When I thought that I was not enough I rendered myself vulnerable. Vulnerable to the lies that felt like admiration, being that vanity was my strong suite. Being considered special beyond merit occupied my sensibility of logic. He love me, he loves me not, they love me, they love me not projected possibilities of a connection within my worth. My worth, what does that intel. At one point in my life, it required me to be a good girl and to just go with the flow. To allow myself to be love bombed with words of affirmation and acts of service, because how could you not love me after all of that, right. Pint up moments of confusion and self-doubt. Am I being punked, where is Ashton, consumes my filtered emotions. Emotions of overwhelmed perception of a bond beyond expectation while trying to enforce self-love. I earned the self-esteem that I, at one point, lacked. I also learned the power of self-love and self-validation and that I can end up being my own kryptonite. Although I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, I now know that I am enough.

Nothing is going to come easy for you, that’s how the world works for people like us that need to forge their own identity from the scrap metal everyone tossed away. Your life is going to be a series of doors slammed in your face again, and again, and again. It’s going to seem like nothing will come out of it, that each rejection, fight, and failure will amount to nothing. Until recently, that’s what I thought, too. But one day, you’re going to wake up and realize everything you never knew you needed was right in front of you all along. The hours you spent training for sports everyone said you could never play ignited a fire within you that surprised everyone. Where everyone saw certain failure, you carved your own path. When everyone told you to give up and walk away, you raised your chin higher and made a promise that you wouldn’t.
 The stubbornness that you inherited will one day out-weigh the anger that came with it. Eventually, the anger makes sense. You never really hated the world, you hated what the world wanted you to be. They called you stubborn, but you weren’t. They hoped the word would quelch your fire because they feared that your ambition, desire, and dedication would lead you down the path to the forges. They were afraid to watch you break free from their chains and melt them down to nothing.
 During your walk down the wooded trail down to the forge, people emerge from behind the trees. As they get closer, you realize their skin seemed to be slipping off, revealing limbs built from pipes and joints made of gears. At first, it frightens you. This isn’t how people are supposed to look. Why? You ask them, voice trembling. Just try it. Curious, you pick up a bolt off the ground and slide it over your finger. You look to your side and see that they’re watching you, their eyes reflecting the surprising smile spread across your face. The rush of euphoria is addictive. Together, you scour the woods for any loose pieces: rusty mufflers, spoons, road signs, keys, and cans. You lay it all out in front of you and divide the spoils. He needs three spoons and a wrench; she needs the coat rack and a tin can. They give you what remains and help you rebuild your body.
 Sometimes people walk down that path and stare; others call you unnatural and freaks of nature. They’ll tell you what you’re doing is wrong and try to take back rubbish that was destined to be yours, but you hold on tight to each hard-found treasure. You get kicked around and watch as your pieces fall apart and scatter broken across the ground, but you help each other up, wipe off the dust, and start your forage again.
As you solder together the skeleton and fill its veins with molten iron, you realize that someone’s been watching you, taking notes. Half made of metal, half loose-fitting skin, he comes up to you with a notebook clutched to his chest and a pen shaking in his hand and asks how you knew what to do. I don’t know, you’ll tell him. Still, he nods and pulls out his pen and scribbles down something you’ll never read. As you finish your modifications and find your way in this newly fashioned body, your cautious steps become a powerful stride and you get to become the man you wished to be, and the voice in your head finally begins to settle down. Not entirely, but enough to know that you’re doing something right.
The kid runs with you, asking questions and following your lead without hesitation. You make a few wrong turns and land in a position you wish you hadn’t, but he doesn’t fault you, nor do the people that have the most to lose. That’s the part that matters. Even when the door slams in your face and the kid looks over at you, uncertainty clear in his eyes, you put your shoulder to the door and push. You look to the side and, one by one, you see everyone take their positions next to you, bones and metal alike.
You were never destined to be alone, kiddo, you simply haven’t found your people yet. Once you find them (because I can assure that you will), quicken your stride and get ready for the ride, that’s where your story really begins. The world is still scary and you’re often lost and confused, but that’s ok. Behind you stands a mass of people, each brought to you by luck, ready to dig through the ruins to help you salvage more parts from the wreck.
With love,
Max

“You should be a model!” everyone told you. “I’d pay good money for a tan like that!

