have not achieved everything you should have at 20, and that you have not made your 12-year-old self proud. All because you’re scared that you haven’t lived up to every 12-year-old girl’s dream of growing up “pretty, popular, and smart.”

But that’s not true. You’re unique. Why is such an emphasis placed on girls to be “pretty, popular, and smart”? Where are the messages that tell girls to aim to be the president on the United States (or because you live in Canada, the Prime Minister)? I understand you’re insecure about the size of your eyes, the number of pimples that you have, and how your peers perceive you. But they don’t matter. Your looks aren’t everything. They don’t define you. 

So do I think you’d be proud of me if we ever met? Yes. Let me tell you about myself. At 20, I’ve achieved a lot. I’ve made lifelong friends. I’ve been accepted into schools and given opportunities I didn’t think would ever be a possibility. I’ve been published in print. I have the opportunity to write for an online publication and reach hundreds of people. I’ve been given awards and accolades, been proud of my achievements, and been given recognition.

I no longer believe in being “pretty, popular, and smart.” I no longer place such a value in finding romance, because I feel as if it would hold me back. I no longer believe in being “popular,” and only care about being genuine, honest, and helpful. I still want to be smart, but I also want to be recognized for being innovative, creative, and intelligent. I want to be known for my insightful and original thoughts, not based on my looks or amount of friends.

Most importantly, I’m starting to care less about my insecurities. While both of us have feared rejection for the majority of our life, I’m starting to embrace it. I’m starting to realise that I will never achieve anything without being rejected. I’m finally going after the things I want and I’m happy because I’m trying. I’m finally trying to find and be the self you were on your way to at 12, but somehow stamped down for fear of standing out. I’m learning not to turn down opportunities because I fear I’m not right for the job, or that I will fail.

While I still fear failure, I’ve stopped trying to run away from it, and starting to have the courage to look at it in the face.

I thought that I’d have everything figured out at 20, but I don’t. But I just want you to know that at 20, I’m still young. Very young. I have plenty of time to fall in love and make a difference. I have plenty of time to make my mark, assert my opinions, and develop my own individual me. 

Maybe in eight years from now, at 28, my life will be completely different. Or maybe it will be completely the same. But what’s important to remember is that it’s okay to be different. It’s okay to take things at my own pace. It’s okay to achieve and be happy, and to look for it, even if I no longer know what that feels like. You have a wonderful, long, and eye-opening road in front of you. 

And as for me? I have plenty of time to make both of us proud.

All the best,

20-Year-Old You

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