To the Little Girl Who Felt Different

On growing up, grieving who you were, and healing the inner child within.

Note: This letter was written for the younger version of me — the girl who felt a little lost, a little different, and unsure of her place in the world. But if any part of this story feels familiar to you too, I hope it offers you comfort, and makes you feel a little less alone in your journey.

To the little girl who felt different —

Maybe you had red hair, or rounder cheeks, or freckles that made you stand out. Maybe you were too quiet. Too tall. Too soft. Too much of something, or not enough of something else.

Growing up, difference can feel like something to hide. Whether it was teasing at school, being left out, or constantly feeling like you had to prove yourself, those moments sink in. They shape how we see our ourselves, how we cope, and how we relate to the world.

There’s a version of you who learnt to blend in, perform, or chase perfection because it felt safer than being seen for who you really were. And that version of you deserves gentleness because she was doing her best with what she had.

As we grow, we don’t just leave those parts of ourselves behind. They show up in our relationships, our routines, our fears. Sometimes in the habits we form just to feel some sense of control or relief.

In my twenties, I didn’t know who I was.

I had no roadmap, no fixed direction. I was trying to figure out what I wanted from life — who I wanted to be but nothing felt certain. And that uncertainty was scary. So, like many do, I reached for the things I could control.

For me, that looked like controlling my body. I sought structure through food rules, through rigid routines around exercise, through trying to make my body smaller, as if that would make life feel more manageable.

And the hardest part? People noticed. I was praised for my discipline, for my body, for my control.

“How do you stay so skinny?”

“What’s your routine?”

“You’re so good with food. I wish I had your willpower.”

When you’re still trying to figure out who you are, that kind of validation sticks. It becomes something to cling to — a measure of worth, a sign that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing something right.

But the truth is, that kind of validation can keep you stuck. It can push you further into patterns that aren’t serving you. And it can silence the part of you that’s quietly whispering: this doesn’t feel good anymore.

Those behaviours gave me a sense of control, but they came at a cost. They weren’t kind to me. They disconnected me from myself. And over time, those behaviours spiralled into an eating disorder — one that took over my life.

It’s a strange thing, to be searching for who you are, while holding tight to things that are slowly hurting you.

That period was messy. And vulnerable. But also necessary. Because it was in the undoing, in the letting go that I started to rebuild something real.

In recovery, and in adulthood, there’s a quiet kind of grief for the identities we outgrew, for the behaviours that once gave us certainty, for the versions of ourselves that helped us survive.

And sometimes, there’s grief too for what we never had — safety, clarity, purpose.

And in that grief, there’s also an invitation to meet the younger version of you with the compassion she didn’t always receive. Healing your inner child isn’t about fixing the past, but about showing up now with the acceptance, protection, and gentleness she once longed for.

Recovery, in many ways, is remembering. A return to that younger self and reminding her: you are safe now. You are worthy. You don’t have to keep proving your value to be loved.

Healing didn’t come from getting everything “right”.

It came from getting real with myself.

It came from taking responsibility of my life and pausing long enough to ask: Is this who I really want to be? Or is this just who I thought I had to become?

And if you’re in that place now — somewhere between who you were and who you’re becoming, I just want you to know that it’s okay if it feels unclear. It’s okay if it’s scary. It’s okay if you don’t have it all worked out yet.

You don’t need to rush. You don’t need to prove anything. You just need to stay connected to yourself. And trust that every time you choose gentleness over control, curiosity over fear, truth over perfection — you’re already becoming.

With love, from the version of you who made it

Found this useful? Share it forward.

Want to chat about it?

Slide into our DMs on Instagram and tell us what hit home for you, we love hearing your takeaways.

Need support that gets it?

Book a free clarity call to see how coaching might meet you where you’re at.

Let’s stay connected!
Subscribe to our newsletter to get all the recovery tips, music, book recommendations, and everything we’re loving, learning, and leaning on lately.