I Had Coffee with My Younger Self Today

We were sitting by the fire, watching the snow fall after playing outside this morning. She had that wild, carefree energy, cheeks still flushed from the cold, eyes full of wonder.

I told her about last summer and how Destin and I did handstands on the beach and watched the sunset almost every other day. She grinned, knowing that deep down, we always craved those simple, golden moments.

I told her that we finally stuck to meditating every morning. She wasn’t surprised; she always knew we’d get there. She admitted she used to feel so silly trying, but I explained how now we feel powerful, centered. How it became our anchor.

I told her how much I love my body now. How it works wonders for me, and how I only try to feed it things that make it stronger. How I treat it like the palace it is. She looked at me in disbelief, remembering all the times she struggled, all the times she felt like she was failing. But she saw it now… every attempt, every setback, every “I’ll try again tomorrow” added up to something. It all paid off because she never gave up.

She shed some tears when I told her that we gained another angel and that it was our son. I let her cry, let her feel it, but then I held her hand and reminded her of all the love she poured into him while he was here. I told her how thankful I am that she cherished every single moment. That because of her, he always knew he was deeply loved.

I told her we’re so close to having everything we ever dreamed of. That this year feels like the year everything changes. We both sat with that for a moment, knowing that change is bittersweet. We grieved a little; not for loss, but for the way time moves forward, for the way things shift, even when we aren’t ready. And then we reminded ourselves to be thankful and for this time, this quiet, this peace. For the space to just be.

She smiled when I told her that despite everything, we still believe in love. That even after heartbreak, after loss, after questioning everything, we never let our heart harden. She was relieved to know that all the walls she built to protect herself would eventually come down not because she was weak, but because she learned real strength comes from staying open.

I told her we’ve learned to trust life, to let go of control, to surrender. She laughed, knowing how much she used to fight that. But she understood. She always knew that was the hardest lesson we’d ever learn.

She listened closely when I told her about the people we’ve met… the ones who truly see us, who remind us of our worth, who challenge us to rise even higher. And she nodded knowingly when I said that the love we always dreamed of (the kind that’s deep, steady, and unwavering) is closer than ever.

She reached for my hand when I told her that we’ve found our purpose. That every moment of loneliness, every night we cried ourselves to sleep, was shaping us into the woman we are today. That we’re building something bigger than ourselves. Something that will help others find home when they feel lost.

And as the fire crackled and the snow continued to fall, we sat together in silence. Honoring the past. Embracing the present. Trusting the future.

She wasn’t afraid anymore.

And neither was I.