I Met My Younger Self For Coffee

Inspired by Jennae Cecelia’s poem, found in her latest poetry collection Deep In My Feels.

I met my younger self for coffee.

She was 10 minutes early. I was 5 minutes late. 

I wore flared, high-waisted jeans. She wore skinny jeans.

She wore a full face of makeup, I wore my now-signature glitter. Her long hair was flatironed and straight, while my natural waves fell out of a half-up hairdo.

She looked nervous and unsure. I was beyond thrilled to see her.

I could tell she had a lot of questions but wasn’t quite ready to ask them.

I bought our coffees: iced white mocha with whipped cream for her, an oat milk cappuccino for me.

She looked longingly at the pastries so I grabbed some treats: a cheese danish for her, something chocolatey for me.

In an effort to make her feel comfortable, I asked what was going on in her life. She told me she was 17, getting ready to graduate high school before going off to college in Santa Barbara. She told me about getting asked to prom by a good friend. She was excited that someone asked her but secretly sad that another boy hadn’t asked her.

I saw in her eyes how badly she wanted to ask about him, the boy she had loved for the past 3 years, the one who had broken her heart multiple times. I could see the yearning in her eyes, could feel her undercurrent of anxiety.

Instead, she asked what life was like at 31. We’re married, right? How many kids do we have? Are we working for a non-profit? 

I told her we aren’t married, yet. She looked disappointed. I reassured her that I’m happy, surrounded by beautiful friends. That I’ve had wonderful men in my life and trust that I’ll meet the right partner in the right time. I told her that we have strong boundaries and good intuition that guide us towards secure, communicative men who treat us really well.

Shyly, her nonchalant tone unable to mask her disappointment, she asked about the boy, the one she loved. “So…we didn’t marry him?”

“No,” I told her gently. “We were good friends for a long time but we kept letting him hurt us with his prolonged silences and confusing intentions. Eventually, he cut us out completely to be with the woman who became his wife. They’re separated now. We want to be mature, to forgive and move on. But we’re still angry.”

I felt an undercurrent of sorrow for the girl in front of me who had already experienced such pain in her interactions with this person and would experience more. I felt guilty that he still elicited a strong reaction in me now, wishing I could be stronger for my 17-year-old self.

I knew she wanted advice and answers so I shared more about our journey.

I told her I’m a dating coach, building my own business. She lit up, curious to hear more; we’re both hopeless romantics who love love and she was excited that we get to talk about it all the time.

She asked where I lived and I told her about the small mountain town. That one shocked her. At 17, she had only had a handful of experiences in nature and considered herself a beach baby. “What about the ocean?” she asked.

“We still love the ocean,” I told her. “We just love the mountains, too.” We followed a sweet boy out here and while that relationship didn’t work, we fell in love with the people and the wilderness. I told her about some of our crazy adventures hiking, rock climbing and camping. She couldn’t even fathom the life I currently live.

She asked about my hobbies. Do you still play volleyball? Did you play in college? Did you sing in an acapella group like cousin Nili? Which sorority did you join?

I took a deep breath and filled her in. We still love volleyball but don’t play very often. She looked disappointed. We didn’t play in college but we sure loved watching the boys’ volleyball team games, I said with a sly wink. She blushed at the thought of cute, college volleyball players and I could practically hear her imagination spinning tales of love with tall athletes.

I told her with immense pride that we now do circus arts, aerial hoop, silks and sometimes pole. I told her we’ve performed in showcases and at parties, that I’m currently creating a routine for a spring showcase. I shared about the incredible friends I’ve made, the strength of the aerial community and how great it makes us feel. I showed her a video from a recent class, hoping she would enjoy it at 17 as much as I do at 31. She was amazed but couldn’t help noticing my soft belly and parts of my body she deemed imperfect; she yearned to be skinny and beautiful and I could feel her pangs of embarrassment at the thought of revealing her body.

I thought about the years I spent restricting food, bullying myself for what I saw in the mirror. I shared with her that while we still struggle with body image, we’re in a good place now. That we feel strong, are deeply loved by our community and focus on feeling good over looking a certain way. I could tell she didn’t believe in happiness at any weight but under that belief was a desire to simply feel beautiful and confident. I recognized it as a spark of hope that she would one day feel healthy and loving towards herself, rather than hypercritical.

“No acapella group,” I admitted. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about singing lately and it could be fun to pick it back up now,” I told her.

“And we didn’t join a sorority. It wasn’t really necessary at Santa Barbara because we could party without the Greek system.”

She was a little shocked to hear how the things that defined her at 17 had shrunk in their importance to make space for new things that had never crossed her mind.

She asked about our high school friends, sure that we’re still close, right? I told her about the fight with our best friend, that we grew apart, but every so often we grab coffee. My younger self wasn’t surprised to hear that she is married with two beautiful kids. She was also a little jealous and felt lost at the thought of moving through life without her.

I told her about the people who have faded from our orbit and the ones who stayed. She couldn’t imagine life without our core friend group…

I took another deep breath and told her about our mental health journey. “We’re in therapy now, on medication, too. It helps a lot.” She thought of the friend who dropped out of high school because of depression. I saw the fear in her eyes, believing that therapy means things get really, really bad, right?

I held her hand and told her that while things would get bad, we’re okay now; we’re still here. It wasn’t fun and there were periods of time where continuing to live felt like an almighty task. But I reminded her that it’s okay to not be okay, that therapy is just a space to be heard, validated and seen, to help her better understand herself. That there’s no shame in taking medication. “There will be bad days,” I admitted, “but there are way more good days now. And while the bad days don’t feel great, they’re a reminder to be gentle and simply take care of myself.”

It had started raining outside and I could tell she felt overwhelmed so I bought us both hot chocolates and shared some of the things that bring us joy. We love baking and are good at it; we even worked as a baker for a while! We love glitter and elephants, reread Harry Potter for comfort and crochet cute little animals. We wear vanilla perfume, love watching rom-coms and going out dancing. She relaxed, feeling comfort in our similarities.

I asked her how she felt about going off to school in Santa Barbara. She said she was excited, also a little nervous, but she knew it was the right place for her. I asked her what made it the right place. She thought for a second, then with total confidence said “I can just feel it.” And I realized that the intuition I’m strengthening right now started with her, intuitive little queen.

Her eyebrows creased as a thought passed through her mind.

“I just want things to be okay. Will they be okay?” she asked.

“They will,” I promised.

She paused, then looked up at me.

“Ok,” she said with a soft smile.

I knew that life would not be easy for her, that she would often stand in her own way and ignore red flags in the hopes of feeling loved, seen and fulfilled. But I also knew that she would learn incredible lessons, have amazing adventures and come to a point where she eventually felt proud of herself. Where she would trust that she was on the right path, feel confident and beautiful and strong, and let others see her in her gifted, imperfectly perfect complexity.

She was quiet, seemingly waiting for something. I asked her if she’d like to do this again next week, same time, same place? I felt relief flood through her as a smile lit her face. She might not understand me, yet, but she does look up to me, desiring my approval and attention. So I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, told her I’m proud of her and that I’ll see her soon. As I walked out, I made a silent promise to myself to live a good life, to make her proud and be the role model she needs.

I’m really glad to know her.

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