Hey 17 year old me

I turned 27 this week. It was kind of a big deal for me as it is a bit of "scary" age for me. 17 year old Fiona thought that 27 was a really f*cking big deal, that I would have my house and have popped a kid or two out and would be settled in one place. That did not happen. But a lot of the stuff that make being a 17 year old extremely difficult (and 20, 21, 24...) finally makes a bit more sense. So, I old Fiona wrote young Fiona an email.

Hey Fi,

So 17, bit crap eh? Plus you have a major horn for a boy who ends up being far more trouble than he is worth. But it works out, you actually meet a total cutie on a holiday in Paris and have a MaryKate and Ashley style trip. Seriously don't stress the Debs*, you look great and have a great story about who your date is.

It's cool that you don't like sports too. That doesn't mean you aren't fit, you ace things like yoga, pilates, swimming, cycling and hula-hooping. Not to mention dancing, even though that leads to some injuries. More real talk- body woes. It gets easier, you will feel more comfortable in your skin. And the fight between being skinny versus fit and strong gets easier. There are certain brands of jeans that will never fit you, but that is nothing to do with being gross or something. They aren't made for your shape. Simple. Namaste bitches.

Studying too, woah, over whelming much? You know what I've learned? Being a nerd and a dedicated student is actually worth it. You've got some mad learning skills. And that whole university worries? No sweat. Sure, the degree isn't the degree of choice and you end up trying to work in that field for a few years and turn your back on it, you came out with some really valuable skills. Lesson learned, you're adaptable.

Also, Dad's right a lot of the time. You do have to work hard. You do need to knuckle down. And when he sprouts expressions Granny used say, she is generally right. Sometimes you do have to try and just keep the chin up. However, he is wrong about somethings (but mostly not wrong, dad = almost genius) and that's ok. One think I've learned from all this growing up is sticking with your guns while working hard does pay off. Old Fiona quit her job in the health sector just over 2 years ago on a whim after booking a one way ticket. You get called nuts. Now, I'm doing grand, eating Swedish pastries doing a job I kind of actually really very much like. I get called brave. Nuts are for eating.

Try not to drink so much coffee. You thought it was gross, now you are addicted. You are also addicted to social media and the internet but that's cool because it pays your bills. Instagram is your jam.

Treat your family and friends right Fiona. They're the ones that help you so much in life, are there when you freak out over job applications, rejections, crazy nights out, bad outfit choices, good outfit choices, love life woes, hair woes, when those extremely embarrassing things that only girls ever worry about happening happen and so much more. It's a roller-coaster, you win some, you lose some, but you have some serious diamonds in your life.

So dear 17 year old me, you get anxiety and panic but people will mop up your tears. Plus you are quite good at life, considering how difficult using a washing machine that is all in Swedish is. Keep not listening to people, keep dressing like a grown up toddler, keep making as many friends as possible. Don't stop dancing while listening to headphones, don't stop telling silly stories that end in a strange way, don't stop "liking" life.

It gets better and you ace life, most of the time. And when you don't, there is always some secret chocolate squirrelled away. It's ok that you don't have all your sh*t together the way you expected. Life is so different now from what it used to be. And you are doing a-ok.

Love Fiona Goons
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

PS While it is great that you are really good at not eating all your Christmas selection box in the same day and hide most of it away, don't leave the chocolate too long as you have a habit of leaving delicious treats go past their expiration date. Not cool.

*Irish version of Debutante ball/Prom when you leave secondary school.