meeting my younger self for coffee

published: 2025.02.16
tagged: girlblogging, therapy
by mana

while catching up on my RSS feeds today, I saw that Lost Letters had an update recently discussing a tiktok trend of “meeting your younger self for coffee” which seems fun, and since Valentine’s Day was this Friday, taking a moment to do some self-care in the form of a reflective exercise feels pertinent. (this is your reminder that valentine’s day doesn’t have to be something you are left out of if you’re single this year; loving yourself is and should always be a priority!!)

I arrive to the coffee shop about 2 minutes before the arranged time, and my younger self is already there, seated and waiting. She is finishing up a toffee nut soy latte and offers to pay for mine and another for herself as I arrive, which I decline, because I know she can’t really afford to do so - but she loves appearing generous, even if it stretches her entirely too thin.

I approach the counter and let her order, then ask for a short oatmilk brown sugar cortado for myself and pay for both of our drinks, and we find somewhere secluded to sit and chat for a bit.

“Well, what are things like in the future?” my younger self excitedly asks, fidgeting. I’m also nervous, but am too tired to show it, so I take a deep breath to begin, and then she interrupts me before I even can begin - “oh, I noticed a ring, are we married now?? That’s exciting, please tell me all about them!!”

I chuckle, fidgeting with my wedding band, turning it around my finger to dissipate any nervous energy and take a sip of my drink and prepare to speak. This time, she allows me to start - internally I smile at her enthusiasm.

“Yeah, we actually get married pretty soon, believe it or not! Remind me how old you are right now, again?” I ask her.

“23, miss - do I call you miss? I mean, you are me after all, hehehe it feels a little weird.” she titters anxiously, sipping her drink. Her excited and nervous energy is palpable.

“Nah, we don’t have to do that, silly. But yeah, we get married in about two years!” I respond, smiling. She hesitates, thinking to herself for a moment.

“Is it…y’know…the guy we’re with now?” she looks troubled asking this, and I can tell she’s worried - our boyfriend at the time, we’ve been together for five years, and no movement on the “let’s move in together!” conversation we had three years in…two years of stagnancy. I remember the feeling all too well and consider putting my hand on her shoulder, but thinking better of it, I instead adjust how I’m seated, knowing how touch-averse she is, even with me, more than likely.

“I don’t think I should tell you, but I think saying that, you already know it’s not.” I smile a little painfully, unsure if I’ve done the right thing, but resign myself to the consequences. She’s silent, and has broken eye contact with me. She looks out the window, fidgeting with her hands, clearly distraught. Eventually, she finds the courage to speak her mind.

“Is it my fault?” she asks, sounding very small and all too much like the child she still is, despite her ignorance of that fact. So much of her is still so wounded and small, even though she would never admit it to anyone as she is.

“It’s no one’s fault, dear.” this time, I do rest my hand on her shoulder, and she flinches at first, but allows my hand to remain there. Her eyes well up with tears. “Hey, shh…no, it’s ok, don’t worry!” I want to hug her so badly, but I know she won’t be receptive to it. She shifts her body away from me, staring out the window for a moment again, and I hear her muffled sobs. She wipes her eyes, takes a few shaky breaths, and turns back to face me, eyes red and puffy. She’s embarrassed, and maybe devastated? It’s hard to tell. This is definitely difficult for her to hear, that much is obvious.

“Hey,” I say, doing my best to soothe her, “let’s talk about something else, ok?” She nods slowly, biting her bottom lip, and won’t make eye contact with me. That’s fine, we’ve never been very good with that sort of thing, I chuckle internally. This poor creature. “Just know that on that front, things are going really really well, ok?” I try to offer her reassurance with these words, and she looks hesistant, perhaps even distrusting, but nods after a few minutes, steeling herself to continue.

“What are we doing for work these days?” she asks. She looks at me with sad eyes, and is so very, very tired. I remember all too well what she’s going through. God, your twenties are the worst, I think to myself. “Ah, about that…you know the pain we’ve always been in?” and she looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language to her.

“Huh?? W-what are you talking about?” she looks entirely bewildered, but I don’t blame her; I was pretty deep in denial about what I was experiencing back then, I remember.

“The aches and pains we’ve had our whole life. You remember how awful P.E. was, right?” I say, nudging her ever-so-gently. She nods, sipping her latte and considering me, waiting for me to continue. “Well, it turns out that’s not all in our heads, and we actually have an autoimmune disease.” She looks struck, like I’ve slapped her. She begins shaking her head.

“No, no, that can’t be right.” She looks upset and confused.

“Ah, I wish it weren’t true, but at least we get on disability eventually. So, to answer your question, we’re not working these days. We’re on disability and just doing our best to recover lately.” I remove my hand from her shoulder and sip my drink quietly, giving her space to ask me questions. “Oh, it’s rheumatoid arthritis, by the way.” I offer, “among…other things.”

“Well…that is…certainly some news,” she laughs to herself bitterly. She at least seems to be over her tears. I feel bad for her, but it’s better for her to know these things now, I hope. Maybe if we get into treatment earlier, we can avoid some things later on, I selfishly think to myself. “What other things?” she finally asks me.

“Ah…well, it starts out with a fibromyalgia diagnosis,” she scoffs at that, and I don’t blame her; back during this time period it’s widely thought of as a made-up disease for when doctors don’t know what’s wrong with you, but she’ll see in a few years. I continue, “then we get a rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis, and eventually, after we’ve been on disability for awhile, we find out about Ehler’s-Danlos Syndrome.”

“What…even is that?” she asks me.

