I see you in that trailer of darkness and fear.
The dirt floors and empty cabinets tug at your heart and break your spirit.
I see the hands that cause you harm, and I see you holding onto anything you can—your doll, Betsy, sitting in the corner, barely held together with thread, but she is yours. She stays, even when others do not. You hold her close because sometimes, she feels like the only safe place you have.

I know that life seems so unkind, so unfair right now. And it is.
But I also know you’re resilient.
You have taken the impossible and learned how to fly.

One day, you will rise above all of this—
above the abuse,
above the isolation,
above the abandonment.

You will grow into someone who knows how to hold her own heart gently,
who speaks softly to her scars,
who stands steady in her truth.

There will be days when the ache feels unbearable.
There will be nights when the silence presses in too close.
And on one of those nights—lost, grieving, unsure where to place the pain—you will pick up a pen.

It will seem small at first, scribbles on notebook paper, words poured out because you don’t know what else to do with the ache.
But those words will become your shelter.
They will hold what feels too heavy to carry alone.
They will give shape to the sorrow and the questions you are too afraid to say out loud.

Writing will save you.
Not by fixing the past,
but by giving you a place to lay it down.
By giving voice to the girl no one listened to.
By making room for the grief, and the grace, and the quiet survival between them.

You will come to know God again—
not just the God others told you about,
but the God who was with you behind the dirty couch,
who curled in close and made you feel less alone.
Your faith will become something tender and true, not because you were unhurt, but because you were held.

And slowly—word by word, line by line—you will find yourself again.
You will write your way back to the girl they tried to break.
You will write your way forward into the woman they could not destroy.

I am so proud of you.
Not because you were fearless—
but because you kept going,
even when you were afraid.
Even when no one clapped.
Even when your hands were shaking.

You are here.
Still becoming.
Still rising.
Still worthy.

You will not stay broken.

ProWritingAid Style Score: 100%