24 Lessons: To All the Girls I’ve Been Before
An open letter to young women on growing up.
5 min readJun 23, 2023
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Dearest 18,
- Sometimes you will act like a dick. Sometimes other people will too. Not just at 18, though especially at 18. You are young and naive and insulated and dickishness is inevitable; you are mostly blind to how much you hurt eachother. Repair what you can, remorse what you can’t, and avoid repetition. It’s okay. You are still loved.
- Please eat more food. Fainting and flu twice a year is not normal. Weights also have wonderful benefits compared to cardio. You will feel much better. Food can be excellent rather than a chore, by the way — you’re just in processed potato country. Italian peaches and French pastries are going to blow your mind.
- It’s okay to turn around and physically say “no”. Don’t waste your breath on anyone who respects you so little as to try and manipulate you. Don’t listen to the teenage friends who try to make you feel sorry for That Sulky Guy #7 — they like clubbing and drinking, not you.
- On that note, trust your gut. You do not find that person at the bar inexplicably scary for no reason. You are not dramatic or crazy or mean or paranoid or delusional or overreacting. In fact, it’s okay if you are, because your safety is more important than their ego. Do not be polite if polite puts you in danger. Run.
- You can come out if you want to. Nobody is going to publicly execute you. Your friends and family still love you. I’m sorry this world ever made you afraid.
- Ask for more. You get what you ask for and accept — not necessarily what you are worth. Remember that.
- Nobody is coming to save you except yourself. You get better at this. There is a certain fierce joy in taking good care of yourself.
- You are going to lose people you love. Sweetheart, you are going to lose people you never dreamed it was possible to lose. Best friends, first loves, patriarchs and matriarchs and almost-siblings. Hopes, dreams, innocences. Sometimes death saunters, sometimes it suckerpunches you. It will hurt so much and nothing can prepare you for it. Grief fades exponentially with time, but never quite goes away.
- You will feel very happy. Yes. Despite all that; because of it; everything. You are going to laugh with crinkly eyes and receive some of the best hugs in the world and thank God you’re alive. It will get better. It always does.
- You become an excellent eulogist. I’m sorry.
- Life is not fair. You’re going to be advantaged and disadvantaged by things entirely beyond your control. You were born with many unfair advantages, and some unfair disadvantages. You will be uplifted and belittled, praised and dismissed, admired and despised, due to some random chances and stereotypes beyond your choosing for your entire life. So is everyone. Learn to play the hand you were dealt with grace.
- You are going to find people you love. Generally when least expected. Plus a lot more you like. They’re so lovely and interesting and everywhere. Try to treasure them, and remember however long it lasts — because darling, again, we leave and we change and we sicken and we die and it is never forever — is good. PS. You’re loved more than you think.
- Love is not enough, but it is the best foundation you can have, and it is worth waiting and fighting for. Does that makes sense? It will one day.
- Most people are so good. There are studies on this: despite media negativity, crises bring out the best in most people. You are going to be repeatedly shocked not by the blips of evil, but by the sheer raw heart-pumping kindness in most of them. My God, adults are struggling, but scratch that protective layer of cells and adults are kind. There are strangers who will catch you when you fall, managers who will defend you, friends who will hold you when you cry, drunk girls in bathrooms, sweet boys in corridors, a whole plethora of temporary saints with their quiet compassion: in-between their own struggles, carrying their own sorrows, kind despite everything. It’s a miracle. Pay it back.
- Learning is humbling. Forgive me for saying so, but youth is arrogant. Sometimes you’re wrong and deserve to be humbled. You’ll survive. It will do you good. Promise.
- You’re not special. You’re 18 and you think all adults are so pathologically boring and you may as well be Literally Dead if you don’t win the Booker Prize by 25. You want the fanciest shiniest job and you want it yesterday. You need to be the prettiest girl, the best runner, the newest innovator, the most workaholic corpo, the #1 at Whatever. You are desperate for approval. Believe me: prestige is overrated, and you will grow out of it. Ordinary is a relief.
- The adults you idolise and admire don’t know what they’re doing either. Idolising people is a one-way ticket to disappointment. Sorry!
- Make your money work for you. S&S ISA — say no more. Kiss compound interest. Know you know nothing; find this exciting. If you can’t afford it x10, you can’t afford it x1. Tracking the market with index funds is less risky than shooting for alpha. Keep <10% in high risk investments. Mind your business; avoid consumerism. Oh, and study the cycles of history — people don’t change much.
- Be gentle on hearts and hard on figures. You’re an accountant’s daughter. Follow the math. But try not to treat actual breathing people like a list of assets and liabilities — see point 1.
- Get better at sharing. Vulnerability still feels disgusting, sorry. You still care too much, too little, the words never come out quite right, help is suspicious, ignorance is embarrassing, a helping hand is novel and disturbing…try to trust it anyway. See if anything blows up. Mostly it doesn’t!
- Good Bones by Maggie Smith ages well. All those YA books and films you like…less so.
- It’s okay to change. You’re going to change a lot. You’re going to wonder where it all came from: the voice, the calmness, the body, the money, the friendships, the height. You’re going to look around for the responsible adult in the room and realise it’s you. You’re going to have serious adults sincerely ask for your advice and expect a serious answer. It feels less odd with time, and you get better at it, but a part of you will always feel 20 — going — on — 2 in big boots. Spoilers: so does everyone.
- Sorry is a useful word in many languages. You don’t have to use it for existing. You are allowed to be here.
- You never do figure out what to do with your hair. It still looks cool.
All my love,
24 x
I am not a financial advisor, and none of my writing is financial or investment advice. Make financial decisions at your own risk.
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