On Righteous Rage That Unfortunately Doesn't Help You

A Letter to My Younger Self Part 2

After writing that first letter to my younger self, I sat with it for over two weeks (I told you not to hold me to any time commitments!).

It felt right. It felt true. It felt like the hug I never gave myself.

But as I sat thinking about what to write for part two, I realized something essential: the 12-year-old girl I once was would have absolutely hated it. She would've read those comforting words and rolled her eyes. Probably even thrown the paper across the room. It would have felt comforting if she really sat with it (she never really sat with anything at that age), but she would be left with such a big part of this experience left unaddressed — her anger.

So this is a follow-up. Not a retraction —because every word of comfort in that first letter stands true —but an acknowledgment. Here's part 2.

A Letter to My Younger Self Part 2

Dear younger-you,

I know at twelve or thirteen you're angry.

God, are you angry. It's all about you at this age — and I say that with profound love and understanding, because how could it not be? Your little muscled body is taking in the social world around you for the first time — beginning to see how the world views you, the scripts surrounding your body and other different-looking bodies. At twelve, it's all about you! It has to be!

I also know that reading those comforting words from our first letter — no matter how loving and tender — feel empty. There is no Aha! moment, no instant relief or comfort, no immediate undoing of the script you've written for yourself again and again (sorry, not even 23-year-old you can offer you an instant fix).

This is because insecurity is a powerful thing, and it has sunk its nasty teeth deep into you.

None of this is your fault, and maybe none of this is even about ‘fault.’ You aren't to blame — and at the same time, no one has ever wounded you like you have wounded you. Both things are true.

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You're angry. So angry.

You're angry that you've felt like you have to hide.

That you have to explain yourself.

That you're drawn into arguments you didn't choose.

That products are pushed on you to "fix" you.

That strangers expect you to regurgitate your story on demand.

But mostly? You're angry at yourself. Angry for letting it all get to you SO MUCH. Then angry for being angry (ha!), creating this exhausting cycle where resentment seeps and brews inside you.

I see how your mind has become this misguided machine —gathering evidence, preparing arguments, keeping score. Clinging to every comment made about your body, every furtive glance. It's caused you to show your teeth sometimes, to bite some ankles, even though you believe most people aren't trying to be unkind. So you mask that anger, then feel angry for having to mask it.

This is a lot, little one.

It's a tremendous amount of anger that has embedded itself over many years. I won't take that anger away from you —no one can or should. Anger can be great! Necessary! A catalyst for change! Your anger is yours to observe and do with as you'd like.

At risk of sounding finger-waggy —because 23-year-old you is certainly still figuring this out —I will tell you something we've noticed:

We could spend hours analyzing blame. The system bears responsibility. So do those powerful figures in government making the rules (thank goodness you don't need to know who they are yet). And yes, maybe a few particularly mean people too. I won't discredit any of that.

But ultimately, even if we sat here and untangled this whole bundle of blame... maybe, just maybe —humor me here, little-you —fixing blame isn't actually what matters most.

Sweet girl, you will soon begin to notice something important: just like hiding yourself took up so much cognitive space for you, anger and blame take up even more —regardless of how justified they may be.

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So be mad now! It's okay to be a bit angry at the world as you heal. Go ahead —cosplay that cold, mean girl for a bit and try those pants on for size, but please take them off after a little while, or you'll get too used to them being on. You're a soft, loving creature who does not come out of this life unscathed.

Let it be that way.

You don't have to soak in the cruelty or even indifference. You can become the gentle protector and defender of a different universe inside your body, coaxing your needs and desires to dance and play and show you new ways of experiencing joy every single day in this experience.

Your anger isn't wrong —it never has been. It's a flashing signal of what matters deeply to you. But it isn't the whole story. Not by a long shot.

And when you're ready —really ready (not when I tell you to be ready… because God knows you hate being told what to do at 12!) —there's a different kind of freedom waiting on the other side of that anger.

I'll be here, holding space for both versions of you: the angry ankle-biter and the puddle-dancer. They both belong here. They both belong to you.