When I was 19 years old I didn't know a damn thing about life. I certainly didn't know a damn thing about myself (I just didn't know that at the time). Today, at an age much older than 19 I sat down with this stack of journals and read the thoughts of my 19-year-old self.
This particular stack of journals I started when my first child was born. I had intended to write to my children in them and present them to my kids when they had their own children. That's your first clue of how little I actually knew about life; to think that I would have the time and energy for such things. I did manage to keep writing for about five years. This is impressive when you consider I was working full time and was essentially the sole caregiver for my babies. But I digress....
It was fun to read how excited I was at each milestone, first smile from baby, first tooth, first step. It was hard to read how scared and sad I was so much of the time. I wasted so much energy worrying. Truth be told I still struggle with worry sometimes. Some entries were so boring...." today we went for a walk and picked dandelions. Others were about important events both in the world and in our family. Page after page there's an undertone of both hopefulness and sadness. I thought about burning these books so many times. I had abandoned the idea of giving them to my kids long ago. After all, these are my stories and my insecurities that will do them no good.
In one of the early entries, I wrote that I hoped my kids would one day read the journals and get to know me. In those days, I wasn't comfortable opening up about how I felt or what I thought. Honestly, even in the journals I was making excuses for other people's bad behavior and never fully expressing how I really felt. I suppose I felt like I had to censor some things since my intention was to one day give the journals to the kids. There was a twinge of sadness at the thought that my kids would need to read my journals in order to get to know the real me. I've since learned that kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for.
The decision to read them before I burned them was a good one. It's spring, which always has an air of hopefulness. The windows are open and the gentle breeze carries in the sweet smell of the Lilac while I read. A few things stood out to me. A big one is that although I have changed tremendously since I wrote those words some parts of me have stayed the same. My heart's desire has always been to create a life where my children grow up knowing that they are loved. I wrote often about hoping to create a peaceful, simple life. I do believe I've succeeded in both.
Life has taken so many unexpected turns. Some joyful and some sorrowful but each designed to bring me to this moment. I admit that the road to get here was not the road I intended to travel but nevertheless, I have arrived at the life that my 19-year-old self hoped for. Sitting here, listening to the birds chirping while my children share their own experiences and insecurities with me as they navigate their way through the early years of motherhood, I feel a great sense of contentment.
I've learned so much about myself over the years and if I could go back and talk to that 19-year-old girl I would tell her that the road ahead is bumpy and sometimes scary but that she is stronger and braver than she knows. I would tell her that as long as she follows her heart every step of the way life will be more beautiful than she ever hoped for.
What would you tell your 19-year-old self?
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