Dear who I was a year ago,

Stop. I know what you are thinking, but you are completely wrong, you know. All those things you’ve convinced yourself about who you are and the ending of your life, based on what others told you and what you told yourself, are rumors. The rumors say, “You are a mess”, “You are incapable of love”, “You’ll never get better”, etc. If anything, I’m laughing right now that you actually believe that. You are way more than those words.

On the contrary, I learned the opposite of what those rumors said. I am not messy, I am adventurous and creative. It’s better to be more than to be less. Less would be so boring. It’s so much more fun to be myself. I have the ability to fight and to love. I can stand up for myself, and not take trash, but I can love people too. You and I are the opposite of a bad person. We always want to do better, even though it can feel impossible. You always have the intent to do good despite your mistakes. I even tried saving a wounded bunny out of the hope I could save it. It didn’t make it, but I felt good knowing I tried doing good. You do what you can with all you have at the moment. It doesn’t make you a “bad person” or “lazy”, it makes you human.

On top of that, you are not incapable of love either. You love nature and you love your boyfriend. You love him more than anything and you’ll sit outside for hours barefoot on the grass because you love the feeling. You literally will strike up a conversation with anybody.

Therefore, would a bad person ever be like that? I don’t think so. How could you think you’re a bad person when you’ve helped others stay alive and beat their depression? How could you be a bad person when, even at rock bottom, you help others? You sacrificed hours of your time, sleep, and self-respect to listen to and affirm people who were struggling. That is what a hero does, not any hero, but a real one.

As a result, I proved myself wrong and even made a friend of myself and the world. I know it is hard where you are at the moment, but even while being in the same environment, I am thriving. I have cut off every bad person because I love myself. I dropped the ‘party life’ because I wanted meaning for myself. You might think you can’t do a lot, but I’m achieving things I never thought were possible because I chose to try for myself.

Specifically, in your freshman year, you hated painting. You thought you sucked. You even almost failed, but I taught myself how to paint, sculpt, and I reached out to art organizations merely on the passion for art that I’ve developed. Now I’ve been accepted into four art programs so far, put up my artwork in an art show, helped construct an exhibition, and had my art titles in a museum. Next on my bucket list is art college and teaching myself to draw. I’m able to achieve all of these goals because I put in the effort for myself. I live for myself. All you need to do is try. Once you put in all your effort, you won’t stop achieving. I’ve come so far, but I know I’ll go further.

Right now, on June 16th, 2025, I am sitting on my bed, realizing that I’ve taught myself so much. I am even grateful for the people who hurt me and my past because it only made me better. It made my life so much more interesting and the stuff you are crying about gave you a story. I am the strongest person I know because I managed to teach myself to love a world I once hated by turning the hate into love.

For these reasons, you are more than enough. You are everything all at once, and it is beautiful. Love your weaknesses, and love your strengths. You need both to be the best verison of yourself. The little girl you were years ago is rooting for you every day. You have the same spirit the little girl had; you’ve only grown stronger from understanding real struggle. You are still curious like her, you are energetic and authentic like her, but she never once judged herself. You wouldn’t judge that little girl either, so don’t judge yourself. Tell yourself you are enough for your little self and she’ll appreciate every kind word.

To every version of me that was never enough,

Let’s start with adolescence
and travel through the years
Neglected as a child,
no one there to wipe your tears

You weren’t taught self-respect
Or that your mind had any value
You were taught that sex was cheap
With zero effort men could have you

You hid behind the booze
Because they kinda numbed the pain
You quickly lost control
And were unable to regain

You found yourself a mother
Before you started senior year
The man who shared the baby
Unfortunately, insincere.

The next ten years are blurry
A hurricane of lust and d ugs
Of broken hearts and empty smiles
And smoke-infested lungs

Men often saw a burden
In the place in which you stood
Because they can’t control you
And your mental’s not so good

In many ways they broke you
In body and in mind
You pretended you deserved it
But you can not be that blind

Your family and your friends
Jumped ship and left your side
When living was too much to bear
You would have rather died

Self-doubt bled into your life
In way more spots than one
Your exes sought out ammunition
You handed them the gun

They stripped you of the only thing
That really made you whole
You didn’t scream, you cowered down
As they inherited your soul

So many men with faces blurred
Have taken pieces of you
That weren’t on loan, or theirs to keep
So eventually you withdrew

You took your sanction, Owned it loud
As if you earned the retribution
You may as well have pulled the plug
A self-worth execution

You measured merit by fake love
And what you thought you had to offer
You forgot that you are also you
A mother and a daughter

You are worthy of the love you give
Maybe someday you’ll see
You don’t deserve abuse and fraud
Respect should not cost you a fee

Last I checked, you don’t lie flat
Outside of someone’s doorway
You have a right to voice your needs
And expect some mental foreplay

Maybe it’s time to consider facts;
until now you had no clue
You don’t need to be anything for anyone
As long as you’re okay with you.

