Recently, in a comical attempt to humiliate me, my friend decided to reverse-stalk my pictures on Facebook and hit like on some fairly unattractive selfies from 2009. Had this happened during any other point in my life, not saying it hasn’t before, I would have been completely mortified. I mean, who wants to willingly remember crooked side bangs, outdated glasses, and prominent peace signs thrusted directly in front of my face? Not me.

No matter how many times I’ve tried to delete them, somehow these pictures tend to creep up on me at the most unexpected moments and threaten social suicide. That time I thought I looked effortlessly cool in 9^th grade with my stick-straight hair and glossy pink lips has become a source of ultimate humiliation when I look in the mirror now. Oh, how the tables have turned.

Yet the other day, when I got that dreaded like (I’m so lucky I even got a comment), I reacted with a very different approach. Instead of my usual rush to the culprit’s oldest photo album, armed for battle, I chose to use that picture as a window to my past. Rather than clicking through his embarrassing pictures (not naming names *cough cough* you know who you are), I clicked through my own album of not-so-flawless memories. For a good half hour I stalked younger me and I learned more about myself than I ever could have anticipated.

First of all, I don’t care what anyone says, I was cute as a button. Looking back, I can’t understand why the senior boys didn’t snatch me right up because dimples like those are hard to find. Sure, I was significantly heftier and probably a lot less mature, but those are just details, right?

Looking back at my old self, I gained a strange sense of appreciation for who I’ve become and how hard I’ve worked to become her. Growing up as the quiet kid taught me to be a freakishly good listener. I can tell you details about your life you probably forgot you even told me. Never wanting to be the center of attention taught me not to beg for it as an adult and accept it gracefully when it is given. Making terrible fashion choices trained me to dress for my body type and understand what works and what doesn’t. But most importantly, going through a dreadfully awkward stage in my life, one which I’m still not fully convinced I’ve emerged out of, has pushed me to become as outgoing, approachable, and (dare I say) charismatic as I tend to think I am today. Maybe I’m not, who knows? All I know is those pictures serve as a perfectly accurate form of measurement to gauge where I am today and where I’ll be tomorrow. Because while you see pimples and baby fat, I see a familiar wide-eyed high school freshman doubtful of her presence and anxious for her future.

And even though she still may not know where she’s going, looking back she knows she’s headed in the right direction.