The Young Girl in Me

Did Growing Up Mean I Had to Start Proving Myself? A Few Days Ago, I Picked Up a Book A few days ago, I picked up a book from the club library — PS I Love You. It was sitting quietly on the shelf, slightly worn at the edges. I hadn’t planned to borrow anything. I was just passing by. But I brought it home. That evening, I made tea and sat down to read. Two chapters in, I felt something soften inside me — the familiarity of emotion, the simplicity of being absorbed in a story that doesn’t demand analysis or depth. And then I sensed it. A brief glance from my husband. Not judgmental, not harsh — just curious. A subtle, almost amused look. Later, when I mentioned it to a friend, she laughed lightly and said, “Who reads this?” It was casual. Harmless, even. But something inside me tightened. I became aware of myself reading it. As if I needed to explain why. As if my choice required justification. And in that small moment, a question rose quietly within me: Did growing up mean I had to start proving myself? Because what I felt underneath that awareness was deeper than embarrassment. I realized how exhausting it is to constantly validate my own existence. To measure whether I am doing enough, learning enough, becoming enough — even in something as private as reading a book.Moments like these are part of allowing myself to stop proving, and reconnecting with my younger self. The Habit of Proving It startled me how quickly my mind moved to defense: Why did I feel the need to clarify? Why couldn’t it simply be — I wanted to read it? Somewhere along the way, I internalized the idea that everything I consume, learn, or enjoy should reflect growth. Depth. Seriousness. Evolution. Even my curiosity has been filtered through image: In childhood, curiosity was instinctive. In adulthood, it feels curated. This subtle self-monitoring never fully switches off. A quiet voice asks: Is this good enough? Impressive enough? Aligned enough? And I am tired of negotiating with that voice. When Curiosity Was Simple There was a time when my bookshelf held Mills & Boon romances with folded corners, Sidney Sheldon thrillers I couldn’t put down, and Danielle Steel novels passed between friends. I would read them under dim lights, long after I was supposed to sleep. Sometimes hiding the book under my pillow when someone walked in — not because I was ashamed, but because it felt like a secret world that belonged only to me. No one had to approve of them. No one had to understand them. They were mine. I didn’t read to signal intelligence. I didn’t read to cultivate identity. I didn’t read to prove depth. I read because the story pulled me in. I remember finishing a dramatic romance and feeling completely satisfied — not embarrassed, not defensive. Just immersed. Back then, I didn’t categorize my interests as shallow or sophisticated. I didn’t worry about whether they reflected evolution. I didn’t measure whether I was becoming enough. I was just becoming — naturally. And I miss that ease. Internal reflection like this is part of reconnecting with your younger self and nurturing emotional growth for women. Even small habits — reading a book without judgment — are powerful reminders of soft freedom. A Small Rebellion That night, after everyone slept, I picked up PS I Love You again. Not to prove a point.Not to make a statement.Not to perform maturity. Just to read. I let myself feel whatever it evoked — nostalgia, softness, sentimentality. I didn’t analyze whether it was profound. I didn’t critique its literary merit. I simply allowed the experience. It felt quietly rebellious to not curate my curiosity, to not optimize it, and to not turn it into growth. Allowing Myself to Stop Proving I am beginning to see how much of my adult life has revolved around improvement: Growth genuinely matters to me. Learning excites me. Becoming more aware and capable feels meaningful. But somewhere along the way, growth stopped being a desire and became a standard. Even something as small as reading a light novel started to feel like a reflection of my worth. And that is where it becomes heavy. Maybe growing up did not require me to start proving myself. Maybe I just learned to. Allowing myself to stop proving does not mean lowering standards. It simply means I don’t have to justify softness. I don’t have to explain why I want to read something sentimental. I don’t have to defend why I enjoy something simple. I don’t have to convert every interest into a productivity narrative. Sometimes I can just say, “I felt like it.” The young girl in me didn’t curate her interests. She didn’t calculate perception. She didn’t evaluate whether she was evolving fast enough. She just liked what she liked. And maybe growing up doesn’t have to mean losing her. Maybe it means choosing — consciously — to stop proving and start allowing. To soften the constant evaluation. To trust that I don’t have to earn the right to enjoy something. And maybe, slowly, that is how I return to her. Not by undoing adulthood.But by carrying her freedom into it. -Mitika, still discovering.

