I feel like we underestimate just how many lessons we carry in our bones from all the trauma, the difficult experiences, and the growth that we've undertaken in the years that we've been alive. I, myself, sometimes forget just how much I have gone through. Oh, how I forget. Often, I get caught up in comparison, or societal pressures of where my life 'should have been' by now, or the milestones I should have crossed, the adventures I should have gone on, the people I shouldn't have let go. But really, I forget how far I've come from where I was. I forget that I'm not perfect and that's okay. I have insecurities and weaknesses, I have blemishes and scars, I have broken pieces just withering in corners of my mushy heart that I wish I could take out—but I won't. Because they make me, me. Because even though I have done things that I might regret, I have hurt hearts, made mistakes, said words that I can't take back and now there's no going back—I can't let those mistakes define me. I can't let those experiences bring me down. I can't let memories of those people remind me of a time that I would not go back to. Because now those people, those places and those events are symbols of lessons that I've sat through hours, days and even months of. And those memories a reminder of my strength to face the most difficult battles of my life and still come through from them. Still come through. And at the end of the day-that is all that matters. That is all that matters.