This weekend is my 20th year high school reunion.

Yup. You read that correctly.

I’m still in denial about it.

And I do have a good excuse for not joining my former classmates in some hotel ballroom in Los Angeles, California to relive our glory days of teenaged acne, awkwardness and 80’s music, by drinking spiked punch and secretly gawking at the love handles and trophy wives. (My husband won’t be home from Italy until Sunday after all, so I’m dutifully fulfilling my parental responsibilities.)

But that hasn’t stopped a spate of reminders, thanks to the circulation of old photos on Facebook, of my adolescent self. She— the high school version of me— is not exactly my life’s proudest moment, but when remembered, she does remind me how far I really have come.

Here’s to how far we’ve come, people!