I recently returned from a short trip back to where I grew up—southeastern Michigan, the suburbs of Detroit. I don’t know about you, but when I visit the place where I spent my childhood, I have an intense emotional experience. As I walked around my undergraduate college campus, I was flooded with feelings of grief. I wish I had known and understood certain aspects of my identity when I was younger. I wish I had been more self-confident. I wish I hadn’t stayed in those terrible relationships (if you could even call them that) with people who didn’t respect or appreciate me. I wish I didn’t try to control people. I wish I didn’t try to convince people to love me. I wish I loved myself more. I wish I understood my worth and potential and was able to relax and enjoy my life instead of chasing people who didn’t recognize it either.
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