Remi Baker : A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Younger Me,

You’re standing in a hallway full of doors, clutching a notebook and a to-do list that never ends. You think the key is to outrun your doubt with effort. You measure worth in late nights, perfect answers, and being “the strong one.” 

I know how hard you’re trying. I’m here to loosen your grip.

First, a secret you won’t believe yet: you don’t have to try to be hard, or act in the image of anyone but yourself, to be heard. Your own voice is enough. It will grow fuller as you get older – richer because it’s rooted. There is strength in your softness. The world will try to convince you that sharp edges win. But the work that will change lives (including your own) will come from your open heart, your sensing, your quiet certainty. Trust it.

And about belonging – yes, I know. You’ll spend years trying to fit your mixed-race self neatly into spaces that like clear boxes. You’ll brush out your curls; slick them down; then fluff them back out and still sometimes feel too “other” for some and not “Black enough” for others. But one day you’ll stop performing belonging and start embodying it. You’ll see that you were never “half” of anything – you were whole from the start. You carry two lineages, two rhythms, and that multiplicity will become your bridge to understanding others.

Remember this, too: your parents’ families didn’t want their union. The world didn’t make it easy for them to love each other – and yet they did. Which means you wouldn’t even have been born if courage hadn’t run in your blood. You are living proof that determination and love can rewrite the rules. You are enough. Always have been.

You’ll be tempted to over-explain yourself – your choices, your boundaries, your needs. Don’t. “Say no more” will become one of your wisest sentences. Clear is kind. You don’t owe a three-page thesis to justify a one-line truth.

A practical note for the rooms you’ll enter: never allow anyone to place themselves psychologically above you. Titles, pedigrees, and clever jargon can create a false height. Smile, breathe, plant your feet. Meet eyes. You belong in every conversation your values call you into. Respect everyone, pedestal no one.

About those pieces of you you’re trying to sand down – your quirks, your sideways thinking, your love of rhythm and reflection, the way you read a room through your skin before your brain catches up – keep them. What you’re calling “odd” now is your pattern recognition, your creative compass, your coaching presence waiting to bloom. Your quirks are your superpower. Protect them from well-meaning advice that tries to flatten you into “normal.”

You will encounter envy. It won’t always look like envy; sometimes it will wear the mask of feedback, or go quiet at your good news, or try to shrink your joy into something more “palatable.” Learn to notice it without internalising it. You can be compassionate without dimming your light. Your essence is to be protected – by boundaries that are firm, humane, and unarguable. Guard your mornings. Guard your focus. Guard your joy.

Let’s talk about work. You believe if you just work harder it will become easier to feel enough. Don’t work as hard as your fear demands; work as steadily as your purpose deserves. Rest is not a prize you earn at the end – it’s fuel you need at the start. The days you stop, walk, stretch, breathe: those aren’t “lost.” They’re the days your future self will thank you for.

You will change careers. More than once. It won’t be failure; it will be evolution. You’ll learn that identity isn’t a job title – it’s a through-line: what you notice, what you care about, the rooms you create for people to exhale and tell the truth. You’ll remember Mum’s wisdom – you’re not defined by the job you start with or the one you change to, but by the impact you have while doing it. Hold that close when transitions feel like free fall.

What really matters to you? Start answering that now, before life answers for you. You’ll find it in small signals: the sunlight in your chest when a conversation goes deep; the ease you feel walking under trees; the satisfaction of helping someone say what they’ve never said out loud. Follow those signals. Build a life around them, not around applause.

When you feel lost (and you will), resist the urge to crowd the silence. Sit with it. Ask better questions than “How do I fix this?” Try: “What is ending, and what wants to begin?” “What am I done proving?” “What would feel like relief?” Write the answers without editing. Your body will be honest before your brain is.

On love and friendship: choose the ones who aren’t threatened by your growth, who clap when you win, who bring treats when you don’t. Become that person for others. Community will save you from the myth that you must do everything alone.

You’re going to stand on stages and in boardrooms. You’ll coach leaders through storms, and you’ll guide women who’ve carried families, teams, and a thousand invisible tasks back to themselves. You’ll feel awe that this is your work. Remember that presence beats performance. Listen more than you speak. Ask the question that opens a window. Let the room breathe. The answer is often already in the circle.

A Yoruba saying for your pocket: “One who knows themselves can shape their own path”. Keep learning yourself. Keep choosing your path. The world is loud; your inner drum is steady.

Here’s what I want you to hold when things feel uncertain:

• You don’t need to be more; you need to be truer.

• Soft does not mean small.

• No is a complete sentence.

• Your difference is the doorway.

• Rest is strategic.

• Protect what is essential.

• Keep your heart open and your boundaries intact.

One day you’ll look back and recognise that the hallway full of doors wasn’t a test you had to pass. It was an invitation. You didn’t have to pick the “right” one forever. You only had to choose the next true one.

I’m proud of you already.

With love,

Remi x

Author Bio

Remi Baker is a leadership and life coach, mentor, and facilitator, and the founder of The Third Chapter, a coaching practice supporting midlife women to find clarity and confidence for what’s next. Of Nigerian and English heritage, Remi draws on both cultural worlds in her work. She lives in London with her family.