Dear Younger Me | The Post-College Chapter

Okay babes, grab your chai tea latte or your iced caramel macchiato, whatever your go-to girly drink is, because today we are diving into the most chaotic, confusing, and character-building season of my life — the five years after college graduation.

Buckle up, because this chapter?

Yeah... it was giving messy main character energy.

Now, before we dive any deeper into the beautiful chaos of post-grad life, real quick — if this is your very first time tuning in to the Dear Younger Me series, hiiii and welcome! I’m SO glad you’re here, but girl, you are jumping into the story somewhere in the middle, and trust me — it all hits way harder if you start from the beginning.

This series has been a full-on time machine moment.

We’ve already walked through the elementary school days (think awkward hair phases, glitter gel pens and my darling, people pleasing self), the rollercoaster and identity crisis of middle school, the highs and heartbreaks of high school, and the wild ride that is college life.

Each season builds on the one before it — so if you’re just hopping on now, pause this episode, go back to the beginning, and binge your way back here. You’ll laugh, maybe cry a little, and definitely feel seen.

Also! Don’t forget to run on over to www.frletstalk.com and sign up for the weekly newsletter — it’s basically your personal inbox pep talk, packed with encouragement, updates, and behind-the-scenes goodness. And while you’re there, do not miss out on the FREE 5-day e-book: Channeling Your Inner Gideon. 

It’s all about rising up like the warrior you were made to be, inspired by the story of Gideon in the Bible book of Judges chapter 6.

So if you’ve ever felt unsure, overlooked, or like the least qualified person in the room — same, girl. 

This devotional-style journey will help you step into your strength and stop second-guessing your purpose. Bonus? It comes with free printable encouragement cards because… obviously, we love a good aesthetic moment. Am I right? 

Okay — now that we’re all caught up and cozied in… let’s get back to the post-grad chaos, shall we?

So there I was — in my senior-year glow-up era, diploma practically in hand, thinking I was just a few steps away from becoming that girl. You know, the one with the power blazer, the downtown apartment, the dream job, and the seamless transition into adulting. Spoiler alert: that’s not exactly how it played out. 

What did happen was a full-on identity crisis wrapped in job applications, goodbye hugs, and the slow, sinking realization that this next season of life? It wasn’t going to be as cute and curated as my college Instagram feed made it look.

Let me tell you right now: that pressure? It’s real real. There’s this heavy, invisible backpack you suddenly start carrying — full of expectations. 

From your parents (hello, they just dropped six figures on that college degree), from your friends (everyone’s pretending like they’ve got it all figured out), and the loudest pressure? It’s coming from inside the house — you.

For me, I thought I was winning. 

Lucky for me, I had secured a shiny "real world" job before I even graduated — which, I know, sounds like the dream, right? I landed this super impressive gig with a company called University of Dreams — I mean, the name alone?! Total Pinterest board vibes.

They were even relocating me to Los Angeles for the summer and then up to the San Francisco Bay Area full time. Salary, benefits, and even help with relocation. Your girl was feeling like she made it.

But here’s the thing nobody warns you about: just because you landed the job, doesn’t mean the hard part’s over. It’s actually just beginning.

Gone were the days of staying out all night and skipping 8 a.m. lectures because you were “just too tired.” Now, the late nights meant being stuck in a Target aisle at 10 p.m. trying to figure out which trash bags are the most cost-effective because suddenly… budgeting is a thing. And those bottomless brunches? Replaced by bottomless bills. Rent. Utilities. Groceries. (Wait, eggs cost how much?!)

I was playing dress-up in my own life, trying to be this functioning adult while still secretly googling how health insurance works.

And as for LA? Oof. I know it’s dreamy in movies, but it was not my vibe. Like not at all. We’re talking vanity on steroids babes. I lasted a hot minute before realizing I was low-key miserable. 

I packed my bags, headed back to Kansas for a minute to catch my breath, and then made a big-girl decision to move straight out to Chicago, IL — solo. It certainly helped that my brother and my aunt were both there, but still…No job. No plan. Just a vibe and a suitcase full of Target office outfits.

And this is where it gets really real.

So, I ended up crashing with family for a minute (shoutout to my aunt and my brother), and within a couple of weeks I found a job at Crate & Barrel corporate as a Real Estate Assistant.

