To the Version of Me Who Didn’t Think She Was Enough,

I see you—
hunched shoulders, heavy eyes,
carrying the weight of a thousand lies
spoken in silence,
echoing louder in the quiet of your mind.

You believed the whisper that said,
“You’re too broken to be loved.”
You tried to earn your worth
in applause, in perfection,
in being everything for everyone
and nothing for yourself.

But let me tell you what no one told you then—
You were already enough.
Before the striving, before the masks,
before the tears stained your pillow at night.

You didn’t have to shrink to be accepted.
You didn’t have to hide your heart to be safe.
You didn’t have to bleed yourself dry
just to be seen.

God saw you.
Every jagged edge, every cracked smile—
and He called you beloved.
Not when you got it all together,
but when you were at your lowest.
Especially then.

You didn’t know it,
but grace was holding you.
Mercy followed your every step.
And love—real love—never left your side.

So, to the girl who thought she was too much and not enough all at once,
I forgive you for believing the lie.
I honor you for surviving.
And I love you—for everything you were,
and everything you still are becoming.

You are enough.
You always were.

Love,
The Me Who Knows Now