Awake: A Memoir

by Jen Hatmaker

Young Me One recurring feeling is, surprisingly, a sense of compassion for the young versions of me. Who among us can’t look backward and realize how far we’ve come or how much we’ve learned or how deeply we’ve changed? This is how growth works, and there is no fast-forward button; it is a function of time. It is tempting to disparage the earlier versions of myself, berate her for not knowing or doing better, but I prefer to be gentle with her instead. She was doing the best she could with what she knew. She got me to where I am today, and that counts for something. She ran her leg of the race. I am proud of her for trying her best and going as far as she was able. She was handed some harmful narratives that take most of us a lifetime to dismantle, so good on her for surviving those. Directing so much love to the young versions of us today, dear ones. Proud of them for getting us here. Let us be tender with our earlier selves, like wiser older sisters, like nurturing aunts, like good, good mothers.