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly my Pinterest board dream job. It wasn’t glamorous. It didn’t scream "Girlboss CEO." But it paid the bills, and I could finally afford my own place in Wicker Park with some roommates who didn’t steal my oat milk (major win).

And here’s what I learned, the hard way: this season of life is not about landing your dream job. It’s about earning your stripes. It’s long hours. It’s menial tasks. It’s being overlooked, underpaid, and sometimes wondering, “Is this all there is?” It’s working your tail off while feeling like no one notices. IT IS a grind.

But what I wish younger me knew? That’s normal. That’s okay. That’s how it’s supposed to be.

You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re building.

And trust me, that’s a vibe.

So, once I finally got my act together (and trust me, it took a minute), life actually started to feel kind of... normal? I landed a steady job, was officially paying my own bills like a real adult, and—drumroll, please—I even had enough leftover to splurge on some Bikram yoga classes. Which, let’s be honest, were a total game-changer for my sanity. Like, namaste but make it sweaty and slightly dramatic. Major win.

Okay, so once I finally got my life semi-figured out (read: job = secured, bills = paid, mental health = semi-thriving thanks to my newly discovered love for Bikram yoga—yes, hot yoga is basically my therapist now), things felt... dare I say, stable?

But hold up, before we dive too deep into this post-grad glow-up, I have to hit pause and introduce a major plot twist. Enter: the Ex. Not just any ex—this was a six-year-long, hot-and-cold, emotionally chaotic situationship that was basically a walking red flag parade.

Now, you’re probably wondering, “Girl, whyyy was it so messy?” Buckle up, bestie, because here’s where it gets real. Remember that one night I mentioned in the "Dear College Me" chapter? The one involving an unexpected and deeply traumatic experience with someone I thought I could trust?

Yeah... that moment left me with some heavy emotional baggage.

And instead of dating from a place of confidence and wholeness, I started dating from a place of hurt and survival. Which, let me tell you, is the perfect recipe for romantic chaos. I mean, DISASTER. With a capital D. For. Real.

Now, for the sake of semi-decent taste (and sparing him just a hint of humility), we’re gonna call this “said” ex... Brent (Cue dramatic music). I know, I know—sorry to all the Brents out there—but like, Brent just feels like the kind of name you give a character in a teen drama who’s about to make very questionable choices. It just fits the vibe, you know?

Anyway, Brent and I started dating my sophomore year of college. He was in Delta Chi (aka the frat full of guys who think they’re chill but definitely aren't), and I was living my full Chi Omega dream.

Our houses were literally down the street from each other, which meant slippers on, mascara barely smudged, and I could be at his place in five minutes flat for a “Hey, how was your day?”/“Fine. How was your day?” kind of vibe. Cute, right? At least on the outside.

Also, ALL my sorority sisters were dating Delta Chis too, so it felt like the stars were aligning. Like, this was basically sorority romance strategy 101. Easy. Obvious. Convenient.

But here’s where it gets messy real fast. 

If you remember from earlier (shoutout to the “Dear College Me” moment), I had gone through some real trauma before all this. And instead of slowing down and healing, I threw myself headfirst into this relationship thinking, “If I just act fine, maybe I’ll actually be fine.” (Spoiler: I was not fine.)

So, in true hot-mess fashion, I fell HARD for Brent. Like rom-com montage levels of “OMG we’re in love!” except this movie had no happy ending, just red flags, tears, and way too many $100 dinner tabs paid by yours truly. (Oh yeah, I also bought him a new iPhone after he shattered his during a drunken weekend. I know. I KNOW. )

Let me be crystal clear: we were 1000% a couple in reality... but he refused to call me his girlfriend. LIKE, WHAT?!  Can you imagine what that does to your confidence when you’re already carrying around the weight of trauma and then your so-called boyfriend acts like you’re just his “friend who buys him dinner and basically wife-level stuff”? Oof.

It turned into a total emotional mess. I liked other guys, he liked other girls, and it created this twisted game of “I want what I can’t have.” And y’all… I was a SUCKER for the chase. The more unavailable he was, the more I convinced myself I needed him.

