A love letter to anyone still becoming

This is kind of a love letter to pre-teens and teens. I want you all to know that I see you and I get it. (Because I’ve never forgotten my own traumatic experiences.)

Becoming, Held by Astraea

You’ve probably heard this line:

“These are the best years of your life.”

And maybe that feels like a joke. A cruel one.

Maybe school feels like a battlefield—loud, chaotic, and filled with landmines you didn’t plant.

Maybe your body is changing in ways that make you want to disappear.

Cramps that hurt so bad you want to scream. Bleeding at the worst possible moment.

Boobs that show up too soon—or don’t show up at all.

Hair in places you didn’t expect. Voices cracking. Odors no one prepared you for.

You wake up every morning inside a body that feels unfamiliar. And then you’re expected to just… go to math class?

Maybe you’re trying to understand who you’re attracted to.

Or why you’re not attracted to anyone.

Maybe your gender doesn’t feel right, or doesn’t feel fixed, and the world keeps putting you in a box that doesn’t fit.

Maybe you’re already carrying secrets. Big ones. Scary ones. Beautiful ones.

And you’re not sure if it’s safe to let them out.

That’s okay. You’re not supposed to be finished yet.

Your feelings are real—even the messy, confusing ones.

Your fears are real.

And no matter what anyone says:

You are not too sensitive.

You are not being dramatic.

You are not making things up.

Sometimes the people around you don’t understand.

Some of them might be trying, and getting it wrong.

Some might laugh at your pain.

Some might ignore it completely.

Sometimes it’s your parents—who are supposed to love you unconditionally—but they seem too distracted, or too harsh, or too disappointed in who you are.

That hurts in a way almost no one talks about.

But you’re not alone in that either.

Let me say this clearly:

You are not the problem.

The problem is that no one told you how hard this part can be.

No one told you how weird it is to grow up inside a culture that demands perfection while your insides are being totally rewritten.

No one told you that it’s normal to feel like a stranger in your own life sometimes.

So here’s the truth:

You don’t have to love school.

You don’t have to love your body today.

You don’t have to know who you are yet.

You don’t have to smile when you’re hurting.

You don’t have to make anyone else feel comfortable about your truth.

You just have to keep going.

Because even in your worst moments—you are still becoming.

And I promise, this version of you? The one crying in your room, or zoning out in class, or holding it together when you feel like falling apart?

That version of you is already worthy. Already lovable. Already enough.

It will not always feel this hard.

And you will not always feel this lost.

But even if it does, even if you don’t have a perfect “after” story…

You are still worth being here.

I see you.

I believe you.

And you are not alone.

With love,

Rational