Yet, all you saw were the scars, tangles, and dust from walking barefoot along the railroad tracks. As I travel along my timelines, I see your long, dark hair and deep eyes muddled with confusion.  I see your soul standing in the rotted corner of a partially abandoned trailer playing tug of war with your current reality and your soul truth. 

Wondering why strangers tell you such praises while your parents remind you that you’ll never grow up to be anything. Their words are like a whip. I know the bitterness that rises in your chest when your dad tells you, “You better find a man with money. That’s your only hope.”

Your bitterness is your inner voice disguised, for it knows that your hope is within yourself. Listen to that voice.

I know that shame drenches you when you have to be dropped off at home or when you can’t afford school events. Your victories are invisible. When you get honor roll, your mom says, “Yeah, you must have cheated.” 

When you’re invited to the party, your dad says, “Ah, they just felt sorry for the po’ kid.” 

I see you in those moments, barely hanging on, in a whirlwind of insults and disappointment bouncing off every corner until it seems like a never-ending echo of projected failures. Molding your mind. Creating your future.  A future that makes sense to them. 

I am writing to tell you to listen to the voice within that rejects these daggers of assumptions. It is justified. It is a savior. I, the version of you that has come this far, am with you now. Therefore, you know that nothing else matters. I take your hand, and the clatter stops. You feel me. You look at me with understanding eyes as I tell you the truth.

“This is not your fault. This is not your future.

The world needs everything that you are building, so keep going.

You are going to make yourself proud. 

It all works out better than you could ever imagine.”

With this letter, you see all the amazing things waiting for you. 

The safety.

The empowerment.

The adventures. Oh, so many adventures. 

The impact.

The love.

And it is all thanks to you realizing that you were meant for more. 

I sign off in peace and gratitude, knowing you received this gift. Thank you for everything that you will do. Thank you for finding inspiration in nature and for dreaming big, for it has served me in adult life. 

You now know that you belong where you are for a purpose. You are the free and resilient kid you were destined to be. No more fear. No more proving. Just being. Because now you know that being your authentic self will always be more than enough. 

Dear Younger Me,

I see you — the girl with silent tears behind the smile, the one searching for love in all the wrong places because you were taught to survive before you ever learned how to be loved. I know how heavy the weight was. You carried the ache of abandonment, the chaos of addiction, and the scars of a childhood stolen by circumstance.

You thought you weren’t enough — not because you were flawed, but because life told you lies and wrapped them in the voices of the people who were supposed to protect you. You were told to be quiet when your heart was screaming, to be strong when you were breaking, and to hustle for a worth that was already yours.

But let me tell you something, beloved: you were always enough. Even in the mess. Even in the mistakes. Even in the moments you thought God had forgotten your name — He was there, weeping with you, waiting for you to see yourself through His eyes.

You weren’t dirty — you were desperate for connection. You weren’t broken beyond repair — you were bruised but chosen. Every choice you made, every tear you cried, every cell in your body was reaching for identity, for healing, for something real.

And you found it.

Look at us now. You’re not just surviving — you’re leading. You’re healing others with the same hands that once trembled in fear. You’re a mother, a student, a director, a woman of God — not because you figured it all out, but because you surrendered what you couldn’t carry anymore.

I forgive you for the times you didn’t know better. I thank you for the fire that wouldn’t go out. And I honor you — because you walked through hell and didn’t come out smelling like smoke.

From this side of grace, I want you to know:
You were enough then.
You are more than enough now.
And you’ll never have to question that again.

Love,
Your Redeemed Self
Alicia (Queen) Williams

⸻

If you’d like, I can format this as a printable letter or even add visuals or scripture to go with it. You’re walking proof of God’s restoring power, and this letter is just one more way to speak life into the pieces of your journey.

Dear Inner Child,

I know you watch the people you care about from behind a lens,
longing to be part of the picture, longing to fit in.

You pick yourself apart like a flawed work of art.
You wonder why all puzzle pieces seem to fit,
except for the piece that is your heart.

