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altarsofabsence submitted a contest entry to
Write a letter to the you that didn’t think they were enough 3 weeks agoLetter to the Me Who Thought She Wasn’t Enough
Elva GarciaI see you, caught between the labels “gifted” and “needs help,” moved from advanced classes to remedial ones, like the system couldn’t quite decide who you were. One moment you’re praised for your potential, and the next you’re pulled out of class, eyes burning with shame as you wonder what you did wrong. You live in a constant state of confusion—too smart to be struggling, but struggling too much to feel smart.
People keep telling you to focus, to try harder, to pay attention. They don’t see how hard you already work, how long you study, or how much effort it takes just to keep up. It feels like no matter what you do, you fall behind. Then you take that college test, certain you’ve passed this time. You walk out proud. When the email arrives with the same failing grade, you don’t just feel disappointed. You feel defeated.
For years, you believed the problem was you.
Everything shifts when you finally sit in a quiet testing room, hoping for answers. When the results come back, you cry. You cry because someone finally sees what you’ve known all along but couldn’t name. You have a learning disability. Dyscalculia. A comprehension disorder. There’s relief in knowing it isn’t your fault. But the diagnosis feels heavy, too, because there is no cure. This is how your brain works, and it always will. There’s no fixing it, only learning how to manage it.
Still, knowing is powerful. Understanding your brain lets you begin to build a life that fits. You ask questions, even if you need to ask more than once. You double-check instructions, reread numbers, and take your time. You stop apologizing for needing clarity. You begin to respect the way you learn.
School becomes possible. You start with a certificate, believing that’s all you’re capable of. Then you keep going and earn an associate’s degree. That success gives you the confidence to keep reaching. Now, you’re back in school again, working toward your bachelor’s. The journey is slow, and sometimes it’s still hard, but it’s yours. And you’re doing it.
I wish more people had seen you clearly. Some teachers tried. Most didn’t understand. They looked at your behavior, not your processing. They saw your mistakes, not the bravery it took to keep showing up.
But you showed up. Again and again. You kept learning. You kept trying. You kept asking to be seen in a world that never made room for how your mind works.
That persistence is intelligence. That resilience is a strength. That courage is enough.
And you were always enough, even when no one told you.
With love,
MeStyle Score 75%
Voting starts August 21, 2025 12:00am
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altarsofabsence submitted a contest entry to
Write a letter to the world sharing one way your life is blossoming. 2 months agoI’ve Spent Months Healing—Now I’m Creating Something Real
Elva GarciaHi friends,
It’s been a while.
I know I kind of disappeared for a bit. When you reached out, I kept saying I was going through something and just needed time—and that I’d reach out when I was ready.
I think I’m ready now.
For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no knot in my stomach.
Not yesterday. Not today.
Just… peace.
These past few months were heavy. My body and mind were reacting in ways I hadn’t felt in years, maybe ever. And because it had been so long since I felt that kind of darkness, I didn’t know how to handle it. I panicked. All I wanted was to fix it—fast. So I doubled down. Medication. Therapy. Exercise. Diet. I threw everything at the knot in my stomach, desperate to make it go away.
And sometimes, it worked—for a moment. I’d be on the row machine and everything would feel okay. But the second I stopped, that knot would come back. Tight. Loud. Unrelenting. I didn’t know what else to do, and everyone kept saying, Keep going, it gets better. And there was some truth in that. Therapy helped. Medication took the edge off. Exercise gave me a few breaths of relief. But it still wasn’t clear. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t enough.
So I turned to something more.
I went back to my spiritual roots—brujería. Not the aesthetic kind, but the kind that lives in bloodlines and whispers, in dreams and signs I’d been ignoring for too long. The kind that connects me to something deeper than logic. The moment I started listening again, everything changed. My mind quieted. The knot loosened. I started to feel like myself again.
With that clarity, I could finally see what I hadn’t wanted to admit: Someone had been treating me with disrespect. They were making decisions that affected me without my input—despite our agreements to work together. And I kept adjusting. Silently. I was so used to swallowing my discomfort that I didn’t even recognize it as a boundary being crossed.
But I’m not doing that anymore.
I’m not stewing or second-guessing myself. I’m calling it what it is. I’m standing up for myself. Whether I’m finally being respected or simply being left alone, I’ve reclaimed my peace—and I won’t give it up again.
I’ve also been writing. A book. It came out of all of this—the mess, the reflection, the healing. It’s raw and still forming, and I’m giving it space to breathe. But even in this unfinished stage, it’s teaching me things. Watching it grow is like watching myself grow, too.
I turned 40 recently. And something about this season of life has pushed me to want more. More meaning. More creativity. More courage. I’ve always been scared—scared of failure, scared of being seen. But now? Forget that. I have stories. I have truth. Whether it’s this book, or something else entirely, I’m ready to share it.
And I’m doing it for me.
And for my daughter.
That’s another layer of this blooming: figuring out how to love and guide her without losing myself in the process. It’s not easy, and it’s not linear. But I’m showing up—honestly, fully, and with as much compassion as I can hold. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m learning. And I’m proud of that.
So yes, my life is blossoming. Not in a picture-perfect, social-media-ready kind of way. More like a wild bloom in the desert—tough, slow, sacred, and real. Rooted in survival. Rooted in spirit. Rooted in brujería. Rooted in me.
Thank you for waiting on me.
I’m still here. And I’m coming back.Style Score 89%
Voting starts June 19, 2025 12:00am
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Elva, I know exactly what you mean when you described the persistent knot in your stomach. Sometimes it seems like we will never get it to fully disappear. I love that you have found a way to conquer the darkness you feel and I hope that you complete your book! Thank you for sharing your experience.
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