If I could give advice to my younger self, I...wouldn't.  The thing that my younger self needed was...support, during the times when it was hardest.  And by that I really mean compassion during the moments where they were most vulnerable and tender.  How many times did I reach my hand out only to be batted away?  How many times was I thrown off a cliff to fend for myself amongst the wolves?

Where was the gentle voice, telling me "it's okay"?  Where was the helping hand, reminding me that I'm not alone?

"It's not so hard", you say, which rings true to me in my heart, but also doesn't capture just how hard it IS, how long it has taken to reach even this point that feels not even a fraction of the way up the mountain (which, of course, is not the point, anyways).