Style score 62%

We often go to war at an early age and we don’t even know it! On the verge of who we wanna be while trying to hold on to who we are. Growing up I never felt as if I was enough especially with society telling you everyday what beauty was or what was trending. That’s kinda hard to focus on when your mother can barely afford the new bike you want with the Barbie streamers. I’ve always looked at things or places and people to validate who I wanted to be. It wasn’t until I actually went through some of the darkest moments of my life that I actually realized who I really am. Going through the traumatic times in my life almost made me develop a sense of protection. “From what??” You may ask? My inner child. She has always saw the world as an oyster, full of endless possibilities, and fun, as I grow through life as an adult I find myself protecting her as much as I can. As I look back to that little girl it was a time for me that I was the most free. I know as adults we have to grow and experience, but the moments when things are tough I always remember those times I doubted myself or second guessed myself or didn’t even believe in myself, that little girl finds me somehow someway and always tells me you got this! YOU ARE ENOUGH!

I apologize for making you hate yourself. For making you feel unworthy. For making you feel lost. For making you believe you were undeserving of love and friendship. For subjecting you to heartbreak and betrayal. For ignoring the signs.

I apologize for all the times I didn’t protect you. For ignoring your gut when it said, Get out of here. For allowing people to use you and throw you away. For never listening when you said, I want to leave. For never acknowledging the things people said and did to keep the peace, while you were the one in fear.

I apologize for not telling you that you were beautiful. For picking you apart in the mirror. For trying to shrink your nose with makeup and make your skin look lighter. For not appreciating your brown eyes, for trying to hide them with contacts. For hating your lips, tucking them when you spoke. For hating your body, forcing you to eat when you weren’t hungry just so you’d look like every other Black girl you saw.

I apologize for making you feel like you had to work for love. Like who you were wasn’t enough. Like your worth was attached to what you did. Like saying no was a flaw. Like you were only as great as what you could give to others.

I apologize for trying to force friendships and relationships on you. For trying to make you fit in. For making you adapt to every environment. For making you transform into whatever version pleased those around you. For making you change your voice. For making you shrink yourself.

I regret to inform you that as you got older, it got worse. I didn’t learn as soon as I should have. I still latched onto people who didn’t deserve your time or your space. I tried to let go of people who showed they didn’t love you. I tried to walk away, but unfortunately, our heart is too big to be unforgiving. I am still learning how not to let it be broken. I even tried to take pills and let you rest once. Please don’t be mad at me. I promise I am trying.

I know in my heart one day we will get there, but until then, I want you to know that I have learned to hold onto you a little tighter. I have accepted that being alone isn’t always a bad thing. There are people who exist who will love you. There are days that are brighter than others. And those dark days, they don’t last that long.

I’ve learned that you are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to have opinions. You are allowed to feel, and you have a right to expression. You are not insignificant. You matter, even on the days it feels like you don’t. Remember that Jesus died for you too. You meant just as much to Him on the cross as everyone else. I know you can’t see it yet, and sometimes I still have a hard time seeing it, but it’s true.

I promise going forward that I will protect you. I will tell you that you are beautiful. I will not make you work for love. I will not force relationships and friendships. I promise I will always love you. I know it’s not something you’re used to hearing, but I do love you. Even if nobody else ever loves you, I do. And I will fight for you forever.

I’m writing this from the front steps of the house on Ann Street, the place where your childhood quietly unraveled before it ever had the chance to begin. To the little girl who just wanted to enjoy life’s simple things, playing with dolls or being a princess wearing a sparkly tutu. You wanted to believe in yourself, to dream big, to take up space. But those were only dreams, soft hopes tucked into a heart too young to understand why they were always pushed aside. Over time, those dreams were replaced with silence, fear, and the instinct to survive. You didn’t just fear being hurt; you feared being ignored, blamed, and forgotten. Speaking up never guaranteed being helped. So, you stopped wishing for childhood and focused on simply making it through the day.

I remember exactly when you started to believe you weren’t enough. While other kids were protected, you were expected to keep everything together. You held the role of protector, caretaker, and emotional shield. You wiped tears you didn’t cause and carried responsibilities no child should have to carry. Not because you wanted to, but because if you didn’t, you were blamed or punished without explanation. You were forced to grow up before you had a chance to be a child.

You didn’t have ribbons in your hair or the luxury of choosing outfits that made you feel special. You wore what you were given, even if it didn’t fit. In sixth grade, you walked the halls in shoes far too big, the soles flapping with each step. You moved slowly, hoping no one would hear. Your glasses made you a target, and your quiet spirit gave others a reason to laugh. You tried to disappear, hoping no one would see your discomfort or struggles.

Sometimes, you misbehaved, not out of spite, but from a need to be seen. You wanted someone, anyone, to ask why. But instead of concern, you were punished, labeled, and misunderstood. You weren’t trying to misbehave. You were trying to matter. You were trying to fill the emptiness that love was supposed to cover. Each time you were scolded, your shame grew. You started to believe you were the problem, not the silence, not the hurt. That belief followed you like a shadow, whispering that you were too broken to be loved. Still, you hoped someone might see past your behavior and into the pain beneath it.

What no one saw was that you were exhausted. Not just tired from being teased but from carrying everyone else. You were snuck away in the night, told to be quiet, told to stay hidden. You cried behind smiles and held your pain in places no one could see. You were tired of shrinking to stay safe. Tired of holding it all together so no one else had to.

You asked, “Why wasn’t I enough to be loved the way I needed?” But the answers stayed buried, just like the moment in sixth grade when someone’s touch took away your words. You didn’t have the language for what happened. Only shame. You learned to keep secrets. You comforted others without ever being comforted. You dried your siblings’ tears while no one wiped yours. You celebrated others while feeling invisible. You gave even when you had nothing left.

