Turning 30.

I turned thirty this year. And the girl I was at fifteen came back to me.

Not as a memory, but as a feeling I suddenly understood.

At fifteen, I never knew where I belonged. So I stood wherever everyone else stood. Following the crowd felt safer than making a choice. Liking something too much felt risky. Disliking something felt like a mistake.

I never asked myself what I wanted. It did not occur to me that I was allowed to.

Those years were filled with comparison. I looked at others and saw everything I was not. Confidence seemed to belong to certain girls—the taller ones,the fairer ones,the ones who spoke easily and without fear.

I struggled with words. Especially English words. They came slowly to me and often left me embarrassed. When teachers asked me to read aloud, my hands would shake, my chest would tighten, and my eyes would search for the floor.

I failed more often than I succeeded. Exams did not go well. Lessons did not make sense quickly. In classrooms, I sometimes sat on the floor while others sat on benches. No one said anything, but I learned quietly that I was behind.

I was not brave. Not because I lacked courage, but because fear occupied too much space inside me. I felt intimidated by intelligence, by confidence, by people who seemed sure of themselves.

When strangers came home, I stayed silent. When relatives visited, I hid in another room. Anxiety made me small. Silence felt like safety.

I grew tired of life before I had truly lived it. I did not dream of the future. I only focused on getting through the day.

And still, I stayed.

Now I am thirty.

I do not have all the answers. But I understand myself better.

I know now that I am not the smartest person in the room. And I no longer feel the need to be. I have learned that sincerity, consistency,and honest work done with care can slowly change a life.

I am not the most beautiful woman. But I have learned that nothing in this world is not beautiful. I no longer speak harshly to my body. I no longer punish it for being tired or imperfect. It has carried me through difficult years.

I listen to my body now. I try to understand it. I respect it. For the first time, I feel very comfortable in my own body. Infact, I have never ever felt this beautiful.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by wonder of existence. The same power that created mountains,rivers, skies, and rain also created me.

When I understood this,I stopped calling myself imperfect.

How could I be, when I was made with the same care as everything else?

I do not know who I will be at forty. But I trust that I will be wiser and happier in small ways,stronger than I expect :)

Looking back at that little girl,

I feel gratitude.

She stayed. So I could become.