Friendships are getting weird, partying is losing its sparkle, money suddenly has consequences, school is holding my career hostage, and being the oldest daughter apparently comes with a lifetime subscription to everybody’s opinions. I fear my frontal lobe has entered the chat, and unfortunately she has notes.

A love letter to every version of me I’ve ever tried on, from MovieStarPlanet alter egos and middle school identity crises to career fantasies, abandoned hobbies, hair changes, and the realization that maybe constantly reinventing yourself doesn’t mean you’re lost. Maybe you’re just figuring out what actually feels like you.