How I am getting over myself.

I used to have mornings when I didn't want to get out of bed. For many reasons, but the most prominent that I can remember is that I didn't like who I was. I wasn't happy. And getting out of bed meant that I had to admit that. And also that I had to try to like myself.
I thought my life was amazing. There was no reason for me to be unhappy. It didn't make any sense. And so I would lay there, wrapped in my quilt, wishing the day away. Praying that God would just give me an epiphany and I would suddenly understand why I didn't like my wonderful life.

I used to think I knew everything.

16.

I don't remember the exact moment when I suggested to myself that it's okay to grow up. It was a slow discovery, something that happened over many deep breaths all the way down to the bottom parts of my lungs, I think. I constantly tell myself, it wasn't when I was fourteen, or I was fifteen, or I was sixteen. And then I constantly tell myself, it was when I was fourteen, I was fifteen, I was sixteen. 
My baby sister turned sixteen today.
We all grow up somehow.