And still, you were kind. Still, you loved. You gave your heart in pieces, even when it was ignored. You poured light into others while your own soul ran on empty. You tried to build a sense of normal, even when no one showed you how.

You were told to stand up for yourself, but how could you stand in something never built for you? Your identity wasn’t shaped by love. It was built in survival. At six, you wanted to be a princess. At ten, a nurse. At thirteen, a pediatrician. But life had other plans. You didn’t get to dream long enough before reality interrupted.

Sometimes, you traded homework for friendship, because being noticed mattered more than a grade. You let the disrespect slide because being tolerated felt safer than being alone.

I wish I could sit beside you on these steps and say: you are not what happened to you. I wish someone had told you that your voice mattered. That you were worthy of softness. Of safety. Of love that didn’t hurt.

You were a child trying to grow in soil that didn’t nourish you. And still, you bloomed through cracked concrete. Through heartbreak. You bloomed without permission, without applause, without help. You were always enough, Tyessia. Even when you didn’t feel it. Even when no one told you. You were enough in your silence. Enough in your softness. Enough in your strength. And now, here you are. Still healing. Still rising. Still reaching back to that little girl to say: it wasn’t your fault. You are not broken. You are no longer invisible. I carry you with me. I let you rest. I let you cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time anymore. I’ve got you now. You are healing. You are worthy. You are free.

Dear little girl
Sitting on the bathroom tile
Where’s your smile
I haven’t seen it in awhile
What happened to your spark
Your bodies suppose to be art
You’ve been tearing it apart

Dear little girl
Sitting on the bathroom tile
Oh, look at the hour
Did your juice turn sour
Did your world loose its color
Like a picture left in rainwater
Did you finish your plate
It’s getting kind of late
You’re making a mistake

Dear little girl
Sitting on the bathroom tile
Where’s your smile
It’s been awhile
Cuts upon your thighs
Cries in those brown eyes
As you spit out what’s inside

Dear little girl
Sitting on the bathroom tile
You’re more than your weight
Or the voices full of hate
There’s still light in your world
I know it’s been a rough tour

Dear little me
I remember your cries
Ive carried your pain
But Ive survived
So here’s to keeping hope alive

Hello younger me,

As I set here in my nice home, in my comfy pajamas, with my beautiful family of husband and pets; I think of you, the little girl that I once was. I think of your sadness at never being good enough or strong enough, quiet enough or sill enough, quick enough or thin enough, or anything, anything enough. I think of the nights you cried into your pillow, of how you learned how to sob silently, of how you learned that you couldn’t be found crying because, well, because you would be attacked again and you just couldn’t take one more verbal insult or one more violent outburst tonight. I think of how you learned to hug your pillows, your animals, your stuffed toys or just yourself; because asking for hugs and physical touch too much led to insults and verbal attacks on yourself and your emotional neediness. I think of the bruises, that will never fade, that were put on your soul, your heart and your mind, because you just needed too much that day. I think of the times of asking questions, from that beautiful inquisitive mind, and being shot down verbally, because you were stupid or dumb or just couldn’t get the simplest things in life right. I hear the insults, the hurtful quips, the sayings passed from generations before, that you have hidden in your heart and mind and still beat yourself with today. I wish I could hug you, hold you, encourage you, listen to you and just be there for you; but I can’t, I can’t because I’m still there with you, huddling and afraid, terrified and alone, just a little girl trapped. Stuck, fighting to get out, struggling to survive, dying to be rescued; while living this beautiful, amazing life that you have achieved, but still cannot enjoy.

Dear Mandie,

   I know the pain that you have been carrying around for so long now. I can see the rejection, the abandonment, the lack of self worth and love, and the despair in your eyes. I know that you think that there must be something wrong with you, because no matter how hard you try, it seems that nobody ever loves or accepts you, and you never seem to feel like you fit in anywhere. You spend so much time and energy on being who you think others will like and accept because you just want to feel like you belong somewhere. You have a longing to feel like you are good enough, loved, approved of, and valued that was implanted in you at a very young age and it has caused you a great deal of misery and sadness. I want to share some wisdom with you that can set you free from your despair and open your eyes to a new light.

   I know that from as far back as you can remember you longed for your father to love you unconditionally, to show you attention, and to be proud of you. When your parents divorced, and he moved 14 hrs. away, it put the ultimate feeling of rejection and abandonment deep within your heart. It caused you to feel like you are not good enough, and if your own father doesn’t want you and doesn’t love you enough to stick around, then there is no way that anyone else ever will either. Yet, you are still searching for what you’ve needed from your father for all these years. But baby girl, the truth is your dad can’t give you what you need. He never could.

   You see, hurting people, hurt people. Your dad’s father died when he was only 5yrs old so he did not grow up with the experience of what a father looks like. He did not have a father to teach him how to be a loving dad. His older brothers helped raise him and only taught him how to be tough and to suppress loving feelings. His needs of being loved unconditionally and to be shown affection and care were never met and that caused him. His pain caused him to do the same to you that was done to him. He did not do it on purpose, but it was the only thing that he knew to do. It was not your fault that he didn’t show you the love and attention that you needed, and you definitely deserve it. He simply does not know how to do so. He is repeating the cycle of pain that he endured as a child because he knows no different way of being or doing. Even if you were the perfect child and never did any wrong, your fathers actions, or lack of, would have been the same. But that does not mean that he does not love and accept you. 