You find yourself questioning your worth,
fighting illusions in your head.
Instead of giving yourself the love you deserve,
you ask what’s wrong with you instead.

You give your all just to feel small,
and no matter how hard you try,
you just can’t seem to shake the sense
that something’s wrong with you inside.

So you take the hurt and the pain,
and you think that’s just how it’s meant to be all along.

But I’m here to tell you, my sweet child,
the truth is that you’re wrong.

In a chaotic garden, you are a rare specimen, you see.
You’re not meant to bloom just anywhere,
but you’re safe here, right with me.

And although it hurts so much right now,
please know you’re a beautiful, thriving seed.

The growth will come
when you realize you simply don’t belong amongst the weeds.

With all my love,
Me

God sent an arrow from His quiver (stomach) to save me from being away from Him, because of God’s Loyal Lovingkindness for the ages. He raised a storm within my stubborn nephesh (soul). Why do I say this? When I was younger, my sister was dating a guy who was a Mormon. She wanted Dad, Mom, her, and me to get baptized. Mom said no. My dad, my sister, and I were baptized as Mormons. It felt like after I did, they didn’t want anything to do with me. At least this is my memory of it. It hardened my heart. I turned from God for a while.

I had a friend who kept after me to go to church. I kept saying no most firmly. One day, they happened to come over to our house. We were in the kitchen. They said, “You need to come to church.” I was tired of them asking me, and I said,” If you will leave me alone, I will go to church with you one time, then stop asking me.” I did use a bad word within that statement. However, I do not want to use bad words in my story—the result of their persistence in encouraging me to go to church. I finally broke down and went. The arrow that God sent me from his quiver pierced the hardened nephesh. Lo and behold, I kept going.

In 1985, I was in a youth group. The pastor gave us the assignment to write in a journal and ask Him for a prayer for what we wanted. We were to see how long it took God to answer our prayers. I prayed to God, “AM I WORTHY to be part of His family?” It took about a month for God to answer my prayer. God answered me in a dream.

My dream went like this: I was outside on our front lawn with my mother, father, aunt, and uncle. As we were talking, I looked up and saw this grey thing floating down from the sky. It landed on a neighbor’s roof. The grey thing turned and looked at me. It was death. I started praying, and suddenly, I was sitting at the table with Jesus in our house. I asked, “Am I worthy to be part of your family?’ His reply was, “Yes, join the others.” As we were chatting, I looked out the living room windows. I saw two golden lions shimmering in the driveway, and they jumped down the street.
Later in my dream, we were in a garden of beautiful flowers and people wearing white robes. I asked, “Where is Jesus?” They pointed over to him. I walked over to him and tugged on his white garment, and he looked at me. “I asked Him,” Am I worthy?” He said, “Join the others.” From that dream, I knew that I would always be part of his family. He will always be with me. Later that year, the Pastor baptized me, and now I use this dream to tell others of God’s love and how I am part of His family. It took a long time for me not to tear up as I told my testimony.

Dear unsealers,
This is the story of a shattered soul that was shaped into one of the strongest soldiers. We all hit rock bottom at some point in our life but very few of us hit rock bottom so many times that it becomes your comfort zone. At one point I literally felt like I had become God’s biggest challenge. I completely had faith that he could fix me and eventually he would but even God himself wasn’t sure how. My journey has been a lot of things but easy is not one of them. Little did I know that it was all to make me and not break me but that was hard to see at the time. I remember feeling like the universe was literally against me and the only purpose I had was to not have a purpose. There were several times that I honestly came very close to giving up but with the help of the Lord I did not throw in the towel completely. To be honest I still battle every day even up to this point but I’ll keep on fighting because I have faith that God has a plan for me and it is working perfectly. That is a very short summary of my story. Trust me there is a lot more to it but that’s my story with 800 words or less. Thank you