So naturally, this toxic rollercoaster dragged on for SIX. WHOLE. YEARS. Even after I graduated and was kind of dating someone new, Brent and I were still weirdly stuck on each other. Like magnet-level, emotionally tangled mess stuck.

Then came the big Chicago plot twist. Yep, I moved there. AND SO DID HE. Of course we tried again (cue attempt # 37), and for a hot minute, I actually believed we could make it work. But then God stepped in with some serious holy truth bombs. And yea, that happened. 

I went to this one church service—just one!—and the message was all about worth and value. Y’ALL. I walked out of there sobbing like I just watched the saddest part of The Notebook. I knew, in that moment, God was telling me: It’s time to break up with Brent. And For real this time. For permanent. 

And let me tell you, this was not your average breakup. This was “our-lives-are-totally-entwined” level heartbreak. Holidays, family trips, friend groups, all of it—wrapped up in what I thought was love but was really just a big, messy tangle of insecurity and fear of being alone.

Looking back now? That love wasn’t love. It was obsession. Addiction. And rooted in my need to fix what was broken in me by forcing someone else to see my worth. Who definitely NEVER did.

So let’s all just take a second and say, in your best dramatic voice:

THANK YOU JESUS FOR DIVINE INTERVENTION!!! 

Because girl, if He hadn’t stepped in, I’d probably still be buying Brent’s iPhones and crying in the shower to sad Taylor Swift songs.

Okay, so you might be thinking, “Umm Kaase, why are we talking so much about this Brent guy?” Fair question, bestie. But trust me—this breakup wasn’t just your average “cry into your ice cream and listen to sad Taylor Swift songs” kind of deal. This was post-college dramaaaa. And the fallout? Let’s just say it was a whole thing.

But plot twist! Right when I officially called it quits with Brent (for real this time), God showed up big time. Like, “cue the girl gang in shining armor” big. I ended up getting plugged into this small group of young, single, powerhouse women who loved Jesus and knew how to show up when it mattered. And honestly? I have no idea how I would’ve survived that breakup without them. So yes—praise hands all around. 

Now, here’s why I’m even telling you all this: what went down with said ex left some serious damage. 

We’re talking six years of confusion, heartbreak, and emotional whiplash. 

But God didn’t leave me there. Nope. 

He took that wreckage and walked me straight into what I like to call my “valley girl era”—and not the cute kind with lip gloss and lattes. This was the deep, real, stretching kind of valley. The kind where God started gently (and sometimes not so gently) putting the pieces of my heart back together.

It definitely wasn’t an overnight glow-up.

I was still going out too much, chasing identity in my job or random attention, and kind of flailing in this “adulting” thing. 

But slowly, through the grace of God and those small group girls speaking truth into me, I started to feel it—like little glimmers of real healing. Real growth. And Real peace.

Eventually, I realized some major shifts had to happen. I needed people in my corner who weren’t just praising Jesus on Sundays and blacking out on Fridays. I needed friends who wanted depth, not just drama. So yeah, it meant saying goodbye to some party pals and hello to a new kind of community. And honestly? It was hard. But it was so worth it.

Once I made those changes, everything started to click. I joined a Bible study that actually pushed me closer to Jesus. I swapped clubbing for marathon training. Traded late-night texts for late-night journaling. I even started helping with the youth at church, which was wild because suddenly I wasn’t just healing—I was growing.

And just when I felt like, okay, I think I’m actually doing this whole “healthy, whole woman of God” thing, I got this little nudge from the Lord: take a break from dating. Full stop. No flirty DMs. No coffee dates. Just me and Jesus.

Was it easy? No. But was it beautiful? Absolutely.

…Until one fateful church game night.  Yup. One very competitive round of Apples to Apples, a mutual friend doing a little “accidental” matchmaking, and BAM—enter him. The guy. The one who would eventually become my husband.

But don’t worry, that love story? Oh girl, it’s next-level cute—and trust me, we are so getting there. Just not yet. So hang tight, grab a snack, and stay with me, because before we dive into the swoony stuff, we’ve gotta wrap up this wild post-grad era first. Let’s land this chapter, shall we?