   Your worth and value has nothing to do with other people, your parents, family, or friends. It has nothing to do with how smart you are, what you look or dress like, what you have, or what you can do well. You were created with extreme value by God, and that is where your worth lies. Jesus loves you so much that He willingly died a horrible death so that you could be saved and live a better life. He gave you certain gifts, abilities, and talents that make you special. He created each one of us with different qualities, strengths, and weaknesses. Not one person on this earth is perfect, knows it all, has it all, or can do it all. We all have good and not so good parts of us. He created you just like He wanted you and with the qualities that you will need to fulfill His purpose for your life. You matter so much and God wants you to know that He loves you unconditionally and accepts you just as you are. 

    Instead of spending your time and energy on trying to be who you think someone else will like, spend it on learning who God created you to be. What makes your heart sing? What brings you joy? What do you feel fulfilled doing? Once you start to learn who God created you to be you will finally realize that you are enough. You will realize that you do have worth and value because of who He made you to be.Embrace your uniqueness girl. No one can take your place or do what God has anointed you to do. You are loved beyond words and I believe in you!

      Love,

      Future self

So you’re still puttin’ yourself through it aren’t you? Despite all you’ve learned!?! You’ve done the work, you’ve taken the steps, you’ve grown so, so much it’s remarkable! So WHY Must you continue to entertain relationships that contain so much deceit and disrespect? Do you actually think you’re not worth the same respect, compassion, understanding, and forgiveness you give them!?!

You are so relentless at rooting yourself in love. Love for other people and love for yourself. It’s beautiful! By the way, learning to love yourself is your biggest, most bestest accomplishment by far, little lady! You make sure you let people know it’s the key life, mmmk!!

Anyway, just think of all the time and effort that went into healing your “inner child” and doing your “shadow work” and learning mindfulness and keeping an “attitude of gratitude” and meditating and doing “self-care”…ooof! Remember how selfish you felt at first for simply setting aside an hour for yourself? You stuck with it though.

How about the time you googled? “How to forgive someone who isn’t sorry?” You remember that? You didn’t even want to forgive yet, but you knew you had to in order to get those thoughts to stop going round and round in your head. It worked too, didn’t it? It took some time, but eventually, the anger and resentment were gone. Forgiveness!… another key to life! How many keys you got now, anyway?

Guurrrl! The fact that you did all this work on your own using the Internet is a whole other level of fantastic! There’s just a few more pieces to the puzzle. A few more moves on the board, if you will. You know what you have to do and I know it’s hard but enough’s enough.

You feel it every time you’re around any of them. You feel you disrespecting yourself. Keep quiet, keep the peace. Shrink down, maybe they’ll stop singling you out. Tell them what they want to hear, maybe they’ll stop hating you. Explain yourself, maybe they’ll understand you better. Prove yourself, maybe they’ll accept you more.

NO! Not anymore, lady, it’s time! You deserve the same dignity and respect that you give. Especially from those who use the words “I love you”.

Trust me, you’re worth it!

Dear Tori,

I have always seen you.

I remember how badly you were bruised by the people who claimed to love you most-and I want to apologize. Peace was never given freely; you had to bleed for it. And that is not right. I need you to know that many people wear masks and pretend they’re okay when they’re not. You were one of them-and you were so good at it. But behind the mask, there is someone who has always been extraordinary. There are people who are inspired by your loyalty. By your unshakable desire to seek justice. By your constant hunger to create-even when you felt empty. You are one of a kind. You are not your worst experiences. And every single day, even when you feel like you’re breaking, you are growing, not regressing. It’s beautiful to witness your devotion to keep going- to still be kind, even after all the hate you’ve internalized. Your story is not over. And if you hate the chapter you’re in, you can rewrite the narrative. Go to places where you are celebrated, not just tolerated. And if you find none, know that I am your biggest fan. Your values will never lead you astray. Celebrate your wins-even the quiet ones. Forgive yourself for all the ways you twisted and contorted to be accepted.You were just trying to survive. But hear this clearly: You are already acceptable. And when you’re alone, aching for peace, remember this: You can’t hate yourself into self-love. Like any relationship, it takes time. Attention. Care. Play. Joy. And even if you don’t know what that looks like yet-you are worthy enough to try. Your worth has never been tied to your usefulness. It’s been in your being, all along.
With love,
Me

Dear Unsealers,
My name is Elizabeth. Below is a poem/letter I wrote to the version of myself that truly just needed to be seen and for someone to tell her everything will be okay.
This heartbreaking feeling of not being enough was one of the leading factors to my addiction and suicidal ideations. In the midst of it all, there was no hope. But coming out of it, I’ve learned more than there’s room to type in this little box. But 2 key things I want you to think about,
1. You need to face the fire to make it through. Running from it will only dig you deeper.
2. Rock bottom is not where you land, it’s where you stop digging.

I’m here to be that helping hand, that small piece of hope we all need. Love you all!

Now that you’re here…

•••

Hey there, little one,
I see the tears behind your eyes,
It’s clear something’s wrong,
Your shadows hold no lies.

You’ve been hiding from the noise,
Drowning in the silent ache,
Trading truth for borrowed poise,
Giving more than you can take.

I know you’re tired of the fight,
And all the running from the pain.
But you were never out of sight—
I’ve seen you stand in pouring rain.