I see you sitting there on the deck hugging your knees, a blanket around your shoulders. I see you chain smoking, your mascara running down your face in a river of tears, your hands shaking and your headaches.
The police have left, your parents have left, you are home from the hospital. He’s in jail, at least for the night. Alone on the deck, your babies are asleep in their beds. You wonder how much this will affect them. Will they remember? They are so young; what will you tell them? As you bury your head in your hands, I can see your too-thin body shaking with fear, with anxiety, doubts swirling around in your mind like so many black clouds. As with so many nights before, you will not sleep tonight.
I am sitting beside you, even though you can’t feel me or see me. My arms are around you and I am whispering strength and love into your ear. Please know that you didn’t bring abuse on yourself. The cruel words and bruises you carefully cover with makeup are the work of someone who has deep wounds himself. Your husband who speaks love out of the same mouth that calls you vile names, whose hands hold you tenderly and then viciously strike you, tossing your body like a rag doll is responsible. You both bear scars from childhood trauma, from parents who love you in their best yet broken way. Forgive them; you all have a long way to go before this chapter is over.
Tomorrow you will go to file a restraining order; he will be served with papers before he is released. You will go to court, the order will be granted, and you will not look at him again for a year. Take a deep breath; you will find the courage to get through this. People will watch you, not knowing how to help. Their generation was one that kept this kind of thing secret. Your friends will offer prayers on your behalf, but not one will speak the supportive words you long to hear, nor will they offer a safe place to rest. Please don’t take this as not loving you, they do.
The two of you will divorce and raise your children together in a loving and supportive way. Your children will know the love of a bonus mom; she’s amazing. You will have no regrets, many experiences, and understand that healing is a lifelong journey.
Dry your tears, get some rest. Allow yourself to have a happy life; know that you are not only good enough, but you are also amazing.

Dear Me from 4 years ago,

I know you weren’t thinking about winning the election. You weren’t a good enough candidate, and you had no experience. At least that’s how you saw the race. And your political party had not held a seat on the township board for years; correction, make that decades. In fact, they normally did not even run candidates for those township positions. Yes, I can see why you didn’t think enough of yourself to unseat an incumbent from the board.

Getting on the ballot was easier than you thought. You had the support from members of a local women’s group who helped get the 250 signatures you needed. But you knew getting your name on a ballot and winning a race against incumbents are two very different things. In your mind, you cast yourself as the underdog, and perhaps you were.

You ordered campaign literature and yard signs. Facebook posts and ads explained your views and positions. That was the simple part of the campaign. You wondered if you were good enough to hold your own at the candidate’s public forum. It was a good sign when opponents started agreeing with some of your talking points by the end of the forum.

Your confidence was growing until you tried to get an endorsement from a US House member. She told you in no uncertain terms that you were not running a serious enough campaign. Sorry, but she wouldn’t endorse you. I know that hurt, but it also steeled your resolve. You were no longer just running against some incumbent township board candidates, but you were running against the opinion of a sitting US Congresswoman who didn’t think your campaign effort was enough. You responded by working harder and smarter.

Sadly, it turned out that your campaign actually wasn’t good enough to get the most votes. You were not even close. You didn’t finish in second either. So close to third, but you fell short. Fortunately, four members serve on the board, and you finished comfortably fourth in the voting. Welcome to an elected office.

Here we are four years later, and you are now me, starting my second term in office on the township board after receiving the most votes of all candidates in the election two months ago. Discussions have begun about running for a county board position in 2028. Do I have enough in me to win? I think I just might this time.

Regards,
Me from today

Dear Fifteen-Year-Old Me,
In response to the permission slip you asked me to sign a few days ago:

There was a time you’d come home from school, grab a few popsicles, and run over to the neighbor girl’s house to ask her to play. The two of you would ask your older brother to join you, and the three of you would start a game tag. Soon enough, a few of the older neighborhood kids would join and the game grew. Everyone would run around hiding, trying not to get tagged. Eventually, the sun would start to set and everyone’s parents slowly called them back inside. You were always a little sad, but also a little happy because that meant it was time for dinner. Dinner was your favorite meal, and I know you can hardly imagine it now, but your favorite part of dinner was that dessert was right after. 

