New Series Drop: Dear Younger Me | The Elementary Chapter

Well, hey hey hey, my beautiful queens! What is up?! Hey… I am so glad you showed up today. For real, it wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Whether you’re lounging in bed with a messy bun and your favorite oversized hoodie, scrolling through your summer photo dump, or out for a hot girl walk with Jesus in your AirPods—thank you for pressing play. 

You showing up? 

It means everything to me.

And can we just take a holy moment of praise for SUMMER? Like yes, Lord! 

No alarms, no stress, no weird school lunch smells, no worrying about if your outfit is “dress code appropriate”—just sunshine, freedom, and living your best life. 

I hope you’re soaking it up, boo. 

Whether you’re sipping iced coffee with way too much caramel drizzle (and zero regrets), FaceTiming your bestie at midnight, or just vibing in your room with your fan on full blast and your favorite playlist going—this season is such a gift. 

And I’m so here for it. I hope you are too!

Okay, so today is kinda special. Scratch that—it’s a whole vibe.

Because today, we’re kicking off something brand spankin’ new here on the pod. Something that’s been sitting in my heart like a little sparkle waiting to shine. Wanna hear how it came to life? Of course you do!

So, picture this: it’s like 11:43 PM. I’m laying in bed, wrapped up in my fluffy blanket, trying to fall asleep, but my brain is like, Let’s overthink our entire life right now! 

And suddenly, out of nowhere, this idea just drops into my heart like boom. And y’all—when I say I sat up, grabbed my phone, and typed like a madwoman—I mean, full-blown thumb cramps trying to keep up with what God was pouring out.

And what came out that night? It turned into this brand new series I’m about to share with you. So without further ado, introducing...

Dear Younger Me. 

Totally NOT original, I know. BUT basically this is really just a a heart-to-heart from me to, well… younger me. This is just me getting real. 

It’s like sitting on the floor with you in your room, talking late into the night, sharing the things I wish I could go back and whisper to little me—the mini version of myself who was doing the most, feeling all the things, and trying to make sense of a big world with a tiny heart.

In this series, we’re going back in time.

We’re pulling open the photo albums, unzipping the sparkly pencil cases, and remembering the girl who was just starting to figure herself out. And I want you to come with me—not just to hear my story, but to find yours in the middle of it too.

Every episode is like a love letter to a younger version of me. And maybe, just maybe, it's a letter to you too.

Because real talk? We all have these hidden moments that shape us. Little things that we brush off—like a mean comment, a lost friendship, a moment we felt invisible—but they stick. And sometimes, we never go back to sort them out. We just carry the weight and keep it moving.

But girl, we’re not doing that anymore. We’re unpacking it, with grace and glitter and truth. We’re going back—not to stay stuck in the past—but to see how God was already working in the middle of the mess. Because He was. And He still is.

So here’s how we’re doing it: we’re starting at the very beginning. Like, elementary school me. Yes ma’am, we are going way back. I’m talking scrunchies, gel pens, Lisa Frank folders (yes, those—the ones with unicorns and neon tigers that looked like they belonged in a magical 90s fever dream), and the days when your biggest problem was whether your best friend picked someone else to sit next to at lunch.

Side note: Can you even believe we once thought it was normal to have a backpack covered in cartoon puppies and rainbows? I swear, if Lisa Frank had made a pencil, I probably would have tried to eat it. 

The nostalgia is real, friends. If you’re anything like me, your middle school locker was basically a shrine to everything shiny and sparkly—and maybe a stack of poorly folded notes from your crush. No shame.

But real tea? That season wasn’t all rainbows and recess. That’s where the perfectionism started for me. That’s where I first learned how to perform. Be the “good girl.” The one who got the gold stars, followed the rules, and held it all together.

And yeah, that sounds cute on the outside. But inside? I was slowly tying my worth to applause. To approval. To being impressive.

Can I get an amen if you’ve ever felt that?

