The Road to Get Here

Sometimes I think about the little girl in the bubblegum pink bedroom…

The one with magazine cutouts lining the walls.

The one choreographing entire concerts behind a closed door.

The one who believed everything would make sense by twenty-five (HAHAHA 25.. yeah right).

She had big feelings.

Big dreams.

And no idea what it would take to grow into them.

She thought becoming was automatic.

She didn’t know it would require loss.

Humility.

Letting go of versions of herself that once felt permanent.

She didn’t know some seasons would strip her down to survival.

That storms would come through her house and through her heart.

That some friendships wouldn’t follow her into the next chapter.

She didn’t know strength would look less like proving

and more like rebuilding.

Growing into the woman I am now didn’t happen all at once.

It happened quietly.

In therapy rooms.

In hard conversations.

In choosing peace over ego.

In choosing consistency over chaos.

In choosing again when quitting would have been easier.

She thought she’d arrive.

What she didn’t know was that becoming is ongoing.

That you don’t wake up one day fully formed.

You wake up shaped.

By what hurt you.

By what healed you.

By what you refused to settle for.

And if I could walk back into that pink room for five minutes,

I wouldn’t tell her that everything works out.

I’d tell her this:

You will outgrow what you thought you needed.

You will survive what you think will break you.

And the woman you become will be steadier than you ever imagined.

Not louder.

Stronger.

Not shinier.

Rooted.

She didn’t know the road.

But she was already becoming the kind of woman who could walk it.