Last week I finally spent some time going through just in case things. You know that kitchen drawer, nightstand, shoebox, or shelf space way in the back of your closet where you keep all types of documents and files, just in case.

Old receipts, just in case you need to return something.

Old tax forms, just in case the IRS comes for you.

From medical bills and mortgage loan documents to funeral programs and birthday cards, these important (and usually very old) things have a way of piling up to the point that you dread the necessary but inevitable task of sifting through them.

And that is exactly where I found myself last Friday when I opened a storage ottoman filled with all types of just in case things.

Although this was not an enjoyable task, I stumbled upon something that would bring me much excitement for days to come.

It was a large envelope with the words “Shala’s Old Writings” scribbled on the outside. I emptied the contents to discover multiple stories that I had written between the ages of 13 and 17. Wow!

I smiled as I shuffled through the 8.5 x 11 loose leaf papers, all handwritten front and back. They all had a title, page numbers to keep the stories organized, a completion date, and a proud signature: written by Shala M. Marks.

To my surprise, the papers were in pristine shape—no faded ink or pencil, no tears or food stains. Impressive for words I had written almost 20 years ago.

Photo: A few of my handwritten teenage stories.

And as I excitedly settled in to read one of my childhood stories, I quickly learned that their physical condition wasn’t the only thing that would impress me.

I found myself smiling and laughing as I read, remembering my teenage handwriting and shaking my head at some of my language choices. I eagerly anticipated the next scene while trying to remember what my teenage mind was thinking when I decided to create the character.

Time disappeared as I immersed myself in this adolescent imagination over the next couple hours. And once I had finished the first story, I set the papers down and marveled.

Who was this 13-year-old girl? So creative and innocent. So talented and thoughtful in her writing. How did she come up with all this?

As I pondered this, a thought suddenly made room for itself among the others swirling in my mind.

I could not recognize this carefree innocent girl because I was no longer her.

Do you remember what it was like to be a kid? To be free from worries and pressures? To dare to dream?

I don’t know how many adults desire to relieve their childhood, but let’s be real, adulting is hard. It’s full of responsibilities and demands, hard choices, and many times, heartache.

And not that children (and especially teenagers) do not experience these things, but there is a certain naivete that comes with youth. A certain innocence and view of the world and even yourself that I think frees you to think, and dream, and hope, and try without the hindrances of reality and life experiences.

As adults, we are often asked, “What advice would you give your younger self?” I want to challenge that question and explore a few lessons that my younger self recently taught me.

Lesson 1: Write for yourself, first.

Reading my adolescent stories reminded me of how much I loved creating stories. I remember my 13-year-old self getting so excited one summer as I thought about a character I would soon write; I couldn’t wait to put my ideas on paper! I wrote about what I liked and hoped, simply because I wanted to. I remember being eager to reread my stories again and again throughout my high school years because I actually enjoyed them!

When I was growing up, social media and cell phones weren’t a thing until college. There wasn’t anywhere for my 13-year-old self to post my stories, but more importantly, I never desired to do so because I had written them for my enjoyment. They weren’t for a certain amount of likes and comments and they weren’t to have a successful career and change the world. Today, I hope my writings will encourage and relate to others, but my younger self reminded me that I cannot let this pressure me and be the sole reason I write. I need to remember that my words are first for an audience of one.

Lesson 2: Give yourself and your writing grace.

Although I was impressed by my grammar and punctuation skills, I did notice a few misspellings as I read my old writings. I couldn’t help but laugh as I saw different colored ink, or where one chapter started with pencil and the next was written in pen. There was also a section where I crossed out 5-6 lines of writing and added in a new thought near it. My young self understood that writing is a process that sometimes doesn’t look so good in the draft stages, but this didn’t keep me from enjoying the overall story.

I admired how 13-year-old Shala boldly wrote and attempted to spell certain words. She gave herself permission to revisit a character or idea and change it without feeling like it was an error. This young writer offered herself grace, which is something this older writer could stand to give and receive.

Lesson 3: Stop overthinking, and trust your abilities.

Not only was I impressed by my grammatical skills, I also admired how my 13-year-old mind transitioned each scene, cleverly included dialogue, and even showed character development. How did I know how to do this at such a young age? I currently struggle with plot, structure, and transitions, wondering if I’m equipped to write effectively. But this young writer showed me that I need to stop overthinking and trust in my abilities. I am sure back then she didn’t know if she was writing the “right” way; she just wrote and trusted what made sense to her adolescent mind.


Since last Friday, I have read more of my teenage writings and this young writer not only continues to inspire me, she’s the one giving me a reality check.

My 13-year-old self was more courageous than her 17-year-old reflection. She wasn’t afraid to try, she didn’t seek outside validation, and she was wise enough to let her passions, not pressure, truly lead her.

I tossed a lot of old things when cleaning out my ottoman that day. But I’m still holding onto my teenage writings.

Just in case this adult needs a reminder.

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