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.
Wawira Gathoni (Not her real name) pens this week’s heartfelt Letter to My Younger Self. Here is part nine of her series
Dear Younger self,
One day, you will become a mother to a little boy who will change your life completely.
Not in the dramatic, movie-like way people often describe motherhood. In quieter ways. Deeper ways. More confronting ways.
Before motherhood, you think you understand love. You think love is sacrifice, care, loyalty and presence.
And perhaps it is all those things. But motherhood will introduce you to a different kind of love altogether.
A love that rearranges your priorities overnight. A love that makes fear feel sharper. A love that makes the future suddenly matter in ways it never did before.
The first time you hold your son, something inside you will soften permanently. And at the same time, something inside you will become stronger than it has ever been.
That contradiction is motherhood. Softness and strength existing together.
People often speak about how motherhood changes women physically and emotionally, but not enough people speak honestly about how deeply motherhood forces a woman to confront herself.
Motherhood will expose your wounds. Your fears. Your triggers. Your insecurities. Your childhood. Your relationship with love. Your relationship with safety. Your relationship with men. Your relationship with yourself.
Because once you become responsible for another human being—especially a child who depends on you completely—you begin questioning everything.
What kind of parent do I want to be? What kind of childhood do I want my child to experience? What wounds do I not want to pass down?
What cycles need to end with me? Those questions will change you profoundly.
And perhaps one of the most difficult parts of your journey will be navigating motherhood as a single mother.
There is a loneliness in single motherhood that many people do not fully understand.
Not because you do not love your child. You do. Deeply. But because responsibility becomes constant. Heavy. And, in many moments, unshared.
There will be days when you carry everything emotionally while still needing to appear strong for your child. Days when exhaustion sits quietly in your bones, but life still demands more from you. Days when you question yourself privately while still showing up publicly.
And yet, despite all of it, your son will become one of the greatest sources of healing in your life.
Children have a way of revealing tenderness we thought adulthood had erased.
Through him, you will rediscover joy in ordinary things.
Laughter. Playfulness. Curiosity. Small moments. Presence. He will remind you that softness is not weakness.
And perhaps most beautifully, motherhood will force you to become more intentional about the kind of woman you want to be.
Because children learn so much from what we model quietly.
They learn from how we speak. How we love. How we handle disappointment. How we regulate our emotions. How we treat ourselves.
That awareness will make you more self-reflective than ever before. You will begin noticing your own trauma more clearly.
Your emotional patterns. Your insecurities. Your own daddy issues.
The wounds from childhood that you learned to function around but never fully healed.
And perhaps that is one of the hardest truths adulthood will teach you:
You can love your parents deeply and still acknowledge the ways you were hurt.
Both truths can exist together. Healing will teach you that. Motherhood will teach you that too.
Because raising a son while carrying unresolved pain will force you to confront yourself honestly. You will begin recognising the importance of emotional safety, presence, affirmation and intentional parenting in ways you may not have understood before.
Not because you want to be perfect. But because you want to do better. And honestly, that desire alone will change you.
There will be moments when motherhood humbles you deeply too.
Moments when you realise how little control you actually have over life.
Moments when fear enters your heart in ways you have never experienced before because now your happiness exists outside yourself.
That is what loving a child does. It makes vulnerability permanent. But it also makes purpose clearer.
Your son will give your life another dimension of meaning. He will make you more patient. More reflective. More driven. More emotionally aware.
More compassionate towards other women trying to survive motherhood quietly.
Because motherhood is beautiful, yes. But it is also labour. Invisible labour. Emotional labour. Mental labour.
And women carry so much of it silently.
I think one of the things I will admire most about you is that, despite the difficulty, you will choose to mother with love instead of bitterness. That matters. Because pain can harden people.
But somehow, even after disappointment, heartbreak, exhaustion and all the healing still left to do, you will continue choosing tenderness.
You will choose presence. You will choose love. And one day, your son will understand how much strength that required.
Today, when you look at him, you will probably still see the little boy who changed your world.
But I hope you also learn to see yourself differently. Not just as a mother. But as a woman who kept growing. A woman who kept healing.
A woman who kept showing up. A woman trying every day to love more intentionally than life sometimes taught her.
And honestly?
I think the younger version of you would be incredibly proud of the woman you became. Because becoming a mother did not just introduce you to your son. It introduced you to yourself.
With love,
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.
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