Letter 1: To Sadiah Jr.

Dear Younger Me,

I know. I know how it feels.

I know how it feels when you walk into a room and suddenly become aware of your body before anything else. Before your mind, before your kindness, before your intelligence, your body is the first thing they see, the first thing they judge. You don’t get to just be; you are noticed. And not in the way you want.

I know what it’s like to laugh at the jokes before they sting too much, to make it seem like you don’t care when, deep down, you do. To act like their words roll off your shoulders when in reality, they sink into your skin and stay there, like weights you carry every single day.

I know what it’s like to stand in front of a mirror and pull at your clothes, hoping to make yourself look smaller. To choose outfits not based on what you love, but on what hides you best. To feel the silent rules of what they will all wear, knowing you don’t fit into that mold, not just in size, but in the way they carry themselves, the way they laugh effortlessly, the way they seem to move through the world so lightly while you feel weighed down by something you can’t shake.

I know how it feels to be the one everyone confides in, the good friend, the listener. Because you don’t have stories to share, at least, that’s what you’ve told yourself. No one is interested in the girl who doesn’t fit. No one is asking about your experiences. You are just there.

I know the tears you’ve cried in the corners no one saw. I know the way your heart ached when you thought about the things you might never have, the confidence, the attention, the feeling of being wanted. The quiet fear that no matter how hard you try, you will never be the kind of beautiful that makes people pause.

But I need you to listen to me now.

One day, you will wake up and realize that your body was never the thing holding you back. It was the way they made you see yourself.

One day, you will decide that you don’t want to be hidden. You don’t want to just listen, you want to have a story of your own.

And you will start.

You will push yourself beyond what anyone thought possible, not because you wanted their approval, but because you wanted your own. You will take the weight that once felt like a curse, and you will transform it into something unshakable: your strength.

You will lose 52 kgs, not because you hated your body, but because you wanted to reclaim it.

You will lift weights, not because you need to be smaller, but because you want to be stronger.

You will run marathons, ultra-marathons, not for a medal, but for the power of your own mind.

You will train, not just to change your body, but to change who you are.

One day, people will come to you for advice, asking how you do it. How are you so strong? So fit? So disciplined?They will admire the person you became. They will call you beautiful. They will compliment your body.

But let me tell you something, it won’t feel the same.

Because the world that once made you feel invisible will now try to convince you that your worth comes from how you look. That your confidence is tied to being this size, this fit, this strong.

But you will know the truth.

You didn’t win because you lost weight. You didn’t succeed because they finally saw you.

You won the moment you decided you were worthy of more.

And the most powerful thing? You still are.

Even now, you keep pushing. You train harder, you chase new challenges, not because you fear going back, but because you love the person you have become. The person who refuses to settle, who will always push forward, who knows her own power.

And yes, sometimes you will still feel that old weight, not in your body, but in your mind. Because healing is not just about changing what’s on the outside; it’s about quieting the voices that once told you that you weren’t enough.

But you are enough. You always were.

And now? You are unstoppable.

With love,

The Woman You Became

Sadiah Z.