Learning to Let Go: A Letter to My Younger Self.

For the girl who thought holding on was the same thing as loving.

Dear younger me,

I wish I could sit beside you for a little while.

Not to change anything. Not to warn you about every heartbreak, disappointment, wrong turn, or version of yourself you're going to outgrow. I don't think I'd want to take those things away from you.

I'd just want to tell you something you won't fully understand for a long time:

You are allowed to let go.

You don't have to hold onto something just because you once wanted it.

You don't have to keep choosing something just because you chose it before.

And you don't have to stay the same person simply because the people around you became comfortable with who you used to be.

I know you don't believe that yet.

You think letting go means giving up. You think moving on means that something didn't matter. You think if you love someone enough, work hard enough, wait long enough, or try one more time, you can somehow make everything stay exactly where you want it.

But life doesn't really work that way.

And honestly?

I'm glad it doesn't.

You don't have to carry everything with you.

You are going to spend a lot of time learning the difference between something being important and something being meant to stay.

That's a hard lesson.

Because sometimes the things we have to let go of are things we genuinely loved.

People you thought would always be in your life.

Plans you were convinced would happen.

Versions of yourself that once felt so comfortable.

Dreams that looked perfect on paper but stopped feeling like yours somewhere along the way.

There will be moments when you'll wonder if letting go means you failed.

It doesn't.

Sometimes letting go is the most honest thing you can do.

There is a strange kind of freedom that comes from realizing you don't have to drag every chapter of your life into the next one.

Some things are allowed to be beautiful memories.

Some relationships are allowed to have an ending.

Some dreams are allowed to change.

And some versions of you are allowed to simply... expire.

You don't have to hate who you were to become someone new.

Stop trying to make everything make sense.

I know how much you love an explanation.

You want to know why something happened. You want to know what went wrong. You want to know what you could have done differently.

You will replay conversations.

You'll wonder if you should have said more.

Or less.

You'll question whether you were too much, not enough, too trusting, too emotional, too patient, too stubborn.

Please stop doing that to yourself.

Not everything that ends needs a perfect explanation.

Sometimes people grow apart.

Sometimes timing is wrong.

Sometimes you make a decision with the information you had at the time, and later you learn something that changes everything.

That's not failure.

That's being a person.

I hope you learn to give yourself the same grace you so easily give everyone else.

Your timeline is not a deadline.

This one might take you the longest to learn.

You will look around and think everyone else is ahead.

Someone will get married.

Someone will buy a home.

Someone will have the career you thought you'd have by now.

Someone will move somewhere exciting.

Someone will seem like they have their entire life figured out while you're standing in your kitchen wondering what exactly you're doing.

And you'll think you've fallen behind.

You haven't.

There is no universal timeline for becoming who you're supposed to be.

Your life doesn't become less meaningful because it looks different from someone else's.

You are going to learn that a life can be rebuilt.

It can be edited.

It can take unexpected turns.

You can start over in your thirties. You can change your mind. You can decide you don't want the thing you once thought you desperately needed.

You can wake up one day and realize, Actually, I think I want something different now.

And you are allowed to follow that feeling.

Letting go doesn't mean you stop caring.

This is probably the biggest thing I wish you knew.

You can love someone and still let them go.

You can appreciate a chapter and still close the book.

You can miss something and still know that it isn't yours anymore.

You can be grateful for what something taught you without wanting it back.

Letting go isn't always dramatic.

Sometimes it looks like quietly accepting that something has changed.

Sometimes it's deleting the note you kept rereading.

Sometimes it's finally putting away the thing you've been holding onto for years.

Sometimes it's simply deciding that you're not going to spend another year trying to return to a version of your life that no longer exists.

And sometimes letting go is choosing yourself without needing anyone else to understand why.

You are going to outgrow yourself.

And I want you to know that this is a good thing.

You will become someone you don't recognize immediately.

Your priorities will change.

Your friendships will change.

Your taste will change.

Your dreams will change.

The things you once thought were absolutely essential will become things you barely think about.

You'll become softer in some ways and stronger in others.

You'll learn boundaries.

You'll learn that peace is not boring.

You'll learn that being alone is not the same as being lonely.

You'll learn that you don't have to constantly prove that you're worthy of being loved, chosen, included, or taken seriously.

And one day, you'll look back at the girl you were and realize she was doing the best she could with what she knew.

Please don't be embarrassed by her.

She deserves your tenderness.

She got you here.

You don't need to know what's next.

I know you want a plan.

You want to know where you'll live, what you'll be doing, who will still be around, what you'll accomplish, and whether everything eventually works out.

I wish I could tell you exactly how everything turns out.

But I think that would ruin some of the magic.

Because some of the best parts of your life are going to come from things you couldn't have planned.

There will be places you haven't seen yet.

People you haven't met yet.

Ideas you haven't had yet.

Versions of yourself you haven't even imagined.

So stop gripping the future so tightly.

Let yourself be surprised.

And when something leaves, let it leave.

Don't chase every disappearing thing.

Don't beg every person to stay.

Don't convince yourself that something is valuable simply because it's difficult to keep.

There is a difference between fighting for something and fighting against reality.

Learn to recognize it.

Sometimes the door closes because you aren't supposed to keep standing in the doorway.

Sometimes the answer is no because there's another question waiting for you somewhere else.

Sometimes losing something is what finally gives you room to receive something better.

You don't have to understand that immediately.

Just trust yourself enough to keep moving.

From where I am now.

I still haven't mastered letting go.

I don't think anyone really does.

There are still things I wish had happened differently. People I think about. Versions of my life I occasionally wonder about.

But I've learned that moving forward doesn't require pretending you don't miss what was behind you.

It simply means you don't live there anymore.

And maybe that's what growing up really is.

Not becoming someone who has everything figured out, but becoming someone who can say:

That mattered.

That hurt.

I loved that.

I learned from that.

And now I'm ready to let it go.

So, younger me, take a deep breath.

You don't have to carry everything.

You don't have to have all the answers.

You don't have to become someone else to deserve the life you're dreaming about.

Let some things leave.

Let some things change.

Let yourself change.

And when you look back, don't only think about everything you lost.

Look at everything you became because you were brave enough to keep going.

I think you'll be proud of her.

I know I am.

Love,

Ally