I Met My Younger Self for Coffee Today

I met my younger self for coffee today. She was fifteen minutes early. I was ten.

I spotted her right away, sitting near the window, her hands wrapped tightly around her cup. Her blonde hair hung loosely, the red underneath just peeking through—exactly how I used to wear it. Her leg bounced under the table, and I could tell she was nervous. Of course, she was. Anxiety had a way of making even the best moments feel overwhelming.

I smiled, running a hand through my natural hair colour with blonde highlights, straightened and left down. She looked up as I approached, eyes widening slightly, as if she wasn't sure she was ready to meet the woman she would become.

I slid into the seat across from her, placing my coffee down beside hers. We had ordered the same thing: a large double-double with a shot of vanilla, the words written on the cover of both cups. Some things don't change.

She let out a slow breath, tapping her fingers against the cup. "I don't know why I'm so nervous."

"It's okay," I reassured her. "We turned out okay."

She exhaled, still unsure. Then, after a moment, she asked, "Did we ever find peace? Did we learn to love ourselves the way we longed for others to? Did the things that once felt unbearable ever get easier?"

I smiled, taking a sip of my coffee. "Yes," I told her. "Not all at once, not perfectly, but we did."

She looked relieved but skeptical. "Do we still worry too much?"

I laughed. "Sometimes. But we don't let it steal our joy anymore."

Then she hesitated before asking, "Did we follow our dream of being a publisher?"

I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head. "Not exactly," I admitted. "But we're blogging now, and we're in the process of writing eBooks." Her eyes lit up, that familiar spark of excitement crossing her face. Writing has always been her escape, her passion. I knew she'd be proud that we never let go of it.

Then, with a softer voice, she asked, "Did we fall in love with someone who treats us good?"

I smiled as I pulled out my phone, showing her our wedding photos. "We are married to the most amazing man. He's our best friend, and he treats us better than we ever imagined. We're so happy." I watched as she stared at the pictures, a mixture of awe and relief washing over her. "And we're a housewife now," I added with a small laugh, knowing she never would have seen that coming. "And we love it. Life is amazing."

She looked at me for a long time, searching for something—maybe proof that happiness was real, that it lasted.

So I told her what I wish she had known back then:

"You are going to be okay. Life won't always go as planned, but trust me, it turns out even better. You'll let go of people who don't see your worth, and you'll surround yourself with love—the real kind. You'll find peace in the simple things: a cozy morning, the sound of birds singing, a quiet evening with your husband. You'll create a life that feels warm, safe, and full of love with the one who means everything to you and you wouldn't trade it for anything. You will be happy—truly, deeply happy."

Her eyes filled with tears, and I reached across the table, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "You're going to be proud of the woman you become."

She smiled, taking another sip of her coffee, and I knew she believed me.

I hope we can get together for coffee again in the future.