There’s a trend on TikTok at the moment – a sound that goes “And suddenly, it’s December, and you’re not 17 anymore…” 

Being like any other TikTok user, I wanted to take part in it – on my personal account, not my “professional” page (if you can call it that). Over the years, there’s been a lot of trends like this, showing yourself at different phases in your life – this one was no different. I’ve always found them quite fun as I look back on myself growing up, and I’m sure I’ll probably do them in years to come and smile at my younger self.

But this time, when I looked at that picture of my 17-year-old self, I wanted to cry. I can remember the day I took that photo so clearly. I’d just been dumped – for good – by my first “real” boyfriend, so I did what any heartbroken girl would do and cut a fringe in my hair. I went shopping and bought new gym wear to feed my fitness addiction and a panther phone case because I wanted people to think I was badass and unbothered. It comes as no surprise, of course, that I was anything but.

When I look at myself in that photo now, I just see how fragile I was. I was tiny, obsessed with going to the gym five days a week and desperate to be liked. I can remember that feeling so vividly – a deep, aching chasm in my chest that I thought no one would ever understand. You don’t have any idea of who you are or what you want out of life at that age – but when you’re there and going through it, you think you’re the only person to have ever felt that way.

I think part of why it made me so emotional this time was where I am now. Last week, I graduated from Nottingham Trent University with an MA in journalism. If you had told my 17-year-old self that we would have two degrees in the creative arts, I think she’d be horrified. We were supposed to go to the University of Leeds and do a criminology degree – and then go on to do who knows what with it? Choosing a career where writing and researching are at the forefront was certainly not in Molly, aged 17, ’s game plan.

I’ve had a lot of time recently to think about my time at university, now that it has finally drawn to a close. Four years of being part of Trent Army and bleeding pink every Varsity has, quite literally, changed who I am forever. It was here I realised what I wanted to do with my life, two and a half years into an undergraduate degree in a totally different field. Between late nights at the library and even later nights on Ocean Wednesday, I formed bonds with some of the most amazing people. I studied abroad, had films I directed shown at film festivals, and managed to tie a shocking number of essays on media theory to rugby league. 

I think the reason I feel so emotional looking at my younger self is that I’m jealous of her. She has no idea of the ride she’s about to go on – in fact, she’s probably more focused on getting on Tinder underage (don’t do this, seriously) and passing her driving test. I know she would be so proud that we managed to balance three jobs with a master’s degree and running a society (shoutout to NTU’s F1 Society!), to be the first generation to go to university, and to have finally picked a career she knows she can do. 

But more than anything, she would be relieved.

Relieved that the ache eventually softened. That the desperation to be liked loosened its grip. That the version of her who thought everything had already gone wrong was actually just at the very beginning of things going right. She didn’t need to be tougher, or cooler, or more unbothered. She just needed time.

That TikTok sound is meant to be nostalgic, maybe a bit bittersweet. But for me, it became something else entirely. It became a reminder that growth is rarely neat, and it seldom follows the plan you set at seventeen. The paths you swear you are meant to walk down quietly disappear. New ones show up when you are too busy surviving to notice them forming.

So when I look at that photo now, I don’t want to cry because of what she went through. I want to cry because of what she doesn’t yet know, that she would find people who loved her properly. That she would find work that fulfilled her. That she would learn how to sit with herself without needing validation from anyone else.

And suddenly, it’s December, and you’re not 17 anymore. You’re older, a little softer in some places, stronger in others, and finally able to look back at that girl with kindness instead of judgment. If nothing else, that feels like something worth celebrating.