To: Younger Me

To the Younger Me,

I know you’re hurting.

I know your body’s failing you in a way you never imagined it could.

The game you gave everything to—your identity, your pride, your future—is slipping away, and no one really sees it but you. Not the pain. Not the fear. Not the silence.

You’re trying so hard to hold it all together.

Smiling when you’re dying inside.

Numbing what hurts because you think there’s no other choice.

Carrying everyone else’s weight because you don’t want to add to their burden.

And somewhere in all of it, you started believing you’re weak.

That you’re a disappointment.

That you’ve ruined everything.

But listen to me now—from the other side:

You didn’t ruin a damn thing.

You survived the worst moment of your life completely alone.

You faced darkness that could’ve buried you, and somehow—you didn’t let it.

You kept waking up.

You kept fighting.

And you didn’t become bitter. You didn’t become selfish.

You became strong. Quietly. Slowly. Without applause.

You wouldn’t believe what your life looks like now.

You’re married to someone who sees your heart fully.

You own a company that’s built on integrity and grit.

You work hard—not because you’re chasing validation, but because you believe in building something real.

You found joy again. You found purpose. You found you.

No painkiller. No lie. No label anyone tried to stick on you ever defined you.

What defines you is this: You never gave up.

So if you’re still sitting there, wondering what the hell happened—

I’ll tell you.

Life broke you wide open. And you built something better from the pieces.

I’m proud of you.

—You