There’s something about being a young woman that no one prepares you for. Not the way it actually feels. The way your body starts holding things your heart can’t explain. The way the world suddenly starts to feel both too big and too small. Everything means everything. Every look, every silence, every touch. You feel it all—loud and deep and sharp.
I’ve been thinking about that version of me. The one who didn’t have the words yet. Who mistook intensity for love. Who gave her heart like it was water. Who didn’t realize she was drowning in it until it was too late. Back then, the heartbreak wasn’t just from boys. It came from friends, from parents, from myself. From the space between who I was and who I wanted to be. From the fact that no one taught me how to hold myself when things fell apart.
There’s so much I didn’t know. And honestly? There’s a lot I still don’t. But what I do know now is that softness is not a weakness. Wanting to be chosen is not shameful. Feeling deeply doesn’t make you fragile—it makes you aware. And just because someone couldn’t handle your depth doesn’t mean you were too much. It means they couldn’t meet you there.
It’s wild how heavy things feel when you’re young. And how invisible that weight is to the world. You’re expected to show up, be graceful, get over it, smile. But no one asks if you even have a safe place to land. And if you do finally say something—if you cry, or shut down, or ask for too much—you start to believe you’re the problem.
You’re not.
You’re just becoming. And becoming is messy. It’s nonlinear. It doesn’t always look like growth when you’re in it. Sometimes it looks like breaking. Sometimes it looks like staying in the wrong place too long. Sometimes it looks like having nothing left to give.
But still—you’re learning. You’re shedding. You’re moving toward a version of yourself who will know how to hold all the things you never thought you could.
And when you look back… you’ll see it. Not just the pain, but the becoming. Not just the confusion, but the softness you refused to let go of. That’s what stays. That’s what gets you through.
It’s okay if you’re still figuring it out. It’s okay if you still cry about things you thought you healed. There’s no shame in your softness. No failure in your feeling. You are not behind—you are exactly where you’re meant to be.
Everything you’re feeling right now is proof that you’re alive. Stay with yourself. That’s the real glow-up.
