A Letter to Last Week Me

A letter to last week me:

Dear last week me—

You didn’t need more advice.

You needed to slow down long enough to hear yourself again.

I know why you asked for input.

You wanted to be thoughtful.
You wanted to be responsible.
You wanted to make sure you weren’t missing something obvious.

But sometimes you get bad advice.

And a lot of the time, you didn’t need the advice anyway.

You handed the moment to someone who sounded wiser, more seasoned—
but they were standing far, far outside your arena.

This is your backyard.

You live here.

You know where the ground holds
and where it doesn’t.

You usually trust your gut.

But every now and then, you put a scenario out there
and even when it goes against your instincts,
you follow the advice.

Damn it.

You forget, for a moment,
that you’re not a brand new baby.

This bus has been down the road a piece.

You have degrees and credentials
and years on top of years
of making decisions, reading the room,
and knowing what you know.

And still, old patterns whisper,

“Surely someone knows more than you.”

But they don’t know it from your eyes.

Or your heart.

Or your lived experience.

So this is your reminder, last week Julie:

You wouldn’t be in these rooms
if you didn’t deserve to be here.

And those inner voices you keep second-guessing?

They’ve been with you through every challenge,
every victory,
every hardship,
every success.

They know you inside out.

Next time you feel the urge
to outsource your knowing—

pause.

Put a hand on your chest.

Ask yourself what you already know.

Then trust that.

If this hit a spot for you, maybe you could write a note to your last week self.