“Oh, um, do you remember when we were small and could fit our whole fist in our mouth, and our jaw would pop? How we used to be able to stick both legs behind our head, and all those other silly little…‘tricks’?” She nods as I speak. “Yeah, those are actually symptoms of something called hypermobility, which is a major symptom of EDS. To answer your question, it’s a connective tissue disease, and it’s genetic. There’s no cure.” She looks upset and sighs heavily, mumbling under her breath.

“Of course it’s not…” she mutters bitterly, taking a large sip of her latte and scowling. “When does it ever go right…” she shakes her head and clears her throat, “ok, at least…how are we doing? How much time do we have?” she looks completely defeated. I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Oh, dear, it’s not as bad as all that!” I exclaim, chuckling. “Oh my word, I forgot about this; no we’re not going to die, it’s just a chronic pain disorder, hon, no need to worry so much! We’ve got a long life ahead of us still! See? I’m still around! It’s not as dire as all that!” I pat her head and she winces, but relaxes a bit into it after a moment, lingering on my touch. I forgot how affection-starved she is back then. I sigh, shaking my head.

“Oh…um, well, what are we up to, then?” she laughs with me nervously, and adjusts how she’s seated.

“Well, we’re mostly spending time with our husband,” she looks at me wide-eyed.

“A MAN?!” she exclaims, genuinely surprised. I chuckle.

“Yeah, a man hahaha…believe it or not! Aren’t you with a man now?” I ask her, grinning. She nods, but exclaims,

“W-well, yeah, but…I dunno I guess I didn’t really think we’d ever get married, and definitely not to a man.” She winces, thinking to herself, “wait…oh god, do we have kids? Please say we don’t have kids.” she looks geniunely exasperated and full of worry again.

“Nonononono,” I gesture, waving my hands in front of my face, “absolutely NOT, we find someone who doesn’t want kids, thankfully.”

“Oh thank GOD” she sighs, chugging the last of her latte exasperatedly. I can’t help but chuckle to myself.

“Yeah, no the person we end up with is really, really good for us. You’ll see. It’ll feel a bit like things are falling apart at first,” she lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes, as if to say of course it does, “but everything good in your life is going to flow through this person.” I smile to myself, thinking of him now, and how lucky I feel.

“Is…anything good?” she asks me, exasperated.

“I mean, there’s ups and downs all the time, babe.” Once again, I find myself reaching out to touch her, and offer reassurance, something I know she definitely doesn’t get much of these days. “When things are good, they’re really, really good, though. When they’re bad, we get through it. You know us, we’re a survivor after all.” I want to hug her so bad.

As I say this, she bursts into tears, and I finally get up and sit myself next to her, holding her for a while while she chokes out sobs. “heyy, shhshshshshsh” I stroke her hair, trying to calm her. “it’s alright, it’s alright…we’re ok, thinks are gonna be ok.” she cries into me pitifully. I knew this was probably not going to go great, but I wasn’t really expecting this. I hug her as tight as I can.

“Hey, I know it sounds really bad, but there’s plenty of good stuff too, ok? I promise. I have no reason to lie to you, you know? After all, you’re me, I think you’d know if I did.” I smile at her. She looks up at me and I can tell she’s embarrassed and tired and feels silly, so I go back to my seat after giving her hand a squeeze, which she returns. “We’re gonna be ok, ok?” she nods slowly.

“Sorry, I…I knew things were not great but I really thought that all that stuff was in our head, like mom and dad said.” she admitted. “I know I’ve been tired, but all this time I thought it was just because I was weak, or lazy, or a failure or something…” her voice wavers a bit.

I shake my head in response, “Not at all, babe, not at all. The things we’re experiencing now are real.” I place emphasis on this word and look directly into her eyes as I say it. “What you’re going through is real. And you’re gonna survive it. You’ll see. You’re so much stronger than you think you are, miss thing.” I smile at her, and she chuckles timidly.

“UGH” she makes a noise, standing up. “Oof, I feel like I made a fool out of myself,” she fidgets, smoothing her clothes over and tidying her hair. She wipes her face with her sleeve. “Well, at least we finally start dressing cuter,” she gestures at me, and I blush, nodding.

I chuckle to myself, “heh, yeah, we do! We have some really cute outfits. I can’t wait for you to get to wear them all!” I beam at her genuinely, unable to hide my excitement for her. She comes over and gives me a hug, her phone ringing in her bag.

“UGH, I can’t…I gotta go, I’m so sorry!” she digs around in her purse for a moment, looks at her phone and silences it. “I can’t even take one day off…” she whines to no one in particular, hanging her head.

“Hey, it’s ok. You go do what you have to do, like we always do, ok? You’re gonna get through this though. You’ll see. We’re gonna be thriving before you know it,” I grin at her, standing up, and give her a big hug. She hugs me back!

“Thanks for doing this, and…for getting my second drink, I really can’t afford to be doing this.” she admits.

“I know, that’s why I couldn’t let you pay. It was kind of you to offer, but you really have to start looking out for yourself more. I know appearances are important to you, but you can still be the generous person you want to be and not put yourself out like that, ok?” She nods at me like it’s not the first time she’s heard these words. I smile instinctively.

“God, you sound like Josh!” she exclaims, laughing. I smile and squeeze her hand.

“Hey…knock em dead out there, kiddo.” I give her a wink and she cringes at me visibly.

“Ah…yeah, I’ll…I’ll try. Th-thanks again for this.” She squeezes my hand back and darts out of the shop, phone in hand, and it’s ringing again.

Ah, this ended up a little more emotional than I’d really hoped but… um…I’m just gonna be vulnerable this week! I hope you enjoyed reading it!