You loved with fire, without disguise,
A strength that never sought to show.
You saw the truth behind the lies,
Yet, still gave light when theirs dimmed low.

You bent so others wouldn’t break,
Held space where no one stood.
You learned to give more than you take,
And still believed in doing good.

They didn’t see the weight you bore,
The quiet ways you chose to stay.
But I’ve felt it at your core—
The love you gave, the price you paid.

And now at last, you’ve found your ground,
Not in their gaze, but in your own.
No need to chase what won’t come ‘round,
You’ve built a truth that stands alone.

So lift your chin and breathe in deep,
The world may never understand—
But in your soul, your roots run steep,
You are more than what was planned.

You’re not too much, you’re not too small,
You’re not a wound that must be tough,
You are the quiet strength through all—
And soon you’ll realize, YOU ARE ENOUGH.

E.M.

🦋
•••

Dear Little Me,

I remember you. Not just your face, but your silence. The way your shoulders curved forward like you were trying to disappear. The way your feet never felt grounded because you never knew which house you’d be sleeping in next. You never had your own bed. Your own room. Your own safe place to fall apart. You were always just visiting.

You learned how to shrink yourself, to stay polite, quiet, helpful. People loved how easy you were. “She’s so sweet.” “She’s so mature.” “She never causes trouble.” They thought they were complimenting you. But really, they were praising the pieces you hid. The hunger. The ache. The fear. The way you held your breath just to be allowed to stay.

I remember how carefully you folded the clothes that were never yours. How you picked through hand-me-downs hoping to find something that fit just right—not just your body, but your sense of worth. I remember when the school secretary would call you to the principal’s office, and there would be a black trash bag of donated clothes waiting for you. You’d smile, say thank you, then carry that bag back to class, pretending it didn’t burn in your chest like shame. Those clothes weren’t gifts. They were reminders that you had nothing of the your own. Not even dignity.

No one asked how that felt. No one noticed how you walked a little slower down the hall after. No one saw the way you held your tears until you got home—wherever “home” was that week.

You didn’t cry much. You didn’t scream. You didn’t ask for help. Not because you didn’t need it, but because somewhere along the way, you decided needing anything made you a burden. You were wrong, baby. But I know why you believed it.

You didn’t want toys. You didn’t want extra snacks or attention. You just wanted to be claimed. To be someone’s. To hear someone say, “You’re staying.” “You’re mine.” “You don’t have to earn it.”

But no one did.

So you learned how to survive without ever feeling safe.

You packed your sadness into silence. You smiled to keep from sobbing. You carried yourself through a childhood that didn’t carry you back. And through all of that—you still loved. Quietly. Deeply. Completely.

Now, I’m grown. I’m the woman you became. And I need you to hear me with everything you never got to say out loud: It was never your fault.

You were not unlovable. You were not too quiet. You were not a problem. You were a child who deserved to be kept, to be protected, to be cherished. You were worthy of a soft place to land.

You didn’t get that. But somehow, you still became it.

I have children now. And they have me. A mother who shows up. A mother who stays. I’m not perfect. I still carry your wounds. I still cry some nights when the house is quiet and I feel the ghost of your loneliness sitting beside me.

But every day, I choose differently. I give them what you never got. I wrap them in love that doesn’t leave. I tell them they are enough, not because they behave, but because they are.

They will never walk to the front office to pick up bags of clothes that whisper, “You have nothing.” They will never wonder if they’re wanted. They will never look into the mirror and ask if they matter. Because I stay. Because I hold them the way you needed to be held.

You didn’t get to be a child. But now, because of you, my children do.

You were the girl no one kept. But I became the woman who keeps everyone safe. You were the child who was forgotten. But now you live in a home built from your strength. A love made from your longing.

And I want you to know something that still makes my voice shake when I say it:

You made it.

I came back for you. I chose you. And I will never let you go.

Love always,  Me  The mother you needed.  The home you became.

Dry your eyes love,

We’re going to be fine,

Pack a bag for twenty years into time.

Say goodbye to those

Awful nights,

Lying awake

Too scared to breathe ,

Face in our tattered pillow, muffling out our screams.

Dreams of a better life

Still far away,

We will break a dozen more times

Before, we can laugh

And say ‘yeah I’m okay’

You were strong back then

despite her harsh words,

Razor blade kisses were never the answer,

but it was better than the burn,

In our core,

never being good enough,

Slammed on the floor,

We were always too fat, too stupid,

‘you’ll never amount to anything’

Hold on just awhile longer

Soon we will spread our wings.

Fear not little me,

It took us a while

To break open that crooked smile,

My God, it’s wild!

Just don’t give up

The sun will come out soon,

And all those hopes and promises

We imagined

Will come into full bloom.

Blossom, you will,

Like a dark phoenix

You’ll rise,

Rose from the ashes

Only dawn brings,

You’ll shine brighter

Than a thousand fallen stars

Yes, it was hard

Yes, it was rough

In the end,

We really were enough.

Dear Overthinker ,

I know you’re staring at that message again.

Still unopened. Still unanswered.

The blinking cursor is waiting as it always does, steady and patient, but you still don’t know what to say.

You’ve read those words more times than you want to admit.

You go over them, line by line, looking for hidden meaning. A shift in tone. A silence that speaks louder than anything said aloud.

