Every year when the month of July rolls around, I get washed over by a wave of nostalgia, along with “heart pains” and “heart smiles” at the thought of the year behind me. Something about another solar return fills me with enough gratitude to move me to tears and enough grief to bend the earth.
My little sister and I often joke that I look like an entirely different person in every photo that is taken of me; be it a year ago or a few months ago, I often find myself wondering, “Who is this girl who looks absolutely everything and nothing like me?” “Who is this girl with whom I have everything and nothing in common?” “Who is this girl I do not recognize who still knows everything about me?”
I fear I am always in a deep stage of metamorphosis and constant change. And don’t get me wrong, evolution is good, great even, but there is always so much shifting both inside and outside of me, and so fast. It can be difficult to hold space for all the wisdom I’m being gifted and all the lessons I’m learning while still trying to be present. Sometimes I feel like life is growing me too fast... Then again, “who we are changes all the time if we’re lucky enough to stay alive” so maybe we’ll reframe it as a blessing.
But I won’t lie, being 22 was indeed a whirlwind. I went through my first breakup, I moved out of my childhood home (for the second time), I got my dream job (and immediately realized why it was never my dream to begin with), I went no contact with a parent (again). There was so much growing up to be done both by fire and by force, and I fell in and out of love with so many parts of my being and who I am, over and over again in the process.
I thought of writing a list of a few things I learned this year, but instead, I think there are many versions of me who need me and need a little extra love coming from present-day me. So let’s send some love backwards shall we. Let’s send some love to all the little girls that still live inside me! Mostly to remind myself of who I am and where I’ve been, but also to remember that there is always a road ahead, even when the path isn't clear. Your destiny is big, bright, and beautiful, as is your life, know that. Trust that. Believe that. Even on days when it seems murky… I’m so glad you made it here, baby.
I would tell 1-year-old me: Welcome to the world, bella! I’m not gonna hold you, you have some hard shit waiting for you, but as you take on the world, I need you to know we need you here. Nothing compares to your smile, your energy, your gifts! What you were put on this planet to do is so unique to you and so special, honor that! The world will try to make you forget, but hold your head high, mama! You are a beautiful girl with a beautiful life ahead of you.
I would tell 2-year-old me: You can be everything. You can be a poet, an organizer, a healer, a community worker, a botanist, a gym rat, an artist… You are everything. Don’t let the world box you in. Remain unsorted.
I would tell 3-year-old me: People who love you won’t demand you be anything but yourself.
I would tell 4-year-old me: You will always love to babble, sing, cook, read, paint, and create. The essence of who you are is rooted in self-expression and creativity. You are so incredibly expressive. It’s in your face, your body language, and in how loudly you love the people around you. You are so loud about the things you feel, the things that ignite you and fill you. Even when your mouth is shut, it beams out of you. So there’s really no point in trying to hide it, I promise. You couldn’t be disingenuous if you tried. You couldn’t be quiet if you tried. So instead, paint the town, baby! Your spark will never die, and your creativity will never go amiss. The wild woman that lives inside you is eternal, and she comes alive when you aren’t afraid to free her, when you aren’t afraid to feed her.
I would tell 5-year-old me: You will keep your precious little giggle. Through hardship and pain, you will remain one of those people who does her best to make others smile. On your worst days, you will still wave at babies and talk to trees. Don’t lose that. I need you to stay warm because, wallah, it will save you. It doesn’t matter what happens or what the world throws at you or who hurts you, I need you to stay warm. Don’t you eva go cold on me now – jaded and guarded don’t look good on you anyway. I need you to remain the kind of person who talks to every child like they are the most special person in the world, and who hugs grieving strangers at the bus stop and compliments every person at the function because you mean it. The world needs it. You need it. Hold onto the warmest, reddest parts of you.
I would tell 6-year-old me: I know ballet isn’t fun anymore, but you will find your way back to the healing joy of movement eventually. Keep carving out time for play, for running and jumping, and just existing. You will find something that makes you feel just that way again soon.