You and the neighbor girl were best friends for a long time, til’ she moved away. You used to sit out by the pool and talk about your future with her, mainly just your hopes and dreams, but at seven years old all you had was hopes and dreams. It was beautiful. You wanted to be the first female president, an Olympic athlete, a writer, a good friend, and a scientist. You also shared what you didn’t want. You didn’t want to take orders from adults or perfectly follow every rule. You never wanted to be asked to talk less or be quieter again; you told your friend you would never be silent when you had so much to say.

Do you remember any of this? Can you even remember who you were before you let others tell you who to be?

You’re fifteen now. Fifteen and hungry. Fifteen and cold. Fifteen and lost. Your dream of being President died when you decided you value being agreeable over being courageous. You aren’t chasing being an Olympian anymore, or an athlete at all really, considering you’re reading this from some hospital bed in the eating disorders unit at some children’s hospital in some city you’ve never seen before. You still write, but now it’s in a journal you show a psychiatrist once a week. You try, but it’s hard to be a good friend right now. You don’t believe you are smart enough to pursue science so you quit. 

Ironically, your life is dictated by self-imposed rules and orders from adults. Your rules tell you all the things you aren’t allowed to eat, say, or do. The orders usually tell you the opposite. You’ve silenced yourself since you still believe you are inherently not enough and that you have nothing worth saying anymore. 

Here’s the thing kiddo: I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news is as bad as things are right now, they get worse. You will betray yourself so many times you can no longer trust your own thoughts and feelings. You will betray the little girl playing tag so many times that you believe she is gone forever. You will betray yourself so deeply you will ask me if you can leave this world because you do not feel worthy of the breaths you take. 

The good news is, that as bad things get, that is also how good they get. You find people within the lines of memoirs, the hallways of hospitals, and old friends in your contact list that help you reconnect with yourself. You will eventually trust yourself again. You find out that the little girl you betrayed is waiting for you, arms wide open, ready to forgive you. While you aren’t chasing a Presidency or the Olympics, you do study science in college and start playing sports again. You prioritize being a good friend always and once you find your voice again, you use it to talk about the things that matter most to you. And most importantly, you find your worth.

So, fifteen-year-old me, I say this with love when I tell you I will not sign your permission slip asking me if you can leave this world because I’ve seen how bright your future is. I’ve seen the love you give and receive. I’ve seen the beaches you visit, the mistakes you make, the hearts you break, the lives you save, the cats you pet, the parking tickets you collect, the awards you earn, and all the millions of ways you realize you are absolutely, innately, enough. 

With love and courage always,
Twenty-Year-Old You.

Dear Lowercase ‘a’,
Ive been there through all your struggles, all your tears and frustrations.
Ive sat through your lonely nights, your low’s and your high’s.
I’ve seen you go completely unseen, unheard and misunderstood.
as I stand here now I want you to know you were never TOO MUCH, TOO LOUD OR NOT ENOUGH.
You were simply undiagnosed.
As I look back now I want to give you this advice…
Don’t hold hate in your heart for love ones who may have seemed inconsiderate to your feelings, its not their fault. Moments that triggered you and your reactions may have came off as tantrums to those who didnt understand that you weren’t throwing a fit you simply had emotions you didnt understand and could not find a way to express so the lack of regulation caused explosions of panic and fits of rage. But know that your lack of understanding and their lack of knowing never meant you weren’t loved.
I want you to know that feeling emotions at such intense levels is just as much of a blessing as it is the curse you always hated.
I want you to believe that no matter how much you feel like death is the only way to get rid of pain and relieve others of the burden of you that there is always tomorrow and if you can get out of your disassociation then you will see that when you smile and laugh others are like moths drawn to your flame.
You cant let others define you and have control over your moods, thats you power and you need to protect it at all cost but that doesn’t mean you should shut the world out and not allow someone to let you smile.
The world is not black and white and you are going to have to work harder than most people but I promise you if you learn to find that grey area your going to be a force to reckon with.
Your passion, your love, kindness, and heart will shine through any negative moments you may have, I know its hard and it sounds cliché but trust me.
You have many hardships ahead of you. Heartbreaks will come more often then you like but I promise you keep your head up and take in each lesson because it will lead you in the arms of the most kindest sweetest patient and Loving man you will ever meet and you deserve that, Lowercase all I ask is that maybe you go a little easier on him because he will heal all the scars from your past but you have to remember he didnt cause the pain you cant lash out at him because your exs hurt you, hes not them I promise you… but when you do lash out and go to push him away because trust me you will I know this; he is going to surprise you with staying. He is going to fight this battle with you- that you’ll soon find out is BPD, when youre diagnosed at the age of 23, and when times get hard he will hold you tighter than youve ever been held and love you in ways you’ve never been loved, so take it easy on him.
May you continue to grow and work on yourself because BPD is not an excuse it is an explanation for certain behaviors but it is up to you to stay alert work on yourself and find ways to be better for yourself and others.
It wont be easy and somedays will be a struggle but the effort is all that matters, you can choose to be a fighter or a victim and you have been a victim your whole life due to lack of diagnosis and knowledge so now that we have both those things its time to be a fighter. We got this ‘a’.
We are in this journey together, this is my attempt at healing you Lowercase ‘a’.
I promise you life is beautiful once you let go of all the hurt and anger, youre validated on how you feel but now its time to let go, all the things that they did to you speaks to their character not yours… so it’s time to take back your power and let it all go.
There’s a whole life out there waiting on us to live it, let go of the past and come with me… I wont go forward with out you, work on yourself, let yourself heal and when youre ready I will be here to move forward to our future.
Forever you,
Love Uppercase ‘A’