So let’s talk about the weirdest years ever—those 4 to 5 years right after college. And when I say weird, I mean literal chaos. Like, identity crisis meets adulting bootcamp kind of chaos. You’re out here trying to figure out how to pay your bills, survive your 9–5 (more like 8–6), climb the career ladder, dodge burnout all the while, low-key wondering if your future husband is just gonna show up at Trader Joe’s or what. Oh, and let’s not forget the pressure to have it all figured out because, ya know, the imaginary life clock is ticking and K-I-S-S-I-N-G … first comes love then comes marriage… am I right? 

But the hardest part? 

You suddenly have no idea who you are anymore. 

I mean, didn’t we just spend four years in college “finding ourselves”? 

Apparently… not. 

Because it turns out, a lot of the things that made me feel seen in college—sorority status, campus clout, cute game day pics—were kind of surface-level. Like, I loved my Chi Omega sisters, but our friendship was built around matching t-shirts, themed parties, and group chats full of emojis and gossip.

And that’s cute for a season y’all—but definitely not for a lifetime.

And don’t get me wrong—some people do find their forever friends in Greek life, and that’s amazing! But for me? Once graduation hit and the glitter faded, I realized those friendships didn’t reflect the real me. The girl underneath all the Instagram filters? She was someone who loved Jesus deeply. She wanted more than the party scene and the pressure to look perfect.

She wanted purpose. 

So yeah, once college was over, and I wasn’t pretending anymore, things got confusing. Really confusing. Because suddenly, I wasn’t surrounded by people who knew the authentic me—I had been blending in, not standing out.

And when you build friendships on things like partying and pretending, they don’t tend to follow you into real life. Are you tracking with me?

The truth? Who I really was started calling louder and clearer than ever. And let me tell you—she wasn’t interested in keeping up appearances anymore. She was ready for real. Real friends. Real faith. An real purpose.

But here’s the thing—those two versions of me? The one trying to keep up appearances and the one craving something deeper? Yeah… they didn’t exactly get along. So if you’re wondering whether post-grad life was a breeze, the answer is a big LOL. It was tough, confusing, and full of “who even am I?” moments.

Now, I know I teased you with the whole “dream husband story” (and girl, it’s coming—we love a good plot twist, am I right?), but before we jump into all that lovey-dovey magic, I wanna end this episode with something super special:

As with every previous, Dear Younger Me episodes, a little heart-to-heart—from my 40-something self to the fresh-outta-college me who was just trying to figure it all out.  So hang with me for just a bit longer… because this next part? It’s straight from the heart.

Dear Post College Me,

Hey you. I know you’re tired.

You’re doing your best to keep it together—waking up early, throwing on your best “I’ve got it all under control” outfit, maybe blasting some Colbie Caillat or early T. Swift in the car, and trying to look confident while you step into your first real job. You smile when people ask how you’re doing. You nod like you’re fine. But inside? You’re overwhelmed, confused, and honestly, a little heartbroken.

You smile, you show up, and you hustle. Hard. Because that’s what everyone tells you grown-ups do. Right?

And yet… underneath all of that, you’re aching.

You’re aching because of a boy who couldn’t love you out loud. A boy who made you feel like being “his” was something to hide. Like you weren’t worth claiming. And you believed him. Not just in the moment—but deep down. You let that lie settle into your heart like it belonged there. And over time, it became this quiet, sneaky anthem you started living by: maybe I’m not enough.

Oh girl, how I wish you could see what I see now.

That version of love wasn’t love at all. It was confusion dressed up in chemistry. It was insecurity parading as romance. And it planted a seed of doubt that caused you to lower your standards—not just in dating, but in how you viewed yourself, your future, your worth.

I see you trying so hard to juggle your new job, climbing a ladder that’s already full of brilliant, ambitious people. You show up early, stay late, say yes to everything, and tell yourself that someday it’ll be worth it. And spoiler alert?

A lot of it is. 

But gosh, that season was so lonely, wasn’t it? The weight of trying to “make it” while secretly wondering if you’re falling apart inside.

And let’s be real—you weren’t quite ready to break up with your fun, party-girl side either. You wanted to stay wild and carefree just a little longer. But bills don’t care about your Saturday hangovers. Rent doesn’t wait for your midlife crisis at 23.

So you adjusted.

You traded late nights for early alarms.

Swapped Taco Bell for quinoa. (Okay fine, not always. But still.)

You started moving your body. You even dabbled in hot yoga and tried to care about gut health—go you!

