Talking to My 14-Year-Old Self

If I could tell my 14-year-old self anything now that I’m 30, it’s that life will get better. And it has.

On February 14, 1996, I tried to kill myself for the first time. Well, it was at least the first time I vocalized it to anyone. And as a dumb 14-year-old, I called all my friends to say good-bye because I was despondent over not having any friends. (Insert eye roll here.) Well, these friends called the police who promptly showed up at my door. I’m also happy to say I’m still friends with those same people today.

If I could tell my 14-year-old self anything, it’s that I’d find a wonderful husband, marry into an amazing family, and settle near a mall with the most commercial square footage in the United States. (Malls are important to a mallrat like me.) I’d tell her that she’d develop some fabulous, godly friends and have two jobs that meld her love of reading and writing. I’d tell her that one day she’d head a successful consulting business and have the ability to manage her own income.

I’d tell her that she’d still deal with rough spots in life. That things wouldn’t always go as planned, that prayers wouldn’t always be answered the way she’d like them to.

I’d also add that she would be diagnosed with bipolar disorder and her mental illness would be well managed with medication, therapy, and love.

I’d tell my 14-year-old self not to despair and that the only way out is through. That she has to travel through the tunnel of dark to get to the light of dawn. But that darkness is only a tunnel, not an endless dark sky without hope.

And finally I’d add:

Get over yourself, you little shit. You’ll deal with worse problems that you can’t even fathom. And what’s more? You’ll surive. You’ll be a survivor.