Like if you've ever thought, “If I’m not the best, am I still enough?” Or “If I’m not constantly doing something amazing, will anyone even notice me?”

Yup. Been there. Bought the t-shirt. Probably tried to match it to my dance costume.

Speaking of—which, sidenote: dance was my thing. It was where I felt like I could breathe.

Where I sparkled. But underneath all the rhinestones and routines, I was hiding some real insecurities. I had changed schools a bunch of times, felt like the new girl constantly, and dance became my anchor. My identity. The one place I thought, “Okay, if I can nail this, maybe I’ll be enough.”

Spoiler alert: even when I nailed it, the doubt didn’t go away.

And sis, maybe you’re in a season right now where you’re doing everything right and still wondering why you feel like you’re not measuring up. 

Or maybe you’re already exhausted trying to keep up the image, and you just want someone to tell you it’s okay to let go.

So let me be the one to say it loud and clear, with a side of sparkle and scripture:

You don’t have to earn God’s love.

You don’t have to perform.

You don’t have to be perfect to be priceless.

Ephesians 2:8–9 says, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.”

Translation? Grace is the gift. You don’t have to earn it. You already have it.

And Romans 5:8? It goes even deeper: “But God demonstrates His love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

Before you nailed the audition. Before you got the A+. Before you figured anything out—Jesus said, You are mine.

So that little girl who was trying so hard to get it right? 

God saw her. 

God loved her.

And the girl you are right now—in all your beauty, brilliance, and brokenness?

He still does. No question.

Whew. Okay, I’m feeling some feelings over here. That was a lot—but the good kind of a lot, right? The kind that wakes something up in us. So now that we’ve got that truth tucked into our hearts—that we don’t have to shrink or strive to be loved—I want to shift gears just a bit.

Let’s have a little fun with this, because I’m about to take you into a real-life moment from my younger years. And to do that well, I’m going to do something a little different: 

I’m going to start talking to my younger self—like I’m right there with her in the classroom or backstage at a recital.

It might sound a little dramatic (okay, it is a little dramatic), but trust me, there’s power in it.

Speaking to our younger selves helps us connect the dots—to see where those old habits and hurts first began. And sometimes? Those younger versions of us are still quietly shaping how we show up today. So by naming those moments and bringing some love and light into them, we can begin to heal. To grow. To let go.

Because it wasn’t just the big, dramatic moments that shaped me. It was the day-to-day stuff, too. Like in the classroom—I was that girl flying through timed math facts like it was the Olympics. One hundred problems in a minute? Challenge accepted. I had one speed: full throttle, no brakes. First to raise my hand to read out loud, first in line when the recess bell rang. That was me. That was elementary Kaase. And if I’m being completely honest?

Unapologetically.

So grab your iced matcha, get comfy, and let’s rewind the tape…

Dear Elementary Me,

If I could sit down with you right now—little me with your ballet bun too tight and your hand always shooting up in class—I think I’d start with a smile. 

Because honestly? 

You were doing the most, in the best way. 

You were that girl who took everything seriously, who wanted to do everything right, who found joy in gold stars, neat lines, and being just a little ahead of the game. 

And for a while, that worked. 

You thrived on the structure. 

You loved being the dependable one, the “good girl,” the one who always got it right.

But I think what you didn’t fully understand back then was that this drive to do your best—that spark to be excellent—wasn’t a flaw. 

It was never about perfectionism. 

It was about passion. 

God wired you that way, even if you didn’t have the words for it yet. 

You cared deeply. 

You tried hard. 

You gave your all, not because someone told you to, but because it felt right. It felt like you.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But somewhere along the way, the world started whispering something different.

You began to notice that not everyone celebrated your shine. 

That sometimes, when you did your best, the smiles turned into sighs or side-eyes. 

The friends who once clapped for you now started stepping back. 

It didn’t make sense at the time. You weren’t trying to show off. You weren’t trying to be better than anyone else. You just loved learning. You loved dancing. You loved giving it your all. 

