Looking Back, I Already Made It Further Than I Thought | by Her Out-of-Office Feelings | Sep, 2025

No, I’m not everything I want to be right now.

I don’t have it all figured out, and there are still dreams sitting on the shelf, waiting for me to reach them.

But the other morning, as I sat with my coffee, something gentle and almost humbling came over me: I am everything I once wanted to be fifteen years ago.

And what a wonderful, overlooked truth that is.

Fifteen years ago, I was just a kid with hopes bigger than my circumstances.

I dreamed of independence, of having my own voice, of stepping into a life that didn’t always feel like survival.

Back then, I wanted stability.
I wanted to feel safe in my skin, safe in my choices, safe in the world I was creating.
I longed to be someone who could make decisions without fear, someone who carried a little light in places that once felt so dark.

And now? That’s me.

Not perfect, not finished, but real.
I pay my own bills.
I have my own stories.

I’ve walked through storms that younger me couldn’t imagine surviving, and here I am — still standing, softer in some places, stronger in others.

It’s funny how the mind works.

We spend so much time obsessing over the next milestone, the next achievement, the next “better version” of ourselves, that we forget to honor the versions of us that once begged to be here.
We forget that once upon a time, the life we’re living right now was the very thing we prayed for.

When I think about it like that, the pressure eases.

I don’t feel as restless or as behind.

Instead, I feel proud.
Proud that I kept going through the nights I cried myself to sleep.
Proud that I chose growth over bitterness.
Proud that I built a home, not just in the walls around me, but in my own heart.

There’s still more I want. Of course there is.

I still have dreams that stretch far beyond what I can see right now.

But for today, I want to hold onto this thought: the gap between who I am and who I want to be is not as heavy as it feels.
Because I already closed the gap between who I was and who I prayed I’d become.

That’s worth celebrating.
That’s worth pausing for.
That’s worth whispering a quiet thank you into the air, even if no one else hears it.

So if you’re reading this and you feel like you’re not enough, I hope you take a moment to remember: there’s a younger version of you who would be so proud to see you right now.

Who would marvel at the way you carry yourself, at the battles you’ve survived, at the life you’ve made possible.
You may not have everything, but you already are someone’s dream come true — your own.

And that, my friend, is no small thing.