I Met Myself for Coffee

There’s a trend on Instagram right now. Many people are imagining what it would be like to meet their teenage selves for coffee. What would they say? What advice would they give?

This won’t be trending anymore by the time you read it. I’m simply adding it to my queue of finished posts. But I don’t care. This exercise was worth the time and effort to do. If you are looking for a writing prompt, or simply a journal/reflection prompt, I recommend meeting your younger self for coffee as well.

With Love, Ashley

I’m meeting my younger self for coffee today…

She is 20 minutes early. I am 5 minutes early. I pretend not to know that she’s been sitting in the parking lot waiting for me. I know how bad her social anxiety is, and I know that walking through the door with me means she doesn’t have to face the intimating coffee shop on her own.

She is dressed well. Me, not so much. I know that she has put in hours overthinking this day. She has picked her very best outfit. I have learned that most people will judge you no matter what, and the right ones won’t judge you at all, so you may as well be comfortable.

I order the one and only coffee-shop drink that I like, and recommend it to her as well. The relief of having one drink that she can order and tolerate at these things while appearing somewhat normal is written all over her face. It’s a small gift I can give her.

“So,” she asks me, with big innocent eyes full of hope and anticipation, “do we do it? Do we become who we’ve always wanted to be?”

I pause a moment. My mind fills with a million images.

I see dreams unfulfilled. I see disappointments. I see set-backs. I see the heartbreak of false friendships falling away. I see a worldview knocked over. I see her blindsided by the betrayal she will feel when her life looks nothing like what was promised.

I see depression, anxiety, and a decades-long journey with misdiagnosis that will prevent her from knowing she’s neurodivergent, and cause her to doubt herself. I see PTSD. I see the times she will think of ending it all.

I see her first child, a beautiful baby boy who was atypical in every way, and I see the way she will rise to fight for him. I see her second child, a daughter, who she will never get to hold in her arms. I see her third child, a boy who challenges her every day to be better, faster, and smarter, just to stay ahead of him.

I see her completely shattered over and over, yet stubbornly rising to her knees and putting herself back together. I see the glimmer of rebellion that will drive her back to her feet when life flattens her into the dirt.

I take a big breath. I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want to weigh her down with burdens that will not be hers for some years yet. I take both of her hands in mine, and look her deep in the eye.

“Listen to me,” I say, “I will not lie to you. Your life is going to be vastly different from anything you’ve imagined up until now. But! I don’t want you to be disappointed when I tell you that you don’t become who we’ve always dreamed of becoming…

Because you become so much better.

You Girl, are a warrior–don’t interrupt! I know you don’t believe it yet. But I am here to tell you that it is so. You are braver and stronger than most people give you credit for, including yourself.

You become something we didn’t see coming at your age. And it is breathtaking.”

Her hands go limp, and her gaze falters. She hasn’t fallen apart in public before, and she’s unwilling to do so now. I let her compose herself. Falling apart in public is a skill she’ll unlock eventually. I know only too well.

“So… everything?” She says, half an octave too high.

“Almost everything will be different.”

“Our career?”

“Sorry.”

“Our friends?”

“We find new ones along the way.”

“What about…”

“The boy?” I ask, with a twinkle.

She blushes and nods.

“He is the one thing from your life today that will stay. He will stay. He will grow with you. He will push you, challenge you, drive you crazy, and hold you when you cry. You picked a good one.”

“Well, actually…”

“I know,” I grin. “He picked us.”

We laugh.

“Listen to him when he tries to tell you who you can be. This new person we become? He knew she was there all along.”

It’s time to leave. As I throw my arms around her in a hug, I whisper the only thing she really needs to know right now:

“I am so, so proud of you.”

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