Your thumb hovers. Your heart picks up speed. And then you back away.

Not because you don’t care, but because you’re terrified that whatever you say might be wrong or not good enough.

Something that seems so small to someone else feels massive to you. Because you’re scared that one wrong word might be all it takes to confirm what you’ve always feared.

That you’re not enough.

Your mind never stops.

It replays conversations, builds stories out of silence, creates meaning out of thin air because you’ve learned that pain doesn’t always come with a warning.

You overthink because you’re trying to protect yourself. Because you missed something once, and it hurt more than you knew you could handle.

Now you catch everything, hoping it’ll be different this time.

Wishing you won’t face abandonment again.

If you can get ahead of the pain, maybe then you’ll finally feel safe.

But even when nothing bad happens, you still feel like something is wrong. Like you’re the thing that’s wrong.

And all this overthinking, all this fear, it lives in your body.

Your chest stays tight. Your shoulders carry what no one sees. You toss and turn at night, running through a list of things you said, wondering which one made you too much.

You delete the texts. You rehearse the goodbyes. You shrink yourself into silence to avoid being seen the wrong way.

From the outside, it doesn’t look like anything at all.

People think you’re sensitive or dramatic or just too much.

They dismiss my worries by saying “you’re overthinking,” as if that’s helpful.

But they don’t know how long you’ve lived with the fear that if you mess up, you’ll be abandoned.

They don’t know that deep down, you still believe love is something you have to earn.

This doesn’t just show up in romantic moments.

It’s there in friendships, in family dinners, in moments that are supposed to be happy but feel like something could go wrong at any second.

You smile and laugh and still wonder if you’re annoying.

You feel joy and still question if it’s allowed.

Because a part of you is always waiting for the proof that you’re not enough. That youll messed up. That youll ruined it. Again.

So you perform.

You act calm. You try to be low-maintenance. You pretend you don’t care, even when you do.

Because if you don’t show how much it hurts, maybe they won’t leave.

If you act like you’re fine, maybe you can keep them from seeing how scared you really are.

But here’s the real question you can’t stop asking:

Am I still lovable if I stop pretending I’m okay?

You want to be okay. More than anything.

But you’re tired of carrying the weight of every silence, every maybe, every almost.

You’re tired of holding your breath just to be easy to love.

You’re tired of trying to earn your place.

And I need you to know this.

You don’t have to keep living like this.

You don’t have to carry all that fear just to be worthy.

You are allowed to want reassurance.

You are allowed to need clarity.

You are allowed to take up space, even when you feel unsure.

Your needs don’t make you unlovable.

Your questions don’t make you too much.

Maybe healing isn’t about becoming perfect.

Maybe it’s about learning to pause.

To notice when your mind is spiraling and meet it with gentleness.

To remember that not every silence is rejection.

Not every change means you failed.

Not every feeling of unworthiness is true.

You are not broken for feeling this way.

You are not weak for needing comfort.

You are not hard to love.

You are someone who has had to survive in a world that didn’t always make space for your heart, and you’ve made it this far anyway. That’s not a weakness. That’s strength.

You are still worthy, even when you’re struggling to believe it.

You are still lovable, even when your thoughts try to convince you otherwise.

Keep showing up. Keep feeling, even when it’s messy.

Keep allowing yourself to be seen, even when it’s scary.

You don’t have to earn love by being easy.

You deserve it just as you are.

With the gentleness you’ve always needed,

Me

As you continue reading through this letter, you’ll remember me, I promise. I want first to say I am so sorry, the reflection staring back, almost blurry, will soon begin to take shape, please bare with me. Although impossible, I wish I could have met you differently back then. I wish the strength that I now possess were so visible then. I always thought life for you back then could have been so much simpler if only I had taken the initiative and begun catering to the heart that you wanted to share with the world. Unfortunately, outside noises began taking the space of my own, which later expelled the love that I wanted you to have for yourself. I needed to put a stop to it somehow. But at that time, I wasn’t sure what direction to take to begin the much-needed transformation. I was hurting you, and I knew it. I thought that maybe if you had cut just a little deeper, you’d uncover something worth bragging about, something that would fill your soul, you know, overflow that cup of something that you so desperately were seeking within. It’s been a very long time, and there’s a possibility of this letter being returned to me. But if it does make its way to you, I’d like to explain.

All the times you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror, you’ve always seen yourself as someone different. You knew who you were and your capabilities, but the thought of being considered beautiful never came to mind. Knit picking on your features because you remembered in the 3rd grade that one person who made you feel less than, and you hated yourself for it. The glow of your dark skin was never a curse. I wanted so badly to let you know that at the time, what they said wasn’t true, but sadly, I believed them. This would later dictate the fate of your love for yourself. Please know your complexion was never a curse, you were blessed but the earth and kissed by the sun. I so wish I could have told you how beautiful you are. When you walk into rooms, it’s as if time freezes, because people are always anticipating your next move. Oh, and your smile, I can tell you if I could ever go back in time, I’d laugh so much that those big cheeks you have would hurt from the joy I knew you tried your best to hide. I wanted you to understand that you were never ugly; those words have no right to be in the same sentence that holds your name. There are so many things I have learned from the negativity that you’ve received then. Never allow people to project onto you the feelings they hold for themselves; their insecurities have nothing to do with the woman you were. It only shows that they refused to heal the parts of themselves that you were forced to hate. Deep down, I know you wanted to express to many how happy you were within yourself, but that was constantly shut down because of society’s favoritism for those who look nothing like you. Please know you were ALWAYS ENOUGH, always!

