A Letter to My Past Self

Hey Dude,

I know where you are right now. You’re disconnected. You’re going through something you can’t even fully explain to the people you love, and honestly, you’re not sure if what you’re experiencing is normal or not. (It’s not, but you’ll figure that out soon enough.) You’re afraid every single day. Afraid to be yourself, afraid to be funny, afraid to even ask simple questions. You’ve kind of pulled away from everyone—your family, your cousins you used to be close with, your friends. It’s not that you want to. You just… can’t right now.

And you think you’ve lost all of that. Those deposits you made over the years—being the life of the party at family events, encouraging people at work, showing up for friends (emotionally being there, random gifts and surprises just for fun)—you think maybe you’ve burned through all of that goodwill by disappearing.

Here’s what I need you to know: those deposits don’t expire.

Especially with family. And even with close friends, they last way longer than you think. When you’re ready—when you finally break the news about what’s been happening—they’re going to show up. Your cousins are going to reach out wanting to hang out. Your dad and stepmom are going to talk to you every day even though you’ve been pretty cold to them because you couldn’t explain what was happening.

And your stepmom? You never felt close to her. After your mom died, it was just too hard. But she’s always been an amazing person—life had just been too hard for you to realize it. And she’s still going to be there for you, like a mother figure despite your distance, to encourage you and care for you. That’s going to mean everything.

Your neighbors are going to become some of your best friends. And your business partner? He’s going to treat you like a mentor—not just in work, but in life. He’s going to offer advice, know way too much about your personal life, and support you in both work and life. Without him, you don’t get to keep working through all of this.

And the wild part? You’re going to be confused about why people love you when you can’t even love yourself. You weren’t perfect—let’s be honest—but you were surviving. And people could see that. They knew something was up.

You’re going to rediscover something you forgot: you can see again.

Everyone you meet has a beautiful smile. You didn’t use to see that. Now you do. You can start conversations with strangers. You can make jokes without thinking twice. You can be goofy again. You’re going to start freestyle rapping again. Making puns. Thinking of cool ideas. Feeling creative. And on top of that—this is the wild part—you’re going to connect with people on a deeper level than you ever did before. Because you went through a lot, and now you have this emotional depth and empathy that you didn’t have at 22.

You’re going to realize what community actually means. Not just people you hang out with, but people who encourage you, who make you better, who are down for you no matter what. You stopped going to church a decade ago. You’re going to start going again, and somehow the people you’re around are going to make you feel comfortable opening up about what you went through. And they’re going to accept you and encourage you. And somehow, opening up to people you just met makes you less afraid about the future. You’re not a monster. You’re here. You’re working on yourself.

And yeah, you’re going to lose everything.

The relationship. Your family structure. Even time with your daughter that you never thought you’d have to sacrifice. You were self-employed to spend more time with her, and now you only get half your time with her. You’re sad. She’s sad. You didn’t intend for life to be like this. Now it’s less about quantity and all about quality. You’ve gotta make it count.

Money too. The empire you built. The comfort. At 31, it’s going to feel late to restart. You lost the only person you ever dated—over half your life. Self-employment island is scary and lonely.

But here’s what you gain: you lose the anxiety. Not all of it—we all have worries—but so much of it lifts because you already survived losing everything. What’s left to be afraid of?

You’re going to have everything and nothing at the same time. This beautiful house. The best daughter. But also uncertainty about the future. And somehow… you’re not going to care. Not in a careless way, but in a free way. You’re going to trust that it’ll work out. You’re going to focus on healing. And you’re going to be happy most of the time—which you would not have guessed was possible a few months earlier.

You’re going to therapy one or two times a week. You’re reading your Bible, getting daily mantras and stoic principles as push notifications on your phone to improve your outlook on life. You’re journaling every day. You’re seeing art and music in ways you never used to. You’re piping positive things into your ears (well, maybe a little too much trash music, but less than usual, haha). Everything around you is a mess, but somehow at your core you feel happy. You’re not afraid every day that you could lose everything with one wrong step. You already lost. So in turn, you’ve already won. And also… you never lost.

Here’s what you need to hear: the people who really love you are going to show up differently.

Your dad, your cousins, your friends—they’re going to let you share the same frustration and confusion over and over until you get better. They’re not going to shut you down or make you feel like a burden. They’re going to give you space to be human. You’re going to call your dad like two times a day to vent or talk through confusing feelings. Eventually it happens way less. All of a sudden you look back a few weeks later and can’t believe that progress.

You gave everything you had. Every ounce of effort and love and care and encouragement. You compromised on things that made you uncomfortable just to try to make someone happy, and that’s actually what caused the most damage. But you’re going to learn that you have so much love to give.

At 31, you’re not starting from zero.

You have half a lifetime of entrepreneurship and work experience. Your pain gave you wisdom that some people never learn in their entire lives. You have a daughter you love. You have relationships that came back stronger—and NEW relationships and friends. You connect on new things with them. You’re encouraged by them. Your old friends are still there for you too.

You’re going to be selective about which pieces of yourself to bring back. But you’re surprised that you actually want most of you back. Some of the pieces you don’t want back (anxiety, judgement, impure ambitions) are already gone. You still grew even when you were going through stuff. Not trying to be who you were at 22. You’re trying to be more like a kid again—because Kenzie always says, “…Maybe someday when you’re little, Dada.” The version of yourself that loved building things, making silly videos, drawing and seeing things as amazing.

And here’s the thing that’s going to surprise you most:

Enjoying your life isn’t even about you. It’s about being with other people. Being a dad. Hanging out with other parents. Running a business not to get rich, but to do good work and make good connections. Being happy and being yourself isn’t about pleasing other people, but it truly involves being around good people and community.

The other day at church, the small group icebreaker was: what’s a simple pleasure in life? Your answer wasn’t coffee or a TV show. It was your neighbors. It was people, not things or experiences. That’s community. That’s what you didn’t know you needed.

You can’t expedite healing fully—it’ll still take time.

You’ve actually met a handful of other people who went through exactly, maybe too specifically, what you went through—and they said it takes a year or more, pretty consistently. You’ll be patient, but you’re not letting that happen. You can be happy sooner. You already are. Pieces will scar you forever, but you can get to that 80% quickly because of your community and reflection and joy and prayer.

So hang in there.

The people are still there. The version of yourself you’re afraid you lost? It’s waiting on the other side. And it has the best parts about your past, what you want about your future, and some surprise elements that came from going through some “stuff”. Some things that were the worst things to happen to you are already turning into positives and life lessons—it’s just all about perspective.