Letter to Younger Self: Not everyone you love will love you right

Every scar has a story. “Letter to My Younger Self” invites you into the reflective hearts of people who've walked winding roads—offering gentle truths, bold lessons, and encouragement for anyone still figuring it out. These weekly letters are full of grace and grit, showing how setbacks shape wisdom and how the past still holds power to teach. From nurturing curiosity to embracing mentorship, each piece is a tribute to growth through lived experience.

Mikke Mzeyya, Youtuber and a Radio Producer pens this week’s heartfelt Letter to My Younger Self.

Dear younger self,

I see you clearly now, and it stirs something deep within me. Sometimes I feel like crying, though I can’t quite tell if the tears are from joy or from pain. Maybe it’s both. But one thing is certain: you made it this far. You survived.

You grew up like a soldier, disciplined, alert, always striving for perfection. Mistakes were not an option, or at least that’s what it felt like. Life trained you early to be tough, even when your heart was still soft.

Losing your mother at such a young age left a silence that echoed through your life. It created a longing, a quiet, constant search for a kind of love you barely had time to understand. And then there was your father. A man you respected, but feared more than you knew how to admit. When he came home, the air would change. Your mind would race, searching every corner of the day for something you might have done wrong.

You carried that weight quietly.

I remember one day, you hit a neighbor’s child, and their face swelled. The consequences were harsh, unforgettable. But buried in that moment was a lesson that stayed with you: anger may come quickly, but peace must always be chosen.

School became your sanctuary. It was the one place where you could breathe freely, where laughter came easily, and your spirit could stretch without fear. But that same freedom sometimes swept you too far, talking too much, playing too hard, living a little too loudly. Still, it was worth it. For once, you felt alive.

Then football came into your life like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed. When your uncle introduced you to it, something clicked. It wasn’t just a game, it was an escape, a passion, a purpose. You fell in love with it without hesitation, not realizing it would shape your path in ways you couldn’t yet imagine.

That love carried you into high school through a football scholarship. And for the first time, being away from home felt like freedom, not fear. You grew stronger, more confident, more sure of yourself. On the field, you weren’t just surviving, you were shining. They called you “Ndiefi,” and that name carried pride, respect, and identity.

But life, as always, had its lessons waiting.

Love entered your life, and you embraced it fully, maybe too fully. Your first heartbreak hit you hard, deeper than you expected. It shook you, nearly broke you. You gave your heart without hesitation, without protection. And though it hurt, it revealed something important: you love deeply, but sometimes without guarding your own peace.

You thought you had learned by the time love found you again in college. But pain has a way of repeating its lessons until they are truly understood. That chapter, too, left its mark.

As I stand here now, I understand something you couldn’t back then, your mother’s absence shaped the way you loved. You searched for her in others, trusting easily, hoping to be met with the same warmth you lost too soon.

There are days I wish we had more memories captured in photos, videos, or something tangible to revisit. But maybe the real memories live within us, shaping who we are in ways no camera ever could.

Your kindness and generosity have always been your strength. You give freely, love openly, and stand by others even when it’s not returned. That is rare and beautiful. But here’s what you didn’t know, being good to people doesn’t always earn you respect. Sometimes, the ones closest to you, the ones you laugh and share with, can be the ones who hurt you the most.

Betrayal is real. But don’t let it harden you.

Stay kind. Stay grounded in love. Hold on to your values, and remember to love others as you love yourself, but never forget the last part: yourself.

Not everyone around you has pure intentions. Some will take advantage of your generosity, your loyalty, your heart. Learn to set boundaries. Learn to say no. Protect your peace as fiercely as you protect others.

And in the noise of life, don’t forget to sit in silence sometimes. Reflect. Check in with yourself, the good and the bad. Growth often comes from those quiet, honest moments.

As I look back from where I stand now, I realize something simple, yet powerful:

Life is not defined by what others say or do.

It is shaped by you.

Because at the end of it all, the responsibility, the choices, the direction. The buck stops with you.

Everyone has a story worth sharing. If you’ve ever wished you could talk to your younger self—with wisdom, forgiveness, or clarity—we invite you to write to us. Your real, heartfelt letter might just be the encouragement someone else needs today. You may remain anonymous if preferred, but your truth matters. We don’t pay contributors, but we believe in the power of shared experience. Join us in building a collection of life’s hard-earned lessons and gentle reminders.

Be part of this movement. Send your Letter to My Younger Self to: [email protected]