There’s a version of me I still carry in my back pocket. She’s about 17, maybe 18—full of big ideas, a little mascara, and a mouth full of braces, dreaming of becoming a dentist. Not for money, not for prestige, but because she liked the quiet thrill of helping people smile without being embarrassed. She wanted to wear those little scrubs and say things like “open wide” and mean it.
But I never became her.
I became someone else—someone safe. Someone who was good at writing, or organizing, or showing up on time. Someone who knew how to hold a job, manage expectations, keep her head down, and listen when adults say things like “that’s not realistic” or “are you sure you’re smart enough for that?” I nodded. I was a good girl. I didn’t want to be a burden. So, I chose comfort over calling. I chose applause over authenticity.
And now, I’m here—doing something I’m good at, something that keeps the lights on, but not the thing I once believed would light me up.
And I’ll be honest with you, that realization used to wreck me. Still does, some days.
Because when you’re in your 30s, or somewhere between your late 20s and mid-40s—somewhere between a Target run and a mild existential crisis—regret can sneak in like the smell of your ex’s cologne on a hoodie you swore you threw out. And suddenly you’re spiraling… Why didn’t I try harder? Why did I listen to them? Why was I so scared?
Let me just say this, in case no one else has… if you’ve ever mourned the version of you that could have been—you’re not alone.
And that version?? She’s not mad at you.
In fact, she’s probably really proud.
I spent most of my 20s doing what I thought I was supposed to do. The job. The stability. The modest goals. I convinced myself it was fine. And it was fine. Until I realized I was so good at settling, I had forgotten how to want more.
And that “more” isn’t just about ambition or success. Sometimes, “more” is just yourself, unfiltered. It’s saying yes to risk, even if it doesn’t come with a paycheck. It’s unlearning all the rules that told you, “if it’s not perfect, don’t bother.” It’s choosing chaos over comfort because, deep down, comfort was costing you everything.
There’s a lot of noise out there about becoming your best self like she’s this polished, well-lit woman who drinks green juice and wakes up at 5 a.m. to meditate and manifest. Good for her. But that’s not what I’m chasing.
I’m just trying to forgive the girl I used to be.
That one who was too scared to apply to dental school. The one who believed she wasn’t enough. The one who stayed quiet so no one would think she was “too much.” The one who let a dream slip through her fingers because she thought maybe she didn’t deserve to hold it in the first place.
It’s not that I don’t love who I am now. I do. But part of loving myself now means making peace with her. Holding her hand and saying, “You did your best with what you knew. And that’s okay.”
These days, I’m trying things that terrify me. Not because I’ve suddenly become fearless but because I’m finally tired of letting fear win.
I started a side hustle I know nothing about. I said yes to a speaking gig even though my voice shook the whole time. I’ve sent emails I was too scared to send. I’ve asked questions in rooms I didn’t feel smart enough to be in.
And you know what? Most of the time, I don’t feel like I belong. But I show up anyway. Because sometimes the only way to become the version of yourself you’ve always dreamed of—is to prove your past self wrong.
That’s the thing no one tells you in your 20s… You can start over. You’re allowed to change your mind. And just because you didn’t become the version of yourself you dreamed of at 18 doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you took the scenic route. It means life asked you to reroute, but you’re still going.
So here’s what I want to say to the woman reading this in between back-to-back meetings, laundry loads, or hiding in the bathroom for five minutes of peace:
You haven’t missed it.
The life you want, the one that feels more like you than the one you’re in now? It’s not gone. It’s just waiting. And if you’re anything like me, you might be afraid to reach for it because it would mean more admitting that you want more. And that feels selfish. Or messy. Or naive.
But wanting more is not a betrayal of who you’ve been. It’s a reconciliation. It’s a reunion with the girl who dreamed big and believed even bigger.
And forgiveness? It starts when you stop punishing yourself for not being “there” yet. Because maybe you were never meant to be a dentist. Or an actress. Or a ballerina. Maybe those dreams were just place markers—clues about the kind of joy you’re meant to chase, even if it shows up looking different now.
Maybe success isn’t a destination. Maybe it’s a conversation—a tender, honest one between who you were, who you are, and who you’re still becoming.
Here’s what I know now…
You can be happy and still want change.
You can be grateful and still feel a little lost.
You can love your life and still long for something different.
It doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.
So, let’s stop shaming ourselves for what we didn’t do “right.” Let’s stop mourning the careers we didn’t chase or the people we didn’t become. Let’s start honoring the fact that we’re still here—still growing, still learning, still saying “maybe I can” even after decades of telling ourselves, “You probably can’t.”
There’s a version of me I’m still learning to forgive. And maybe there’s a version of you, too.
Let’s hold them close. Let’s thank them. And then, let’s take one brave step forward. Not to become them but to become who we are now—fearful, fearless, flawed, and doing the damn best we can.
And if all else fails?
Take a walk. Cry in your car. Text a friend.
Then get up tomorrow and try again.
Because even if we’re not dentists, baby, we still know how to pull ourselves together.
And that counts for something.
Need someone to tell you you’re doing okay? Consider this it. You’re doing better than you think. And she—your younger self—is proud of you too.
