destinylaharris

Tag: personal growth

  • If you had a time machine and could send just one message to your past self, what would it say?

    If I had a time machine and could send one message to my past self, I think I’d tell her:

    You make it.

    I know you don’t believe me.

    Actually, I know you’re probably rolling your eyes at me right now because you’ve already decided you won’t.

    You’ve spent so much of your life fighting with yourself. With food. With your body. With your own reflection. You’ve hurt yourself because sometimes physical pain felt easier to understand than whatever was happening inside your head.

    And there will come a point when you don’t just think about dying.

    You’ll make a plan.

    You’ll decide you’re not going to make it to 30.

    But you do.

    You’re 33 now.

    And, because apparently we like to overachieve, you’re about to spend the next several months in medically induced menopause. 😂☠️

    I know. I KNOW.

    Thirty-three and menopause was definitely not on the bingo card.

    But here’s the part I really wish you could see:

    You’re doing it because you’re trying to give yourself a better chance at having a baby.

    You.

    The girl who couldn’t picture herself making it to 30 is 33 years old and planning for a child.

    You’re planning a future.

    And there’s something else you’re definitely not going to believe.

    Remember that 18-year-old who walked out in the middle of his shift on a busy night?

    The one who, for some reason, you just knew was going to leave an impression on your life?

    Yeah.

    Him. 😂

    You’re both living completely different lives right now. You’re married. He’s engaged. And no, before your brain goes there, absolutely nothing is happening between the two of you.

    But you were right about one thing.

    He does leave an impression on your life.

    You just have absolutely no idea how big of one yet.

    Years from now, he’ll come back into your life permanently.

    He’ll become your best friend.

    And somewhere along the way, without either of you really realizing when it happened, that friendship will turn into something neither of you saw coming.

    And this is the part you’re really going to have trouble believing:

    You’re going to fall completely in love with him.

    Yes.

    A man. 😂

    I know.

    You’re still bisexual. You’re still ridiculously attracted to women. Apparently men, on the other hand, are going to have exactly one exception.

    Him.

    Turns out, you don’t fall in love with him because he’s a man.

    You fall in love with him because he’s him.

    And one day, that 18-year-old who walked out in the middle of his shift on a busy night—the one you somehow knew you weren’t going to forget—is going to be sitting beside you while you plan a life together.

    A home.

    A family.

    Even a child.

    And the craziest part?

    He’ll change your life without ever setting out to.

    He won’t rescue you.

    I need you to understand that part.

    Nobody swoops in and magically fixes everything that happened to you. The things you’ve survived don’t disappear. Some of them will follow you longer than you think they should.

    Even years later, you’ll occasionally see a woman in public who looks just enough like someone from your past that your body reacts before your brain can remind it that you’re safe.

    Healing doesn’t erase the past.

    But your life gets bigger than it.

    And that boy won’t save you.

    He’ll just be there.

    He’ll become your best friend. Your safe place. The person you laugh with, annoy, cuddle, build ridiculous little memories with, and eventually start imagining an entire future beside.

    And somewhere along the way, without either of you realizing it was happening, you’ll stop counting down the years you have left.

    You’ll start thinking about all the years you still want.

    You’ll start thinking about a baby.

    You’ll start thinking about growing older.

    You’ll start making plans that stretch years into the future.

    And someday you’re going to realize something that would probably make you cry if I told you right now:

    You didn’t just make it past 30.

    You built a life you actually want to stay for.

    So if I could tell you only one thing, I guess it wouldn’t actually be some profound piece of advice.

    I’d just tell you to stick around.

    Because I know you can’t see her yet—

    but 33-year-old you is waiting.

    And she has plans.

  • Between the Lines #3

    Dinner With My Fears

    Tonight,

    I sat at a table
    with all of my fears.

    There wasn’t enough room.

    Failure arrived first,
    still wearing my face.

    She smiled politely,
    asked if I’d finally accepted
    that I’ll never become
    everything I dreamed of.

    Before I could answer,

    Grief pulled out a chair.

    She didn’t say much.

    She never does.

    She just looked at me
    like we’d known each other
    for years.

    We have.

    Self-doubt
    wouldn’t stop talking.

    Every sentence
    ended with a question mark.

    Are you sure?

    What if you’re wrong?

    What if they leave
when they finally know you?

    Loneliness laughed.

    Not because anything was funny.

    Because she’d already heard
    this conversation before.

    Fear of failure
    ordered another drink.

    Fear of being forgotten
    kept checking the door
    to see if anyone else
    was coming.

    No one did.

    Then…

    Abandonment arrived.

    The room changed.

    Every fear went quiet.

    Even Grief
    looked away.

    She sat across from me
    like she’d always owned
    that chair.

    She didn’t have to introduce herself.

    I’ve known her
    since I was little.

    She folded her hands
    and asked,

    “How much of yourself
did you give away today
just to make someone stay?”

    I didn’t answer.

    She smiled.

    She already knew.

    She reminded me
    of every apology
    I never owed.

    Every boundary
    I called selfish.

    Every version of myself
    I buried alive
    so someone else
    wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

    She spoke the longest.

    The others
    hardly interrupted.

    Because every fear
    at that table

    had learned its language
    from her.

    Failure said,

    “You’ll disappoint them.”

    Self-doubt whispered,

    “You’re too much.”

    Loneliness added,

    “No one stays forever.”

    Even Grief nodded.

    They were all saying
    the same thing.

    Just with different mouths.

    I sat there

    listening.

    Until something strange happened.

    A chair scraped the floor.

    Hope.

    Late as always.

    She looked exhausted.

    Like she’d fought traffic
    just to get here.

    She sat beside me,

    not across from me.

    She didn’t argue
    with my fears.

    She simply reached
    for my hand.

    And for the first time
    all evening—

    Abandonment

    stopped talking.

    Because maybe

    the loudest voice
    at the table

    was never the truest one.

    Maybe it was just

    the oldest.

    — Destiny

    A little between the lines…

    I think fear has a way of disguising itself.

    Sometimes it calls itself failure.

    Sometimes loneliness.

    Sometimes self-doubt.

    Sometimes it convinces us that making ourselves smaller is easier than risking someone walking away.

    But if you listen long enough, sometimes you realize all those voices learned how to speak from the same place.

    I wanted this poem to give those voices bodies.

    To sit them around a table.

    To let them talk.

    And then, eventually, to let Hope pull up a chair.

    Not because Hope magically makes fear disappear.

    She doesn’t even argue with it.

    She just sits beside you.

    Sometimes that’s enough to make the oldest voice in the room a little quieter.

    Until next time,
    — Destiny

    P.S. If your fears had a seat at the table, which one would talk the most? 🖤

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