Letters to the Girl I Used to Be

A practice for healing my inner child by truly seeing the different versions of me that didn't get seen growing up.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the girl I used to be. The little Arushi who grew up surrounded by constant criticism, comparison, and a lack of warmth. The girl who learned too early that love had to be earned, that attention only came after achievement, that softness was not a language spoken in her home.

Photo by Artur Aldyrkhanov on Unsplash

I’ve carried those memories quietly for years. But lately, I feel an ache to sit with her again. To write to her, to tell her the things she needed to hear back then but never did. I want to use these letters as a way to heal, to reconnect, to remind myself that she didn’t deserve what she went through, and that she is still here inside me, waiting to be held.

This will be the beginning of a series: Letters to the Girl I Used to Be. Each one will be written to a younger version of me… the girl who cried quietly into her pillow, the teenager who buried her needs, the child who didn’t know how to ask for love for fear of rejection. My hope is that by putting these words down, I can slowly untangle the shame and sadness I’ve carried, and maybe offer a reflection for anyone else who grew up feeling unseen.

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Letter One: To the Girl Who Had to Earn Love

My sweet girl,

I see you there… hiding away in your room, trying to be invisible and yet hoping someone will knock on the door, step inside, and say, “I love you just as you are.” No one ever did. So you learned to stop asking. You learned to stop hoping. You trained yourself to achieve instead, because you realized that being good, being perfect, being successful was the only thing that earned you attention.

I see you crying quietly into your pillow, not because you wanted to hide, but because you already knew no one would come. No one would sit next to you and stroke your hair and tell you it’s okay. And so you carried the sadness alone.

You made friends with books because they never compared you to anyone. You trusted music because it didn’t tell you that you weren’t enough. You lived whole secret lives in your imagination because the real one felt too heavy, too loveless, too harsh. You created worlds where you could be free, but even those worlds were tinged with the knowledge that when you opened the door again, it would just be you. Quiet, diplomatic, moving through the day without anyone seeing what was inside.

I know the fear you carried, the one that lodged in your chest. That if you showed how much you needed love, if you dared to ask for it, you’d be rejected. That somehow, you were too much, or not enough, or wrong just for wanting tenderness. That fear made you swallow your words, hide your tears, put on a face of composure. You were just a little girl, but you learned to act like someone who didn’t need. That was your survival.

No one noticed. No one gave you the warmth you deserved. You felt like love had to be earned, like affection was conditional, like you were always a step behind some invisible standard. That’s not what childhood should be. It should have been safety, softness, arms to fall into. And you were denied it.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t your fault. You were a child who needed love, and you didn’t get it. That is the deepest sadness of all. That you learned to live without something that should have been your birthright.

But I’m here now, sweetheart. I see every tear, every daydream, every fear you kept locked away. I see how clever and resourceful you were to create worlds of comfort when the real world failed you. And I see how much it hurt, how lonely it was, how you longed for something as simple as a hug or a kind word.

I can’t go back and change what you lived through. But I can sit with you now, in that small room, while you cry, while you dream, while you clutch your books like life rafts. I will hold you in the warmth you never got. I will whisper to you what you always deserved to hear: You don’t need to perform. You don’t need to earn it. You are lovable simply because you exist. You are not too much. You are not wrong. You are mine, and I will never leave you.

With all my love,
The girl I grew up to be