top of page
Search

WTF Is Wrong with Me? – A Letter to My Younger Self

  • Writer: Zara Hussain
    Zara Hussain
  • Oct 29
  • 6 min read

TW – Racism, Bullying, Body Image, Suicide and Self Harm

 

This is for the girls who never fit in. The girls who were always told they were ‘too emotional’ or ‘too needy’. The girls who couldn’t make friends, couldn’t bear to look at their own reflection. The girls like me.

 

Baby Zara would cling onto her mum’s leg every morning before school. Baby Zara would consider her army of teddy bears as her friends. And perhaps still does… Love ya, Scott. Baby Zara cared about animals more than she did humans. And yet again, still does!

 

Since I was little, I’ve been described and made to feel like I’m ‘too much’. Whether it was being a ‘cry-baby’ at 12, or ‘overly opinionated’ at 20, I’ve never felt understood. Undiagnosed ADHD until I turned 18 played a part, for sure, but for years I sat alone, crying, repeating the words: what the fuck is wrong with me?

 

Since the age of 6, I’ve been bullied. Forced to believe I was never enough. That there was something systematically wrong with me. This didn’t stop when I entered secondary school, bullied for years in an all-girls school. Ultimately not going to school for years, stuck in bed, sobbing and thinking about ending it all. Trapped in toxic friendships and the prison of my own mind.

 

Was it the way I looked? Was it the fact I wasn’t white? Was it because I wasn’t skinny?

 

I’ll never truly know, but to this day hold the trauma from it all. So, thanks for that, you know who you are.

 

I was the girl who was banned from watching children in need, too empathetic as I sat there sobbing. Forced to believe my empathy was a flaw, I’ve since learned how to use it as a strength.

 

I was the girl embarrassed to be Asian, begging my parents to check the ‘White-English’ box on any paperwork. The girl who never saw enough diversity and representation to believe she was normal from a young age.

 

The same girl that was first called a ‘Paki’ at the age of 13. I wish I could say that this has since stopped, but let’s be realistic here. Thanks, Nigel Farage, for encouraging that!

 

I’ve been the angry daughter.

 

The one who slammed doors and spoke in sharp edges because softness felt too dangerous. The one who didn’t know how to explain that the anger wasn’t anger at all, it was grief in disguise.

 

Grief for the childhood I didn’t get to have, grief for the girl I lost somewhere between bullying and self-hatred and pretending I was fine. I was the daughter who was blamed for being difficult, for being loud, for being emotional, when all I wanted was for someone to ask why.

 


ree

Seeing TikTok trends where people use AI to create images of their present self, hugging their younger self just reminded me of how much I had to endure at such a young age. That the little girl who wanted to be an astronaut (despite hating maths and science). That little girl who used to break into her mum’s makeup and walk around with glitter on her nose. That little girl who would read all-night, hiding under the covers so her parents wouldn’t suspect a thing. She is still inside of me. She is still healing.

 

I was the girl who envied the ones who were effortlessly liked. The ones who fit in without trying. I used to believe there was something defective in me, something unlovable.

 

But I’ve since realised: I was never meant to fit in. I was meant to stand out. I was meant to feel deeply, to question everything, to break cycles, to rewrite the story. The world tried to dim me, not because I was weak — but because I was powerful.

 

I was the crybaby. The girl who felt everything first and hardest. The one who cried when other people were hurting, who cried when she was left out, who cried just because the world felt too sharp against her skin.

 

Now they call me too angry, too loud, too opinionated — as if I didn’t spend years being quiet enough to break. They don’t see that the voice I use now is one I had to fight for. That the fire in me used to be water, overflowing and ignored. I didn’t change because I wanted to, I changed because silence nearly destroyed me.

 

Today, I am the girl who continues to have therapy to understand herself. To learn to adapt and educate herself on who she is, what she needs and what she deserves.

 

So, this is for the girls like me. The girls who need a hug. The girls who are working tirelessly to understand themselves, parenting their current self to heal that child inside of them.

 

The girls who are exhausted from carrying wounds they never asked for. The girls who have to explain why they flinch at kindness. The girls who are still untangling the lies they were told about their worth. The ones who don’t glide through life — they crawl, they trip, they rebuild. Over and over again.

 

This is for the girls who look in the mirror and see every version of themselves at once. The child who just wanted to be loved, the teenager who wanted to disappear, the adult who is trying her best. The girls who are still learning that they were never, ‘too much’. But were always just enough in the wrong hands.

 

Healing isn’t beautiful. Healing is messy and ugly-crying in the bathroom and realising forgiveness isn’t always deserved — but choosing it anyway, if only to free yourself.

 

Healing is unlearning the voice that tells you you’re inconvenient. Healing is meeting yourself at 2AM with gentleness for the first time. Gentleness that you deserve.

 

And despite the shit-show that we call life, look at you now. Still here. Still trying. Still soft, despite every reason to harden.

 

There are days I wake up and feel like I’ve been stitched back together with shaking hands, held in place by nothing but hope and eyeliner. But there are also days I laugh. Like really laugh… To the point where my stomach hurts and there are tears falling from my eyes. And I’d argue that rather beautiful.

 

I am learning to love the girl I used to hate. I am learning to take up space without apologising. I am learning that empathy is not a weakness, it’s a superpower. I am learning that I was never broken, I was becoming.

 

So, if you’re reading this and you see yourself in every line — please know this:

 

You are allowed to be gentle with yourself.

You are allowed to rest.

You are allowed to grow slowly.

You are allowed to be full of contradictions.

You are allowed to choose yourself.

 

One day, you will look back at the younger you, the one who survived when she didn’t think she could, and you will hold her close. And you will be proud.

 

And, there is beauty in that.

 

There always was.

 

This is for the countless other girls who have sat there, thinking, what the fuck is wrong with me? For the angry girls. For the sad girls. For the quiet girls. For the loud girls. For the girls who are and will always be enough, despite what anyone else may tell them.

 

So if you’re still in it — if you’re still hurting — here are some things that helped me:

 

  • Speak to yourself like you would a younger version of you.

  • Let yourself cry. Crying is not weakness — it’s release.

  • Find softness in routine: showers, music, clean sheets, open windows.

  • Surround yourself with people who make you feel safe, not small.

  • Learn to say, “I deserve to be loved gently.” And believe it.

  • Let healing take time — you are not late. You are becoming.

 

And if you ever need help beyond what you can hold alone, there are people here for you. Please reach out — your pain is real, your story matters, and you are not a burden.

 

UK Support & Helplines:

 

 
 
 

Comments

bottom of page