I see myself from a distance—so lost, so disoriented, so overwhelmed by it all—and I want to give that version of me a big hug.

It doesn’t feel like it was that long ago, but ten years can peel away so many layers and regenerate even more.

I grew up in a time when, at 10 years old, thinking about being 25 felt like imagining a life all figured out. Back then, 25 seemed like the perfect age to start thinking about kids and, why not, becoming a mom. By then, you’d have the house, the backyard, and the dog. Oh, and I almost forgot—the husband (minor detail). That was the dream we were sold.

Honestly, even now, at 28, I don’t feel—or look, I think—like I’m “28.” And the life those 25-year-old dreams promised? It couldn’t be further from reality. And, frankly, I don’t think it’s the life I want anymore.

I’m still peeling back the layers and exploring the corners of who I am.

To become who I am today—the person I once dreamed of being—I had to let go of who I used to be.

And to become the person I dream of being tomorrow, I’ll need to shed parts of who I am today.