What’s something you’ve done that your past self would be proud of?

What’s something you’ve done that your past self would be proud of?
Some questions sound simple until you sit with them. This one made me pause, because pride is a strange thing to feel on behalf of someone who doesn’t exist anymore.
But he does exist, in a way. He’s the version of me who lay awake wondering if the long road was worth it. He’s the one who looked at the size of his dreams and the size of his bank account and wondered how they would ever meet. If I could sit across from him today, I wonder what I’d say.
I kept going when it would have been easier to stop.
That’s the honest answer. It isn’t one dramatic moment. It’s a thousand quiet ones.
Medical school is not gentle. Every level brings more to learn, more to memorize, and more reasons to doubt yourself. There are nights when the textbook blurs and you ask yourself why you chose a path that demands this much. My past self would have been proud to know that I’m still here, still learning, and still showing up. Not because it got easy, but because I decided the calling was bigger than the discomfort.
I built something instead of just talking about it.
There was a time when “someday” was my favorite word. Someday I’ll start a business. Someday I’ll help young people the way I wish I’d be helped. Someday I’ll write the stories I keep carrying around.
Then one day I stopped saying someday.
Starting King David Properties meant learning in public. I made mistakes and asked questions I was embarrassed to ask. I decided early that the business would stand on verification and honesty, because too many people have been hurt by the opposite. My past self, the one who feared he wasn’t ready, would be amazed that “not ready” turned out to be a feeling and not a fact.
The same goes for the foundation. Mentoring young people is humbling. You realize you don’t have all the answers, but you do have your story, and sometimes that’s exactly what someone needs to hear. If my past self could see a young person walking taller because of a conversation we had, I think he’d cry. Then he’d say, “So this is what it was for.”
I learned to make room for joy.
This one surprises people. I make comedy videos. I write romance. Neither is “serious” in the way medicine is. But I’ve learned that a life spent only on duty dries up. Laughter is part of the calling too. My past self thought everything had to be productive to be worthy. I’m proud that I learned otherwise.
I leaned on my faith instead of pretending to be strong.
I used to think strength meant carrying everything alone. Now I know it often means admitting you can’t. Prayer has been where I’ve put down the weight I was never meant to carry by myself. If my past self could see how much peace came from surrender, he’d stop clenching his fists so tightly.
What I’d tell him now
If I could whisper to him, I wouldn’t say “you’ll make it.” I don’t know the whole story yet, and neither does he. I’d say:
Keep your word to yourself. Be kind while you’re becoming. Don’t despise small beginnings. The things you’re afraid to start are the things that will shape you.
And I’d tell him thank you. Thank you for not quitting. Thank you for the nights you prayed through the fear, and for taking the first step when you couldn’t see the second.
Whatever I’m proud of today, he made it possible.
Now I’m curious about you.
What’s something you’ve done that your past self would be proud of? It doesn’t have to be big. Sometimes the proudest moments are the quietest ones, like the day you got back up, the day you forgave, or the day you finally began.
Tell me in the comments. I’d love to hear your story.