Forget Your Inner Child

And hug your inner twenty-something instead

For a moment, forget your inner child. Pretend you’ve found a very affordable, trustworthy inner babysitter.

And conjure up your inner 25 year old.

They thought they were a grown up, but they were actually a child, too.

It makes sense that they made decisions that now make you cringe when you drive by bars where you used to hang out. It makes sense they spent money on all the wrong things and assumed they had it all figured out.

They didn’t know what you know now. They’d never asked for a raise or tried to go vegan for the right reasons. They thought love needed to be difficult because that’s the only kind of love they could find. They thought it was ok to keep their mattress on the floor because it was “sort of bohemian.”

Your inner 25 year old could use a hug.

Pat them on the back and tell them it’s okay they threw up the bus that one time. It’s okay they went on bad, weird dates because now they know a lot about what they don’t want in a relationship. Remind them of all the times they paid their rent on time and how they applied for so many freaking jobs. Which means they wrote so many freaking cover letters. Which means they persevered.

Get your inner 25 year old a glass of water and gently remind them to stay hydrated.

Tell your inner 25 year old that their box-dyed hair doesn’t look so bad.

Hold your inner 25 year old by their little baby hand and tell them it’s okay, you’ve got them now. They can relax.

Meet the eyes of your inner child who is 25 years old, and if you can, say, “I forgive you.” (for not wearing spf, for dating that toxic guitar guy, for staying too long at that job, for not calling Mom enough, for not buying bitcoin, for not taking more photos, for calling themselves stupid, for picking at their body, for sleeping away whole Saturdays)

It’s okay, little 25 year old. You did the best you could.