Dear Future Me: A Letter to My Older Self

 

We often hear the question, “What would you tell your younger self?”

It’s powerful, no doubt. But lately, I’ve been wondering:

What would I say to my older self?

Because if we’re always looking back, how do we move forward with intentionality?

So today, I’m turning the mirror in a different direction—toward the woman I’m becoming. The older me. The more seasoned, maybe slower-moving, but hopefully wiser and even more joyful version of me.

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
— John 10:10 (NIV)

Let me talk to her for a moment.

Dear Older Me,

I hope you’re proud of who you've become, but most importantly forgiven yourself.

I hope by now you’ve made peace with the fact that you were never meant to get everything right. That the goal was never perfection, but obedience.

I hope you’ve stayed kind. Not because people deserved it, but because it kept your heart soft. And I hope you never let bitterness become your inheritance.

I pray you didn’t wait too long to enjoy life. That you didn’t save your joy for the "after"—after the kids were grown, after the weight was lost, after the business scaled, after you got married.

I hope you wore the red lipstick. Took the trip. Danced like no one is watching from room to room. Giggled until your stomach hurt.

And if you haven’t done those things yet—please don’t think it’s too late.

You still have time. God’s not done with you just because you’ve got laugh lines and stretch marks. He still writes in wrinkles. He still breathes into dry bones.

I hope you still pray like you used to. Not for show, not out of obligation—but like you’re sitting across from someone who really listens. Because He still does.

I hope you never forget to dream for the unimaginable. That you didn’t retire your imagination just because the world told you your time had passed.

Let me remind you: Abraham was a hundred. Sarah was ninety. Moses didn’t lead until his beard had gone grey.
And Jesus? He saved the best wine for last.

Lessons I’m Trying to Learn Now (So You Don’t Have to Relearn Them Later):

• Guard your joy. The enemy doesn’t always come for your finances or your family—sometimes he just wants your gladness.

• Rest is not a reward. You don’t have to earn it. It’s part of the design. God rested. So can you.

• Say what needs to be said. To your friends, your family, your God. Be honest, but tell them you love them. You're proud of them. Apologize quickly. Forgive quicker.

• Don’t be afraid to evolve. Just because they knew you “back then” doesn’t mean they get to narrate your now. Or that you have to stay the same.

One Last Thing...

If you’re feeling weary, just know:

There’s still fire in your bones.
Still light in your eyes.
Still work to be done and joy to be had.

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.”
— Philippians 1:6 (NIV)

 

You’re not behind. You’re not forgotten. You’re not done.
You are still a daughter of promise.

So keep your head high, your heart open, and your spirit anchored in truth.

He’s still writing your story—and girl, it’s getting good.

With love and grace,
The You That’s Still Becoming