But suddenly, it felt like your best wasn’t welcome anymore.

I remember how that started to sink in most clearly at dance—your second home, your safe place. 

You were there almost every day, pouring yourself into the choreography, listening so closely to every correction, trying not just to impress but to improve. It wasn’t about being seen.

It was about the feeling you got when the movement matched the music, when your body did something hard and beautiful and you knew, deep down, that you were growing.

But even there, things shifted. You noticed the glances. The whispered comments. Girls who once shared your barre now seemed distant. 

And then came that day—the day everything changed.

You were in third grade, sitting in class, totally unaware of the storm coming, when you got called out of the room. 

Your dad was waiting in the hallway with your dance bag and your backpack, and you immediately felt that knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. 

Something was off. 

You could tell from the look on his face that this wasn’t about a missed rehearsal or forgotten shoes.

When you arrived at the studio, you saw Miss Jackie and one of your classmates sitting on the floor. 

The air was thick with tension, and you barely had time to sit down before the accusations started. 

This girl claimed you’d said things—harsh, cutting things—that you didn’t remember ever saying. 

Things that didn’t even sound like you. 

And yet, there they were, being spoken out loud, with such confidence, as if they were fact. 

And just like that, the adults believed her.

No questions. No chance to explain. No “Are you sure this sounds like Kaase?”

Just disappointment. 

Just a quiet expectation that you’d apologize. 

And you did. Because what else could you do? 

Even though it didn’t feel right. 

Even though you knew deep down that something was wrong. 

You apologized, even though your heart was broken and confused, even though a little piece of you learned a lesson that day that shouldn’t have been taught:

When you shine too brightly, people might try to dim you. No matter the cost. 

From that moment, you started shrinking just a little. Not in your effort, not in your excellence—but in your visibility. 

You still worked hard. 

You still cared deeply. 

But you started hiding the effort, toning it down, trying to make yourself just a little easier to swallow. 

You didn’t want to be too much. 

You didn’t want to stand out. 

You just wanted to be liked. 

Accepted. 

Safe.

And that desire—to be liked, to keep the peace, to be the “good girl”—only grew stronger. 

You started learning how to read a room before you entered it. 

You figured out how to be the version of yourself that made people comfortable, even if it meant losing pieces of your true self in the process. 

You knew how to make people smile. 

How to say the right thing. 

How to keep everyone happy.

But eventually, all that pretending caught up to you.

I’ll never forget the day it finally boiled over. 

You were in fifth grade, on the playground, dealing with two boys who had been teasing you nonstop. 

Normally, you would’ve let it slide. 

You would’ve smiled, brushed it off, kept walking. 

But that day, something in you snapped. 

You turned around, and—yep—you said that word. 

The one you weren’t even supposed to know, let alone say. 

The one that starts with the letter F and makes you cringe!

That one…Loud and clear. 

On the playground. 

For everyone to hear.

And the second it came out of your mouth, you felt sick. 

Not because you got caught, but because you knew you had broken character. 

The “good girl” would never do that. 

The one who got stickers for best behavior and helped clean up without being asked—she would never yell at someone, let alone cuss someone out in the meanest kind of way. 

And in the days that followed, what scared you the most wasn’t the punishment. 

It was the fear that someone would finally see through the version of you you’d worked so hard to maintain. 

That someone would look at you and say, “I’m disappointed in you.” 

That maybe they’d realize you weren’t as perfect as you seemed.

But here's the truth, and I need you to hear this clearly:

You were never meant to carry that kind of pressure. 

You were never created to please everyone, to keep the peace at the cost of your own voice, to be a perfectly packaged version of “good.”

You were made to be real. 

To be wholehearted. 

To live in freedom—not fear. 

And yes, sometimes that means people will misunderstand you. 

Sometimes they won’t clap when you shine. 

Sometimes they’ll try to shrink you, or shape you into someone easier to digest.

But don’t let that stop you from showing up fully.

