I feel you. I carry you in the pit of my stomach, in the depths of my mind, in the restless nights and the silent moments when it’s just me and the weight of everything I’ve been and everything I fear I’ll never be. You are the shadow that clings to me, whispering truths I am too afraid to face and lies I am too willing to believe. You terrify me because you are not just about not knowing—you are about what I already see in myself.

You are the fear that I will wake up one day and realize life passed me by while I was too busy blaming everything and everyone else. That I will see my potential in ruins, my fingerprints on every broken piece, and realize the same hands that could have built something beautiful were the ones that tore it down. You remind me that the people who hurt me have moved on, built lives, succeeded—while I stayed behind, willingly bound by the chains of their actions and my own self-sabotage. You force me to confront the possibility that I have been my greatest enemy, betraying the little girl I once was when she needed me the most.

You make me wonder if I am worthy-if my children will look up to me, will I ever be someone my sisters can be proud of? Someone I can be proud of? You haunt me with the thought of my children looking at me, disappointed, and saying the words I already tell myself in the quiet moments: that I failed. I let life slip through my fingers-allowing my pain to define me instead of fighting for the life I deserve.

Fear, here’s what I need you to know: I hear you, but I will not let you win.

Yes, I have made mistakes and blamed others when I should have taken responsibility. Yes, I have hurt myself in ways no one else could—by not standing up for the little girl who needed someone to protect her, to love her, to believe in her-But I am still here. Still capable of change, and the ability to rewrite the story I have been telling myself. And that little girl? She is still inside me. She is waiting, not with anger or judgment, but with hope—hope that I will finally show up for her the way no one else ever did. To fight for her, love her, and honor her pain by refusing to let it be what defines her.

You are my fear of wasted potential, but you are also a reminder that I still have it. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t exist. You wouldn’t hold so much power over me. The fear of failing is proof that I still care. It means I still have something worth fighting for.

So, Fear, I see you. I feel you. I acknowledge you. But I will not let you dictate my life. I will stumble, and I will fall. I will make mistakes, but I will get up. I will try—and I will keep trying until I become the person my children, my sisters, and that little girl inside me can be proud of. Not because I am perfect, but because I never gave up on myself.

Thank you for reminding me of what’s at stake. Now watch me prove you wrong.

Sincerely,

Me

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