Ghosted by Life? How to Talk to Your Past Self in 2025

Christine Marie
Mar 19
3 min read

A young woman stares out of her window thinking about her past self, feeling haunted. — When your past haunts you (literally)

When Your Past Haunts You (Literally)

What if your 2019 self showed up at your door—would you let them in? Picture it: they’re standing there in high-waisted jeans and a thrifted cardigan, clutching a reusable coffee cup, eyes wide with dreams that haven’t yet met 2025’s reality. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, sitting in my little Langley apartment, surrounded by crystals and the faint hum of the 200th Street outside. The past doesn’t just linger—it knocks sometimes, doesn’t it?

Here in 2025, we’re swimming in nostalgia. Y2K fashion is back with its butterfly clips and chunky sneakers, vinyl records spin in every hip café, and I’ve even caught myself humming old Avril Lavigne tunes while shuffling my tarot deck. But it’s not just about aesthetics. There’s this pressure now, heavier than ever, to “figure it out”—to make sense of who we were before the world flipped upside down and who we’re becoming in this strange, tech-drenched aftermath. As a psychic medium, I feel those echoes all the time, not just from spirits, but from the versions of ourselves we’ve left behind.

A young woman stares out of her doorway looking out over the city. She is lost in thought about her past.

Tuning Into Yesterday

I’ve always believed we carry our past selves like invisible threads, woven into the energy of who we are now. Sometimes, I’ll hold something simple—an old keychain from my first car, a beat-up Honda I drove around Surrey and Langley in my 20s—and I can feel it hum with memory. The trick is tuning in. You don’t need to be a psychic medium to do it. Find something small from your past: a concert ticket stub, a faded photo, even that cracked phone case you swore you’d replace. Sit with it. Close your eyes. Breathe. Let the energy bubble up. What does it whisper?

I get it—it’s hard to face those old vibes. Back in 2019, I thought I’d be leading sold-out spiritual retreats by now, not still fumbling through Zoom readings and dodging rent hikes. Maybe you’re like me—your teenage self had big plans. “I’ll be a YouTuber!” you said, filming shaky vlogs in your bedroom. Now? Maybe you’re fixing drones or coding apps, wondering how you got here. That gap between then and now can feel like a ghost haunting your present. But here’s the thing: those dreams aren’t gone—they’ve just shifted shape.

Talking to your past self isn’t about judgment; it’s about listening.

A young woman in her twenties sits in her room thinking about her past and trying to divine a future outcome.

Messages From the Other Side (of Your Teens)

Want to try something? Grab a pen and paper—I’m serious, humor me. Write a letter to your past self. Keep it real. Tell them what you wish they’d known, what you’re proud of, what still stings. “Dear 20-year-old Christine,” I wrote last week, “you don’t need to chase everyone’s approval. That little apartment in Langley? It’s enough.” Then, flip it. Sit quietly, hold that object from before, and imagine their voice—your voice—coming back. What would they say?

When I did this, my teenage self surprised me. “I’m proud you kept going,” she said, her voice crackling like an old radio in my mind. “I didn’t know how strong we were.” It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like a hug across time. Try it.

And hey, if you want to have fun with it, I’ve got a little gift: a “Past Self Playlist Generator” I whipped up. It’s quirky, retro, and totally free—just a fun way to vibe with who you used to be.

A young woman looking out of her apartment window with serene tranquility. She has reconciled her past self with her current self and is now at peace.

Making Peace with the Echoes

Here’s what I’ve learned, sitting in my cozy corner of Langley, sage burning and the rain tapping my window: we don’t have to be perfect to make peace with our past selves. Those ghosts—our old hopes, our cringey moments—they’re not here to haunt us. They’re here to remind us how far we’ve come. I forgive the younger me for not knowing better, for stumbling. I hope you can too. Growth isn’t linear; it’s a spiral, and every loop brings us closer to who we’re meant to be.

So, write that letter. Channel that response. Then, if you’re feeling brave, share a snippet on socials with #PastSelfTalks. I’d love to read it—because we’re all in this together, aren’t we? Figuring out how to talk to the echoes, one step at a time.

With love and a little bit of magic,

Christine Marie

Langley, BC