Don’t let the world convince you to shrink when God made you to shine. 

Don’t trade your light for approval. 

Don’t dim your drive to make someone else feel more comfortable. 

Because the world doesn’t need watered-down girls. 

It needs bold ones. 

Brave ones. 

Honest ones. 

Girls who know who they are in Christ, even when others try to tell them otherwise.

So, younger me? Keep dancing your heart out. Keep asking all the questions. Keep being the girl who shows up, tries hard, and loves deeply. And when the world tells you to sit down or be quiet or tone it down—look it square in the face and say, “No thanks. I was made for more than that.”

Because you were.

WHEW! Girls, how are we feeling?

You think you could lean into a little “dear younger me” yourself? Itʼs not easy. But itʼs so enriching. And freeing. And in a weird kind of way, beautiful, to see that version of yourself and simply, honor it. 

God didn’t mess up when He made you extra passionate, or a little intense, or deeply driven. 

That’s not something to hide—it’s something to celebrate. Itʼs actually something to highlight, amplify, offer to others. Because it may just be the very gift that God gave you, to bless others. 

Alright, letʼs try to land this plane and bring things full circle.

So in this series, we’re going back—one season at a time—to talk about the things that shaped us, the fears that tried to shrink us, and the truth that can set us free. This first episode is just the beginning. Because girl, your younger self has something to say.

For me, looking back on those elementary years, it might’ve seemed like God was distant—like He was off in the clouds while I was just trying to survive recess or make it through math class without crying. But the truth? That time didn’t pull me away from Him. If anything, it actually brought me closer. Even if my faith wasn’t super deep or fully developed yet, God was still right there—patient, present, and personal.

Because hereʼs the truth. When we say “yes” to Him, even in our younger years, the Holy Spirit moves in. And He never dips out. He doesn’t say, “Call me when you’re older and wiser.”

Nope. He stays. He dwells. And He speaks to us in the most specific ways—in the quiet, in the moments we feel invisible, in the sweet little reminders that we arenʼt alone.

And girl, I know the drive to get it all right—the need to be the best, the most responsible, the most liked—can sometimes feel like it’s just who you are. But let’s be real: even when no one was asking you to be perfect, you were still putting that pressure on yourself. Been there.

But God’s Word clears all of that up. Galatians 1:10 lays it out straight:

“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God?... If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

Boom. That hits, right?

Because people-pleasing is a trap. It feels safe in the moment, but in the long run, it just steals your peace and leaves you constantly striving.

The gifts and personality traits God placed in you—your confidence, your work ethic, your heart for others—they weren’t accidents. You didn’t earn them, and you don’t need to hide them. James 1:17 reminds us that every good and perfect gift comes from above. So if God put it in you, it’s on purpose.

But not everyone is gonna celebrate that. Sometimes, your strength will be too much for people who are still unsure of theirs. And that’s okay. Their insecurity isn’t your responsibility. Your responsibility is to walk faithfully in what God gave you.

1 Peter 4:10 says it like this:“Use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace…”

So yes, keep showing up. Keep loving big. Keep giving your best. But not for the applause. Not for the approval. Just because you’re His—and He’s already proud of you.

Romans 12:6 reminds us:“We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us.” 

So own yours, girl. And don’t ever believe the lie that your light needs to shrink for someone else to shine.

Okay, a little real talk—going back through this season of my life has felt like flipping through an old scrapbook. 

Some pages were sweet, some were kinda cringey, and some just straight-up hurt. 

But as I’ve been piecing these memories together—reliving the awkward, messy, beautiful moments of growing up—it’s become so clear that God was moving through all of it. His hand was gently guiding me, even when I didn’t realize it. Even in the hurt. Even in the moments that didn’t make sense. And now, standing where I stand, with a little more life behind me, I can see it so clearly.

