By Chloe Hunt

I have this seed of worry that was planted in me sometime around the age of twelve. Not yet in the prison made of my own flesh and bone, but not a year a girl would voluntarily return to. It was a time when I first understood something about myself. It was when I became real. My reflection was my own, and it began to hold weight. And so, this seedling sprouted- fueled by my new insecurities. My face peppered with acne and texture, my crooked and yellow teeth, the awkward rolls that formed when I sat. All of this was mine now to make sense of. I couldn’t return this new clarity for the blissful ignorance of innocence. But I most certainly didn’t want whatever this was. I didn’t know how to stomach it.

I’m twenty-one now. A good number. I like saying it. I look back at myself, the young girl who was so angry and didn’t know how to forgive herself for all the things she wanted but couldn’t have. I’m grateful that she was once mine. I’m now kinder to myself because of her and think of her often.

It’s so funny because when I was younger I wanted all of these things from life. I wanted to be pretty and hear the word from others. To own like a badge of honor. I wanted to be so incredibly smart that no one could deny me. That I was worth being listened to. I craved confidence and talent because I felt like it was owed to me. I wished and wished and wished to be more than I was. And I still can’t figure out why I was never enough for twelve year old me. But I now know, after many years, how to let that worrying plant wither. Not to give it sunlight or fertilizer. I learned from her that I will not waste my life waiting for things that will never come. Either I make them happen, or I let them go. Life is not going to stop for me. Freezing the ticking clocks until I come to my senses and realize my worth never came from what I didn’t possess.

I want so much from the world. Maybe that makes me gluttonous to say. Greedy and hypocritical since I have spent all this time saying that I shouldn’t want what I can’t have. Which is true, but maybe I’m being too harsh. I do think there’s an importance in wanting to improve myself, but there is a line that is easily crossed. Shifting from self-discovery and maturing to feeding that seedling of self-doubt and unworthiness. I do want to continue being ambitious but not punishing myself for my misgivings or failure to reach ridiculous expectations. I want to be a full person. No regrets and no living in the shadow of shame.

I now wish for the sunshine of happiness. Its soft engulfing glow. Its breath on my skin. I don’t entirely know who I am, but I’m not in a rush. I’m a nesting doll of all the versions of me that once lived. I want to make them proud but I also want to make myself, who I am right now, content with where I am. It’s okay to yearn for the future, for growth, or for even the unattainable- but I also need to give myself time. Mistakes happen. People change. I’ve changed.

But you know what? I still have time. There’s no expiration date on who I want to be.

I Wished and Wished and Wished

When You Say ‘I Do’