The way you looked was never a problem; your body was and will always be beautiful. The days you deprived yourself of food to be seen, gaining the approval of those around you who didn’t give a shit about your wellbeing but more so how you lack love for yourself made them feel more superior than you. I know time has passed, I’ve uncovered so much about you as the years went by, but I want you to know if I had the chance to choose again in that moment, I’d choose you all over again because you were always my first choice. Being seen doesn’t equal judgment. I want you to know I have sat amongst people who see me and have fallen in love. My fingers tend to move faster than my mind can sometimes comprehend, but as I cry while typing this letter to you, I need you to know that you’re a gem. Every room you’ve let fear dictate how you’d enter has been removed from its hinges. Your path had been paved and was just waiting for you to take that step to begin your journey. The light you’ve held within has been guiding so many on their journeys. There are so many things about you that I’ve admired, but most of all, I am happy you never gave up on yourself and you fought against the things that tried their best to hold you back.

Again, I know this letter may turn into a return to sender, because the address you once resided at is no longer listed. But wherever you may be, I will continue to wish the best for you! I love you!

Yours truly, with Love,
Gracelyn N. Morris

To the little girl
Who lives inside of me covered by the flesh of adulthood
Drowned out by the ruckus of the world around us

The brown beauty
With glimpses of heaven reflecting through her brown eyes
The one who never realized that she in fact did have more time

To the little girl
Whose heart was pure as snow
And nails were short and low

As they were the manifestation of your anxiousness
How it chipped away at your being
And you chipped away the bedding of your nails
Caused by the ripping of your teeth as if you were teething

I sometimes find myself grieving
For your underdeveloped broken bones
Softened soul
Bruised skin
Your long walks home

To that little girl
Did I ever tell you that I loved you?
Did I tell you that the inside of your palm can hold the world?
That factually speaking you are in fact a beautiful little girl.

You are not
Unloved
Unlovable
Nor are you a burden

You are loveable because God so loved the world
That is for certain

I write you this letter to express my love
With the mindset of a past and future hug

I say to you
Your tough skin and strength are not your personality
Your timid nature and softness are not the curse of your reality

Inside of our totality is our morality
Your experience is simply foreshadowing
The greatness that you will experience

You must stay just to see how good it gets
Little girl your world will turn and shift
Yet no matter how many times life attempts and hits

You are love
You are loved
You are the physical representation of the one above.

You are perfectly written
Evenly splitted
Loud and attentive
Quiet and submissive
Multi-dimensional

You spread love through a darkened world that is wicked
I say this to you
I want you to never forget it

I see you,
I hear you
I love you
I am you

I promise that you are never alone
Inside of me I provide a space as your home

To the little girl
Who lives inside of me covered by the flesh of adulthood
The girl whose drowned out by the ruckus of the world around us

The brown beauty
With glimpses of heaven reflecting through her brown eyes
The one who never realized that she in fact did have more time

Hi.
———————————————————————————————————-
I dedicated this piece of poetry to the child I was and the child that I am. Internally as beings we hold every experience that we have ever experienced. We are all simply mosaics. A mosaic is a pattern or image made of small regular or irregular pieces of colored stone, glass or ceramic. We are all the physical manifestation of the patterns and images made from the regular and irregular behaviors and beliefs of those around us. We are all products of our environments. Sometimes those environments destroy our self image, our light, our being.

That is what happened to the little girl who lived inside of me. That child felt inadequate and alone. Two things that were never true. So within time I aged and navigated this thing called life. Eventually while doing so I found myself fixing the broken pieces of who I am. I dedicated myself to a journey of self healing. The little girl I am unable to rid myself of deserved it. It was her God given destiny: Growth.

As a 22 year old woman, I wrote this poem to as a letter to the girl who felt she was never enough. As if her existence and presence on earth was a gift. A gift for herself and those she encountered. It’s a piece of acknowledgement to the part of me I can never rid myself of. As a 23 year old woman, I read this poem loudly and with pride. I know that all things that are good will come to me. As I am a child of God and all that is good comes from him.

This poem is a love letter to Jessie L. Bady. This poem is a love letter to Poetically Bel. This poem is a love letter to the mosaic that I am.

It pains me to say goodbye, but it is something I must do to live in my truth. The truth is
I never needed you, because I was strong on my own. I do want to thank you for helping
me realize just how strong I was. Thank you for showing me that doubt has no place in
our life. You help me to fly again. So, I will open my wings and fly free not only for you,
but everything you represent. I was always worthy. But I now realize that I was my worst
enemy. I stopped myself from believing that things were possible for me. I let fear hold
me back. It crippled me and kept me in a chokehold but no longer. I know what
I am capable of, and I am learning every day just how resilient I am. Goodbye to her, you are no
longer me and I am no longer you.