Because if I hadn’t walked through those hard seasons—those elementary school heartbreaks, the middle school identity struggles, the high school pressure, and even the messy, growing pains of college—I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be sitting behind this mic, crafting these passionate, real, faith-filled podcast episodes with you in mind. I wouldn’t be able to speak to your heart the way I can now. And the thought of that? It honestly brings me to tears in the best way.

Because now I get it. Now I see why God allowed me to go through those things. So that today, in this beautiful, full-circle kind of way, I could be there for you.

Right here.

Right now.

Through this podcast. In the way I always wished someone had been there for me back then.

And let me tell you—there is so much healing in that. So much redemption. So much proof that God never wastes our pain. That He can take even our loneliest, most confusing chapters and turn them into stories that speak life into someone else’s.

Stories that connect us.

Stories that remind us we’re not alone.

So yeah… this has been emotional.

Nostalgic.

Deep.

But also?

It’s been one of the most beautiful reminders that even when I couldn’t see Him—He was always there. And He’s here now. With us. In this sacred, silly, sweet little space we share through earbuds and hearts. And for that? I’m endlessly grateful.

Hereʼs the truth…if I could hop in a time machine and go sit beside elementary school me—with her perfectly sharpened pencils, glittery dance bag, and that wild mix of nerves and ambition—I’d give her the biggest, squishiest hug and say:

“Girl. Breathe. Like, for real. Breathe. Slow down. You are doing the most right now, and I get it. I really do. You feel like everything depends on you being on all the time—top of the class, best at dance, kindest in the room, most obedient daughter, perfect little Jesus girl. But hear me: that’s a lot for anyone to carry. Especially someone who’s like, nine."

I’d tell her, "This season you’re in—it feels big, like it’s never gonna end, like you’ll always feel a little left out, a little different, a little like you have to earn your place. But I promise you, this season is just a blink. A tiny paragraph in the huge, exciting, plot-twisty novel that is your life.

And right now?

You’re so focused on surviving it, you’re missing all the sweet, tiny joys God’s trying to sprinkle in your day.

Like that sunbeam that hits your face on the walk into school.

Or the one girl who smiled at you in the lunch line.

Or the butterfly that landed on your desk during recess.

Or the surprise stop for ice cream after school with Mom. All those little moments? That’s God whispering, ‘Hey, I’m right here with you.’"

And then I’d look her straight in the eye and say, “Also? Stop trying so hard.”

Not because working hard is bad—girl, your hustle is inspiring. But because you’re tying your worth to it. You think that being the best at everything will make people love you more.

That if you’re smart enough or sweet enough or successful enough, you’ll be safe.

But that’s not true. You don’t have to perform to be loved. You don’t have to strive to be enough. You already are. Exactly as you are.

And babe… your constant need to prove yourself? It’s stealing your joy. It’s making you miss the goodness that’s already here. And if I’m being honest? It’s also building walls between you and the people around you. Not on purpose, I know. But when you’re always jumping to be first, always raising your hand, always needing to be right—it makes others feel like there’s no space for them. And I know that’s not who you want to be.

I can sum it all up like this: You don’t need to dim your light to make others comfortable—but you don’t have to set it on fire and blind everyone either. Shine bright, yes. But also make room for other girls to shine too. Let someone else take the lead every now and then. Celebrate when they win. Clap for them even if it’s something you wanted. That kind of girl? She’s magnetic. She’s powerful. She’s safe.

Because real confidence isn’t loud. It’s secure. It knows who she is and doesn’t have to prove it every minute of the day.

So, little me—breathe. Laugh more. Stop and smell the roses. Stop trying to be the best, and just be your best. Enjoy the ride. Let go of the pressure. Let yourself be in this moment.

Because even though it feels hard right now, God is with you. And He’s writing a way bigger story than you can see.

And I promise you—your future? It’s going to be so, so good.

You’re not too much.

You’re not over-the-top.

You’re exactly who God created you to be.

And elementary me?

I wish you had known that back then.

But now that I do—I’m gonna keep reminding you… and every girl listening forever and ever amen!