I’m Still That Girl

Being a woman is heavier than I thought it would be.

There are expectations I didn’t see coming. Responsibilities that settle quietly onto my shoulders. An awareness of the world that feels sharper, less forgiving. Somewhere along the way, things became more serious. More measured. Less soft.

I thought growing up meant becoming someone new.

It didn’t. It meant learning how to carry who I’ve always been.

Because underneath everything—under the pressure, the expectations, the effort to hold myself together—the girl I used to be is still here.

She shows up in small ways.

In the quiet rituals—in checking each other’s makeup under harsh bathroom lights, leaning in close to fix what the others can’t quite see, in taking turns at the mirror, talking over each other as we get ready. In laughter that comes too easily, in conversations that stretch late into the night, where nothing feels too small or too much to say.

She is there in the softness I refuse to lose.

In the way I feel things deeply, even when it would be easier not to. In the way I reach for connection, for closeness, for understanding. In the unspoken language between women—the glance across the room, the immediate knowing when something is wrong, the instinct to move closer without needing to be asked.

There was a time when being that girl felt effortless.

Before I learned to second-guess myself. Before I started measuring how I was perceived. Before I understood how often the world asks women to be smaller, quieter, easier to hold.

Being a woman has taught me awareness.

Being a girl taught me how to feel.

I don’t have to choose between the two.

Growing up did not require me to become harder. It required me to become more intentional about what I keep.

And I am keeping her.

The girl who laughs too hard. The girl who lingers in moments that feel good. The girl who leans in, who listens, who loves without hesitation. The girl who still believes there is something sacred in being understood.

There is strength in that softness. Even if the world does not always recognize it.

I am a woman.

And I am still a girl.