Conversations with my past self.

What old letters have shown me.

I have something of an obsession with the past. Both the good (laughing at Facebook memories) and the bad (ruminating on the awkward thing I did years ago). It’s a blessing and a curse.

I discovered FutureMe when I was a sophomore in high school nearly 15 years ago. Here’s the idea: you write yourself a letter to read in the future. You can’t access it until whichever date you pick. I often forget I did it, so it’s a pleasant surprise a year later.

This is 2010’s letter. Vagner’s first appearance, but certainly not the last.

While it’s fun to reflect on a time when AP exams were my biggest problem, I’ve also marveled at my struggles over the years. One year, I spent much of the letter bemoaning my anxieties. I went back to reread it while writing this newsletter and was sad about how vicious I was to myself. I hate my body. I need to lose weight.

I wish I could travel back in time to give myself a hug, but I also realized something interesting. If you’d shown me a picture of myself from that time on a bad day, I would tell you how much I wish I was still that size. It’s a reminder that my negative body thoughts aren’t really driven by my external appearance.

I am struck by my vulnerability year after year, how dedicated I feel to pouring my heart and soul into a webpage’s text box. It often feels therapeutic for me to write, and I’m grateful that I’ve documented memories that I may have blocked out otherwise.

In 2020 — two months after my psychosis hospitalization — I was brutally honest about how miserable I felt. To set the scene, I had a three-month-old baby who demanded most of my attention. I was working because I couldn’t afford not to. Vagner was working night shifts, and we barely saw each other.

I was doing my best to heal from postpartum trauma, but it felt impossible. My medication made me impossibly tired and unmotivated. “I barely survived 2020 but managed,” I wrote. “Here’s to hoping 2021 is a bit easier.” It wasn’t just easier — it was great. 2021 ended up being one of the best years of my life, which I couldn’t have fathomed the previous winter.

The letters have taught me that my problems — even the big ones — often fix themselves. In college, I spent paragraphs lamenting over not knowing what to do with my life after graduation. Eight years later, I have a job I love. In later years, I worried about whether I’d be a good mom one day. In 2019, I actually wrote that I feared a kid would destroy my marriage. Thankfully, the opposite is true.

Many of the things that consumed me then come naturally now. I wrote a letter last week to read in November 2024. A lot can change in a year. If you decide to write a letter, let me know! I’d love to hear how you decide what to include.

(It should go without saying, but just in case — this isn’t sponsored content! I just want everyone to know about this website.)