Vulnerable, Real Thoughts

Looking at photos of myself as a child provokes the strangest feeling in my stomach. I catch myself grinning at the sight of her little button nose, crooked teeth, and supple skin. In ways I want to cry looking at these photos. I remember her very thought, fear, and dream. She loved horses, her mom and siblings, playing outside, jumping on the trampoline, walking up the street to Haley’s house, swimming, and laughing. She was a drama queen who felt every emotion on its highest frequency and did not know how to manage that strong energy inside of her. I wonder if she would be proud of me. I wonder if she would look up to me, if I was her older sister. I wonder how she would feel or think if I told her about how her life would be at 25 years old. I think she would be happy that I love my curly hair and rarely touch a flat iron and maybe a tad bit disappointed that I don’t ride horses anymore. I think she would cry knowing I live states away from my twin sister. She would be excited that I have a cat and friendships so true and kind. Looking at these photos in my hand, I feel every shift, every change, and all the feelings that come along all at once. All I can think is how fascinating it is that that little girl is still me, still this exact same body— just 20 years older and wiser. I loved her then and I love her now.