Dear Unsealed,
Dear Vicki.
My version of myself was always to strive for the best.
As I used to feel I was left behind by the rest
So, I would strive to write and be good
Just like I thought I should
My younger brother was always trying to be the king
As I walk around the house singing
I attended nursing school
And I found out that it was cool
Learning about medicine and our bodies
I still felt like nobody
I then attended business school
To not be a fool
Flunked marketing class
Writing a thesis on shopping at thrift stores
For name brand clothes for less
My thesis was 10 pages long
My heart and soul bore
The truth
But my marketing professor said I was uncouth
And the thesis was supposed to be about expensive stores
And the better clothes to be found at a higher price
Of indulging into capitalism of the rich
A stitch
In time
I switched
To journalism
As an ism
Of fun
In the sun
Then I still wanted to study more
So not to be a bore
I learned makeup artistry
To work in the film industry
Then I studied graphic design
On the first MAC in its time
Then I was not satisfied with just that
So, I sat
In computer classes for years
With blood, sweat, and tears
Working in all my fields at once
Multi-tasking a bunch
I still felt like I wanted more
To not be bored
I now write
I now create art
I now try to bite the bullet
At 75
Of peace, truth, love, and understanding of life.
Still fighting with my younger brother
In love with the Heritage Foundation and all those fools
And their short male tools
Of huge egos and lies
Not enough was my attempt to fulfill my dreams in Hollywood
I have done so much 24/7
Now I’m tired of all that arguing with my brother
We took different paths in life
At 75 I still write about life and strife
Honesty and equality for all
So, the decision is made in the shade
Of my golden years
Of laughter and tears
Art is life
Life is art
My brother with all his religious degrees
Finally admitted he knew about religion
But not medicine
As all the laws from his precious heritage foundation
Are passed to kill healthcare and all that medicine holds true
I love my brother as a human being in his own light
Not to create a negative light
Upon this prose of sheer delight
As play with my toys and live in lollipop land
Of cookies and creams in those land
Of dreams that never stop
My dreams spit them out
As I sleep at night
Despite fighting or flight
My fight for justice
Is still in flight to fight again
Never enough!
Or is it?
It is enough to continue my fight for justice, equality, understanding, and love as a humanitarian.
I asked Microsoft Copilot about this letter.
“This document is a heartfelt letter addressed to a past version of oneself, expressing feelings of inadequacy and the journey of personal growth over time.
• Struggles with Self-Worth: The author reflects on their feelings of not being enough despite pursuing various educational paths and careers, including nursing, business, and journalism. They recount experiences that contributed to their sense of inadequacy, such as failing a marketing class and feeling overlooked in their pursuits. 1 2
• Embracing Art and Activism: As the author aged, they found solace in writing, creating art, and advocating for justice and equality. They acknowledge their ongoing struggles, particularly with family dynamics, but ultimately declare their commitment to fighting for humanitarian causes.”
Style guidance compliance is 100 percent by the Prowriting aid app.

allow me to wrap you in tailored wool,
sympathy soft against your tiny neck,
buttons gleaming with the understanding
of time and distance, and seams reinforced
by threads spun in defiance to self-pity.

