17teen Again

I am seventeen again. Not in age, but in the fire of who I was meant to be. The version of me I never got to meet—the wild, unguarded girl who loved fully, dreamed fearlessly, and refused to shrink. I am stepping into a season of life where I get to choose—truly choose—how I move, how I feel, how I show up. This feels like my second chance, and I am not wasting a single heartbeat.

I lost so much of being a teen. At seventeen, I became a mother. The world I imagined—carefree days, endless laughter, late-night adventures, discovering myself without limits—was replaced with responsibility, sacrifice, and the weight of keeping someone else alive. I grew up faster than I was ready to. I learned to love before I even understood myself. I carried joy, exhaustion, fear, and devotion all at once, leaving little room for the reckless, daring girl I was meant to be.

Now, stepping into seventeen again is reclamation. It is rebellion against the life I thought I had to accept. It is reclaiming the courage, the curiosity, the audacity I tucked away. I see her now—the girl who danced in her own shadow, who burned bright even when the world tried to dim her light—and I hold her close, not as a memory, but as my present.

This is permission. Permission to feel fully. To create wildly. To chase the life I always imagined without apology. To walk into my destiny not as someone afraid of failure, but as someone awake, someone ready, someone unafraid to demand her own space in the world.

Seventeen again means I get to write my own rules. To embrace the unknown. To love, to hurt, to grow, to rise. I get to explore the freedom I never had, the dreams I postponed, the parts of myself I had to hide for survival. I am not stepping back into youth—I am stepping forward into me, fully awake, fully alive, fully free.

I am seventeen again. And this time, nothing is off-limits.