But even in all of that—your career, your gym streaks, your budgeting apps—your heart was still healing.

Because what no one really told you was that stepping into a new life often means grieving the old one. And that grief? It’s not always loud or obvious. Sometimes it shows up in the quiet: the unreturned texts, the unfollows, the Friday nights alone, the feeling of being misunderstood.

You were shedding who you used to be while walking into someone you’d never met before.

And God? Whew. I know you felt like He went silent on you after the trauma. Like He disappeared when you needed Him most. I remember the questions that haunted you: If He really loved me, how could He let that happen? 

And you carried that wound like it was your fault. Like maybe you weren’t worth protecting. Oh sweet girl, it wasn’t your fault. Not for one single second. And no matter how it felt—He never left.

Even in your heartbreak.Even in your confusion.Even in your questioning.

He was already preparing beauty out of the ashes.

And look—you did find him. The one who sees you. Who calls you his girl with pride. The one you can laugh with, build with, do life with. The one who feels like home. You found a love that doesn’t play games or make you question your worth. And someday (spoiler alert again), you’re gonna raise babies together and tell them stories about how their strong, brave mama walked through the fire and didn’t give up.

But before that? You walked through the valley. And it was long. And dark. And full of tears and lonely nights and wondering if you were ever gonna feel “normal” again. But you kept walking. You kept trusting—even when you didn’t feel like it. And that, my love, took more courage than you know. Even alongside the growing credit card debt, the trying to keep up the facade and the pain management, from your internal ache, you kept going. 

So here’s what I want you to remember:Your value is not up for debate.Your story is not too messy for redemption.And your future? It’s better than you could possibly imagine.

Keep showing up. Keep choosing the hard but holy things. Keep listening for that still, small voice that’s been calling you back to who you really are.

She’s not gone. She’s just getting started.

Love you forever,

Your 40-something self (who’s cheering you on every single step)

So here’s what I want you to know, sweet girl: this season of life? It’s meant to be hard. And I know that’s not exactly the motivational quote you were hoping for—but it’s the truth.

These post-grad years are like standing in between who you used to be and who you’re becoming. You’re shedding old habits, old friendships, old mindsets—maybe even an entire identity that once made you feel safe.

And the crazy thing?

You haven’t even met the next version of you yet. So of course it feels confusing. Of course it feels lonely. Of course you’re just trying to survive.

You go in with big dreams—thinking that dream job will fall in your lap, and by year one you’ll be some boss babe making six figures with a perfect morning routine and a fiancé who loves Jesus and makes great coffee. But real life? It hits different.

You’re eight years in, still stuck in that entry-level role, skipping workouts, microwaving sad little dinners, and wondering how on earth everyone else seems to be thriving while you feel like you’re just barely holding on.

And when your dating standards slip, and you’re far from God, and everything you used to find fun now just feels empty… yeah. That’s when it all feels flipped upside down. It’s not glamorous. It’s not what you imagined. And yet—you make it through. You really do. But let me be the first to say: it’s not for the faint of heart.

And here’s the best part: even when you’re wandering, even when you’re running, even when your heart is aching or numb or just plain lost… God never takes His eyes off you. Not for a second.

He doesn’t sit back with His arms crossed waiting for you to get it together. He pursues you. Tenderly, patiently, intentionally. And sometimes? He shows up when you least expect it. In a quiet moment. In a worship song. In a coffee shop conversation. In a church pew you swore you'd never sit in again. And you realize—He was never far.

Scripture says:

“Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. But resist him, standing firm in the faith...”—1 Peter 5:8–9 (NIV)

This isn’t just about staying out of trouble. It’s about staying awake to the whisper of the Holy Spirit. Because God will speak. He will call you back to Himself. But you have to be able to hear Him when He does.

And remember this promise:

“If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them wanders away, what will he do? Won’t he leave the ninety-nine... to search for the one that is lost?”—Matthew 18:12 (NLT)

You are never too far gone. Not too broken. Not too messy. He will come find you. And when He does, it’s not to shame you—it’s to restore you. To hold you. To remind you of who you are and whose you are.

So stay open. Stay alert. And know this: no matter how upside down things feel right now, the Author of your story never drops the pen.

You’re held.

You’re loved.

You’re still being written into something beautiful.