I would tell 7-year-old me: You will sometimes have the saddest and most beautiful day simultaneously, and that’s okay. You can have sheer joy and pulsing grief to the same degree, same intensity, all within the exact same moment in time. Bright orange-type obnoxiously happy wrapped all around a barren grey sunken chest, and vice versa to the point that it muddles and you don’t even know what you’re looking at anymore. Remember that every color is needed for the full picture. It’s just the human experience experiencing real bad on some hardcore complex shit. To feel, to experience (and hopefully learn enough not to have to do this shit again), you just have to enjoy the ride. “You have to take anger and happiness in the same cup, and drink it. Life is untamable. For as long as we live, we will experience compounded emotions.” – Ehime Ora
I would tell 8-year-old me: You are a force to be reckoned with. Anything you set your heart and mind to, even if your legs quiver and there is fear in your chest, you will do. You’re a dreamer and a doer. You leap. You commit and you fly. So don’t be afraid to fly, baby! You’ve got the heart and the drive for it. I ain’t never met a girl this dedicated to being dedicated.
I would tell 9-year-old me: Your joy is yours. It’s not sacrificial joy or for the taking joy, it’s yours. As a daughter, a Black girl, a woman period, people will try to make it seem like your happiness should be an afterthought and your love is meant to feed others. You need to learn to refuse that categorically. Stop pouring into everybody. You are your first priority, first love, first home. Life feels better when you love you first, it’s meant to. You deserve the world, and the world deserves you at your best.
I would tell 10-year-old me: It’s okay to cry. There is more to you than grit and resilience. You don’t have to be the strongest person in the room all the time. You are just a girl, just one person, and you can fall apart. Fall apart. I see you, and I got you.
I would tell 11-year-old me: You don’t have to do anything to be worthy. You don’t have to be a martyr. You don’t have to stomach pain and abuse to prove you’re worthy of love, respect, and care. It’s not your job to heal anybody. Let the wounded healer archetype die once and for all. YOUR joy matters. YOUR healing matters. YOUR happiness matters. Your love is precious and valuable. Keep some for you. Oh and the home you’re looking for is you, and that safety, that refuge, that security, and unconditional love you’re yearning for doesn’t have to be earned… It’s deserved and it’s not coming from anyone or anywhere outside of yourself.
I would tell 12-year-old me: Get angry. Get mad. You don’t get a prize for being a pushover. Put some bass in your voice and tell people to stop fucking playing with you.
I would tell 13-year-old me: It’s okay to be “an ugly duckling”. You’ll soon realize there’s not a single ugly thing about you. You’re blossoming so pretty, baby.
I would tell 14-year-old me: Be patient with me. A lot of what you perceive as your worst traits and that big list of flaws in your head boils down to coping and survival. These are all quirks and specific maladaptive habits your body and nervous system came up with to try to keep you safe, to understand what was going on around you, to to process the “unstomachable” – they aren’t your enemy. The attachment issues, hyper independence, overanalyzing, and hypervigilance are really just your body doing its absolute best to protect you. So in what will be this lifelong process of learning and unlearning, I need you to stop antagonizing and villainizing all these bits and parts of you… Let’s say thank you and then say goodbye, and let it take the time it takes. It took years to pick all that up and it’ll take years to put it all back down, and that’s okay. You’re worth the time and the effort, baby, so let’s at least be compassionate, you know? Your body wants what’s best for you. Be kind. Move slow. Be patient with you.
I would tell 15-year-old me: Existing is the patchwork. “How will I heal?” is often answered in the next deep breath and the one after that. Breathe.
I would tell 16-year-old me: You’ll spend a long time searching for a sort of something to fill the void. Academic promise, the dream of a big lawyer career, promises of love you know deep down are conditional… You will search for a while, but trust that when you do finally figure out what makes you happy, you’ll know for sure. Spoiler alert: Love, art, and community – that’s your big 3, and it's all you’ll ever need in this life to feel fulfilled. So hold onto that a little longer, in whatever ways you can, and as long and as forever as you can – those are your anchors, baby.
I would tell 17-year-old me: Grace is love, and you embody that perfectly. The simple recognition that we are all human and doing this human thing for the very first time will save you so much stress and frustration. I know, I know, I was just telling you to learn to recognize when someone needs a right hook to the face, but it’s just as important to pick up on when a hug might be more appropriate. Not everything is worth getting worked up or getting angry about. It’s corny, but life really is too short and too unpredictable for that, and again, we’re all doing this human thing for the very first time. Most of the time, you’ll be happy you handled difficult or painful matters with grace and sensibility. There is always a kinder and gentler way to say things, to do things, and if anyone can find it, it’s you. We all disappoint people, we all cause harm, and fuck up sometimes. In my opinion, we still all deserve a hug.