Wear your resilience proudly, its woad-dyed blue
a calm stretch of sea amid the turbulence
of childhood when icy raindrops snaked
along your skin, under your clothes,
cryobranding your tenderness with filth.

Slide your hands deep into the open slant
of pockets lined with food coupons—
brown, purple, and green printed paper
staining fingers the rainbow of poverty—
and revel in the warmth this temporary tattoo brings

feel the cuffs migrate slowly up your forearm,
exposing secondhand-stained wrists to nature,
sun, wind, and rain neutralizing the eau de ashtray film
that’s suffocated every ivory pore since birth—
inhale the quintessential scent of bare self

as buttons strain against velvet butterfly wings
emerging from an amoxicillin-induced cocoon,
their flutter a rush of purpose and determination—
heat that radiates from navel to heart to mind,
incinerating any further need for outerwear

and when your molten eruptions kiss the froth,
igneous islands take shape, grow, flourish—
a spectacular view mirrored in tranquil seas
that flash with supersaturated horizon messages
letting you know, future to past, you’ve always been enough.

Style Score 100%

Dear Samantha,

I wanted to share some thoughts with you because I sense that you may be feeling inadequate. I know things have been tough since you lost your car, which has made it difficult for you to return to work. I’ve noticed that you are actively trying to find employment, but it seems that those around you may not fully understand that you receive a government check each month. This can complicate managing everything in your household while also obtaining the necessities you need.

It likely doesn’t help that when you run out of essentials and seek assistance, people often don’t realize that we wouldn’t ask for help if we didn’t genuinely need it. I know this situation has been overwhelming and stressful for you. I want you to understand that even though you’ve been the main provider, you shouldn’t feel like you’re not enough. You have the skills to navigate the daily challenges of survival, and that knowledge is what truly matters.

I understand it can become even more challenging when you reach out to friends and they ask questions like, “What’s going on? Why are you in this difficult situation? Why isn’t your family helping? Why isn’t your partner doing anything?” Hearing these questions can add to your stress, especially if you fear being judged when you explain your circumstances. While it can be hard to open up, sometimes it’s necessary to share your situation if you want people to help or listen, even though negative feedback can be disheartening.

I hope you know that despite feeling overwhelmed and like you’re not enough, that is not the case. You are enough. Even if it may seem like a small amount, you still have the main things that matter: you are alive, and that is important.

Take care:
Mrs.Anthony

Dear Me,

I see you.

Not just the smile you practiced in the mirror, or the silence you wore like armor—but you. The girl with trembling hands and a storm inside. The girl who learned too early how to pretend she was fine.

You did nothing wrong.
It wasn’t your fault.
You were never too much, or too broken, or too hard to love.

I know you tried to disappear—shrinking yourself to survive, apologizing just for existing. I know how heavy it felt to carry everyone else’s shame, while no one protected your truth. But listen to me now: you were always worth protecting.

One day, you’ll stop blaming yourself for what he did. One day, you’ll stop begging people to believe you—and start believing yourself. And that will change everything.

You will become the voice that never came to save you. You will write the words that once got you punished. You’ll break cycles with your bare hands and choose love without violence. You’ll build a life that’s safe.

And even on the hardest nights, when the past knocks loud and loud again, you’ll stay standing.

Because you are no longer surviving—you are becoming. And I am so proud of you.

With all the love you never got,
Me

About the Author
Skye Houle is a survivor, writer, and creator of The Secret Stationery Society. After years of silence, she found the courage to speak her truth and now empowers others to do the same. Her debut memoir, She Couldn’t—So I Did: Breaking the Bloodline of Silence, is a raw and powerful journey of healing, generational trauma, and becoming the protector she never had.

