N8tivegirl

Sometimes I wonder what I would say if I could go back in time and sit across from my younger self.

Not to correct her, not to rush her healing—but simply to look her in the eyes and speak truth she didn’t yet have words for.

Would I warn her about certain lessons?

Would I try to spare her from heartache, disappointment, or detours that reshaped her?

Or would I let it all unfold, knowing now that even the painful chapters carried purpose?

I think about the girl I used to be—running through the woods without fear, unaware of how fragile life could be. I mistook that freedom for innocence, but looking back, I realize it was something deeper. It wasn’t that nothing could harm me. It was that God was with me.

I didn’t recognize His protection then.

I didn’t know how closely He walked beside me.

I just moved through the world trusting that I would be okay.

Somewhere along the way, that ease faded. Life introduced realities that made trust harder and faith heavier. I became more careful, more guarded, more aware of what could go wrong. And yet—God never left. The same presence that covered that fearless child remained steady through every version of me that followed.

If I could speak to her now, I wouldn’t tell her to avoid the pain. I would tell her that none of it would be wasted. That the moments she thought broke her would actually deepen her compassion. That the seasons where she felt alone would teach her how to listen for God in quieter ways.

I would tell her this:

You are more held than you realize.

You don’t have to rush becoming.

And even when you lose sight of God, He never loses sight of you.

Maybe the wisdom we give our younger selves isn’t about changing the past—but about understanding it. About recognizing that grace was present even when we didn’t have language for it. And that the same God who watched over us then is still walking with us now.