I would tell 18-year-old me: Choosing you will cost you, but trust it’s the price you’d rather pay. Self-betrayal is too costly, too painful. Honor your intuition. Respect your soul’s wishes and your own destiny. Respect who you are and what you came on this earth to do, and don't let anybody stand in the way of that or tell you otherwise. You’re exactly who you’re meant to be. Choosing you doesn't always feel so good when it's this visceral, but I pray for the day it won't hurt this much. Do you to the highest degree, my heart!
I would tell 19-year-old me: You will forgive yourself one day. It won’t hurt forever, baby. You live, you make mistakes, you live with the consequences of your actions. You feel it all. You be sorry and remorseful, you apologize, and you learn from them, but you don't let them stop you. You let them change you. You let the hurt move you to be better, and you love yourself harder. There’s no love on a damn pedestal anyway. We own all our light and all our darkness over here.
I would tell 20-year-old me: You know what love is. Trust that you can know and recognize it. I think when you grow up in a make-yourself-small home, a scary home, it makes it really difficult to trust that you can recognize what is safe, what is love, and what is warm. But you know, you know.
I would tell 21-year-old me: Every pain has its purpose and Inshallah, none of it has been in vain. And I don't say this to romanticize or gleam over the hard things you’ve been through, but trust that every heartbreak and disappointment has served you, even if it’s only because it brought you closer to yourself. It hurts, I know, but what is for you won’t miss you, and it will all make sense one day. All you have to do is take a step forward and keep honoring the person you are becoming.
I would tell 22-year-old me: Drop the tough guy act and big thug bullshit, like neoww. I know you’re still hurting, and that’s okay. Some things are going to hurt for a long time, let them. It doesn't mean you’re doing this healing thing wrong or that you're not doing the work. It just means it still hurts. Let it hurt. Don’t pry yourself open or put a scalpel to your skin, drawing blood and poking at a wound won't make it hurt any less – it hurts for a reason. It hurts to feel for a reason. It hurts to write about for a reason. It feels like 40 lbs on your heart for a reason. Slow down, be gentle, tread lightly and compassionately. No part of burying, repressing, or choking back tears actually makes it hurt any less painful (if not MORE), so feel and release, mama. No more thugging it out, cry it out and pray about it.
I would tell 23-year-old me: The people who love you will always listen. They will listen to your long rants and big feelings and give you permission to be honest and come undone over and over and over. Also, “trust is sharing parts of yourself you think others will run from” (yes, I got this quote from a Grey's Anatomy spin-off), and that includes sharing the parts of yourself you tend to run from too. Let people in, especially when it hurts, especially when it’s uncomfortable. Life is hard and you need your people. You need to be held. Stop denying yourself that.
Finally, I would tell my future self to be where her feet are. To be present, but also brave enough to want her future. To give herself permission to yearn, to dream, and to admit that she needs love too.
Give yourself permission to want. It’s not greedy to yearn or to dream, to want more. Be the ambitious, passionate, and idealistic person I know you are. I know it’s hard to be met with so much resistance and pushback, and sometimes it starts to feel like the entire universe is set up against you, but your ideas are important and your voice matters. You matter. What you bring to this planet matters. I see you. I hear you. Shine brighter. Get louder.
Oh, and give yourself permission to cry without having to know why. Give yourself permission to be human. And please remember that your softness, your humanity, and your vulnerability are the very things that have shaped you and saved your life over and over and over.
I know it’s really easy to put walls up or want to hide when you’re hurting or when you’re uncomfortable and growing… It’s really easy to want to shelter yourself from the world and keep your softest parts tucked away. No pressure, take the time you need to recoup and to feel it all, but do NOT confuse resting and cocooning with hiding. You weren't meant to live small or play it safe. Don’t doubt that what you do have to share, when you are ready to share, is worthy. You are worthy.
I love you endlessly and I will love you through every transformation, every rebirth. Whether you’re cocooning, blossoming, or flying – I will love you through every season.
PS: It is an honor to love you. I have always loved you and I will never not love you. I plan to love you forever.
Oh and be gentle with yourself. Accept that you won’t have all the answers right now and that’s okay.
And to whoever you are reading this alongside me, if you’ve made it all the way here, thank you. Thank you for being a witness. Thank you for reading my testimony, for cleaning my tears, and for rejoicing in my smiles. For walking through my head and my heart kindly & gracefully. I’m sending you all my love, always, and I pray Allah grants your every wish and makes your heart’s every desire come true.
Take care and be gentle with you!
XOXO
Love, Fanta
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