Rediscovering Forgotten Hobbies The Box I Almost Gave Away Last week, while cleaning a shelf, I found an old box I hadn’t opened in years. Inside was a small watercolor set, dried gently at the edges. A bundle of handwritten poems folded twice over. A half-finished embroidery hoop. And at the bottom, a stack of photographs I had once clicked — moments I had paused life to capture. I sat on the floor longer than I intended to. Not because I was planning to restart everything. But because I could feel a version of me resting inside that box. She was unhurried.Unconcerned with outcome.Unaware of performance. Rediscovering forgotten hobbies feels less like starting over and more like reconnecting with the quieter, joyful version of myself I often forget in adult life. Mumbai Mornings I Didn’t Document Online During college in Mumbai, even after exhausting days, I would wake up early and step into the quiet city with my camera. The streets before 8 a.m. felt like a secret. Sunlight spilling over rooftops. Empty lanes stretching awake. Reflections resting in puddles after the night’s rain. I would stop for no reason. Just to frame a shadow. Just to hold a moment still. I never introduced photography as a hobby. It was simply something I loved. The same with painting. With writing. With stitching uneven patterns that didn’t need to become anything. I did not measure those hours. I lived them fully. Many women find that reconnecting with their younger selves through hobbies can be deeply restorative. Studies on creativity and well-being often show that engaging in hobbies without pressure can reduce stress and support emotional health, as discussed by Psychology Today. Growing Up in Layers Growing up did not happen loudly. It happened in layers. Responsibility became habit.Carefulness became maturity.Seriousness began to feel necessary. Somewhere in that layering, play became optional. Free time slowly changed its shape. It became recovery. Or preparation. Or distraction. I began evaluating before beginning: The younger me never asked those questions. She allowed herself to be absorbed — fully, imperfectly, joyfully. And that is what I miss. Not the hobby itself.The absorption. Rediscovering forgotten hobbies is not just about picking up an old skill. It is about feeling alive in the present and allowing creativity to exist without expectation.

The Girl I Still Carry Within A Quiet Morning Reminder This morning, while watering the plants, I found myself watching how the sunlight settled on the leaves. I stood there longer than necessary. No phone. No rush. Just light and water and quiet. Moments like this feel like quiet inner child healing for women who grew up learning to be responsible too soon. And suddenly, I remembered her. Barefoot and Unaware of Time I remembered being barefoot in our backyard, the cool grass damp with morning dew. I used to step out without thinking — no slippers, no plan. A stick in my hand could become a wand. A puddle could hold an entire story. I would run simply because my body wanted to move. I would laugh without wondering how I looked. There was no audience.There was no outcome.There was just experience. I did not know then that life would slowly introduce performance. That one day I would measure my time in tasks completed. That I would pause before speaking, calculating tone. That I would learn to appear composed even when I felt everything at once. Growing up did not announce itself. It arrived quietly, asking for emotional maturity before I even understood what that meant. Growing Up in Layers Growing up did not happen loudly. It happened in layers. Responsibility became habit.Carefulness became maturity.Seriousness began to feel necessary. And somewhere in that layering, she grew quieter. Somewhere in growing up, I became more careful. Careful with words.Careful with reactions.Careful with how much joy I allowed myself without “earning” it. Many women experience this subtle shift — where emotional growth begins to look like restraint. Psychology often speaks about reconnecting with the inner child as part of emotional development, a concept explored in reflections shared by the American Psychological Association. But for me, it feels less clinical. It feels personal. The Girl Who Still Asks But she never disappeared. I feel her when I replay an old song and it pulls something tender inside me. When I sit on the floor instead of the chair, just because it feels grounding. When I begin writing without knowing what the conclusion will be. She still prefers beginnings over outcomes. There are moments I catch myself being too serious — even about things that once felt playful. I’ll start a hobby and immediately think, Should this become something productive? Should this lead somewhere? She doesn’t ask that. She only asks, Does this feel alive? Reconnecting with your younger self is not dramatic. It is often this small. A pause. A softened thought. A choice not to measure everything. Inner Child Healing for Women Learning to Feel Again The young girl in me was not irresponsible. She was immersed. She gave her full attention to small things — ants carrying crumbs, clouds shifting shape, the way shadows moved across walls in the afternoon. I miss that kind of attention sometimes. Growing older has given me stability, depth, discernment. I would not trade that. Emotional growth for women often brings strength and clarity. But I am learning that maturity does not require me to abandon softness. Responsibilitydoes not require me to silence wonder. Healing your inner child gently does not mean going backwards. It means allowing curiosity to exist alongside competence. Carrying Her Forward So now, I try in small ways. I let myself stand in the sunlight a little longer.I buy the notebook without planning what it will become.I allow joy to exist without attaching a result to it. This is not about going back. It is about carrying her forward. The girl I still carry within reminds me who I was before I learned to measure myself.And every time I make space for her, I feel less fragmented. More whole. More like myself. What did you love before it needed to make sense? — Mitika, still discovering