Dear Me-Who-Didn’t-Feel-Enough,
I wish I could tell you I’ve figured it all out—that somewhere along the way, the fear faded, the doubts disappeared, and I finally felt… enough.
Like I was doing it right. Like I belonged.
But I haven’t. Not really.
There are still days I look in the mirror and only see the flaws.
Still days when my best doesn’t feel even close to good enough.
When the house is a disaster.
When the kids eat nothing but boxed mac and cheese (again).
When I try to be the perfect mom, wife, daughter, human—and somehow manage to drop all the balls at once.
When the bills outnumber the dollars, the inbox stays full, and I seriously consider running away to live one a desert island in Tahiti with no Wi-Fi.
There are still moments when the silence after an interview feels like confirmation.
Still nights when I lie awake, picking apart every word I said that day.
Still that quiet voice that whispers, Maybe they’re just being nice. Maybe they don’t really mean it.
You thought you weren’t enough back then.
And honestly? Some days, I still do.
But I’m learning to believe that showing up is enough.
That boxed mac and cheese isn’t a moral failure.
That the mess doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong.
That love isn’t measured in perfectly folded laundry or homemade meals.
That trying—even tired and unsure and overwhelmed—still matters.
I’m starting to believe that I don’t have to earn rest.
That I don’t have to fix everything to be worthy of grace.
That maybe I’ve always been enough—flaws, doubts, and all.
So I keep going.
I love. I doubt. I cry. I try. I laugh. I dream. I show up anyway.
Maybe that’s what enough looks like.
Not perfect. Not polished. Not sure.
Just… here.
Still learning. Still trying. Still writing. Still breathing.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s more than enough.
Love,
Me-Who’s-Still-Becoming-Enough

I saw your voice that sang softly within me. The one that screamed out in the silence of your struggles. Taking the liberty to wait in the silence and slowly grow. You were as small as I remember back then, As I grew, you saw firsthand all the struggles ahead of us. You were fearful, and I knew that. You spoke softly, crossing your arms, unable to speak your truth. The one that made you shine. Even when you took everything to heart, no matter how small or fragile. You wanted to strive, forced to lead your life in constraints of peer pressure. Yet as the mind became cloudy within the voices of the past. You yearned for growth, expanding it year by year. The moon rising and shaping you as that light in endless night. You stood tall with the knowledge of your mistakes turned into passion. Searching tirelessly for your truth, having to vent countless nights, the same problems repeatedly. Burying your head between your pillow, crying softly, wishing you could have done more. From the fear that you couldn’t get along with your peers or your family. Sharing parts of yourself to as many people that you could a hold of. Bearing the burden of rejection because you spoke with happiness and you wanted to spread that same feeling to those around you. Sharing that same burden just like your favorite comic book heroes did, because you wanted change. Slowly, you leaned on others to support you, building the foundations up. As time went on, that knowledge slowly revealed itself to yourself. That child within you still held your hand along the way, looking through the same lens as you did. A smile placed upon you, bringing you closer to theirs. That I was that hope I needed all along. I was lonely, yet your voice kept telling me to not give up, to adapt just like you always have. Shredding the mold of your past to pave the way towards your hope. That sometimes, you going to freak out and you will feel lost. But guess what you are that guide, because you always, knew didn’t you. That I didn’t lose, I was my hope, that I was made to challenge the narrative. You grew as your mind did, latching onto it bit by bit. Trusting the process and staying on course. Where a consistent narrative drove you to live a life of comfort, but your mind opened to new possibilities. Curiosity challenged doubt and failure fueled perseverance. Forging the bond of two souls to build harmony.

I close my eyes and in a moment I’m back- 11 years old, eyes bleary in the early morning hours, confusion on my face as I look around the living room. My grandma, my uncles, aunts and my dad, somber, tear-streaked. “Your mom…she died tonight.” The gut punch, the ice cold horror that washes over you in moments like this.

In the days to come, I was consumed. Not just by grief, but by regret. Remorse. Too young to comprehend it but wracked with the pain. You see, my mom had been sick for as long as I could remember. Multiple Sclerosis, MS, had her stumbling while I was in kindergarten. She got a cane when I was in 1st. By 5th grade she was wheelchair bound, and as 6th began the quadriplegia set in and she needed to be fed and showered. Her mind intact and alert, her body failing, and I was…furious. Watching the person you love most decline rapidly should make you empathetic, kind. Unless you’re a little girl terrified watching it happen, never fully understanding and not seeing where it was headed. All I knew was anger for the life I didn’t have…a mom to go spend time with. A mom to do my hair. A mom who could take me to the park. In my youth and naivete I saw only what I was losing, not what she was. So I argued. Like a teen girl, I argued. I was so angry with her for getting sick. For not fighting harder. And after she died? Angry at the world for taking her and at myself for not telling her I loved her. For not being patient. For not appreciating how much she loved me.

And for years, Mother’s Day was a fresh wound every year. Another reminder of the deep loss that losing a parent causes.

Then, one beautiful December day many years later, my newborn daughter was placed in my arms. And year after year that hole, that loss, fades, stitched together, healed by my own two children. Because I get to be theirs. I can’t be a daughter again, I can’t fix the anger and hurt and trauma I had as a child. But I get to be a mom. I get to love them as unrelentingly as my own mother did. I get to see glimpses of her in them, in the way my daughter reads insatiably to the clever way my son looks at the world. And in experiencing the all consuming love I have for my children, I forgive myself. I think to how my mom loved me, even through my hurt and disappointment and confusion during those years. And I choose to love myself again. To say I am enough…I am flawed, I am human, and I have made mistakes. But my mother’s love lives on through me, and now through my children. And, after so long, I am at peace.