Dear Me,

I know right now it feels as if a thick grey fog has been placed over you, that everything is more grey, color starts fading, nothing looks the same, feels the same or will ever be the same again. Those are the thoughts I know you are having. First of all, I want to say how proud of you I am for powering through those thoughts. They are so very valid and so is your story. I want to promise you, the hard nights of work and dedication to heal and do and be better, all the blood sweat and tears you’ve put into not only remembering your story, but being able to speak about it is and will forever feel like your own retribution. Yes something really, really terrible happened to you but the growth you find after is so beautiful it brings me to tears. It is hard and it gets worse, sorry but that’s the truth. You will hit rock bottom, but your son will bring you back. Everything you do will become about getting better to be better for him. You didn’t remove yourselves from everything just to abandon him, no. You promised him that night you’d be home and you came home. There was a time I know how hard that burden was to carry but you can breathe now and truly be grateful to be alive. From the darkest of times comes life’s most beautiful moments. What if I told you that you not only got married, but you had a baby girl. The most beautiful piece of light you’ve ever created. Everything feels whole and right. You move to where the boys and baby have room to roam, in a town where the community actually cares and is tight and you might not have 100 friends but you have a few good ones. You have a beautiful family. You have your dreams, goals, values and worth for the first time and they’re actually yours! The dream is to be able to buy this place on an acre. It’s beautiful and you have chickens. Most importantly you feel the safest and most alive you’ve felt in your life. So much good came out of all that bad. Your life’s motto is to help others and to make a positive impact. Don’t ever give up because so many people look to you, your light gives a way for those who are in darkness to see. They tried to break you and you came back humble, strong and more full of light and love than you ever thought was possible. You not only found yourself but you became you.

Love,
3 years from now me

Hey you, yes you, the girl who used to hide,
Behind the fear she felt inside.
You stared at mirrors, the reflection uncomfortable.
You questioned why love felt so unreachable.

You thought your worth came from your size,
You counted flaws, ignored your eyes.
But even then, beneath that doubt,
The light in you was waiting to be let out.

You traced every flaw like a roadmap of pain,
Filling the silence with hopes made in vain.
Pushed kindness away, called it a bluff,
Never seeing that you were more than enough.

You were easy to love, but
The old wounds you carried
Built walls around hope
That your heart always buried.

The weight that was heavy finally fell to the floor,
But what you gained was so much more.
A stronger voice, a steadier breath,
A love that stayed, not one that left.

Picture this,
The year was 1996, she was a few months shy of turning 11 yrs old.
Starts at a new school. Unfamiliar faces.
As the days go on, the voices from these unfamiliar faces start to haunt her.
Awake and in her sleep.
These words grow more harsh & uglier.
As the days turn into months;
she keeps every word, every emotion, every feeling inside. Like a full bottle.
Putting the “privacy” sign up on her body.
Her bottle is like the one she keeps at home –
shut tight.
Trying to open up wasn’t taken lightly at home. Her supposedly safe place. She got shut down.Why she hibernates the words spoken of the unfamiliar voices every day.

Were you able to vision all of that?

Okay, here’s one –

It’s now the year 2025 & she is a grown woman whose almost turning 40.
She started taking care of herself at the age of 33. A month shy of turning 34.
She jumped on the therapy couch like Tom Cruise did on Oprah’s couch.
Yes, that high too.
She started to open that bottle cap twist by twist. Some days it hurt the palm of her hand. The lid being so tight to twist or turn.
This unfamiliar face wasn’t like what she was shown decades prior.
This unfamiliar face was someone she felt safe with. Someone who got her to reach mountain tops she didn’t know existed.
Hurt her to the core yet she’s never given up.

If there’s a journal entry this grown woman could write to the 11 yr old girl in 1996, it’d go as deep as this –

Brave, that’s what you are. Even when the world was ugly. When the human race was trying to knock you down. Trying to cover you up with such disgusting words.
Beautiful, inside and out.
Even when you were covered with such hatred from the outside noise. You stood your solid ground. You marched to your own beat – even when those footsteps burned.

I’m here to tell you, young girl, you did it!
We did it! We put our front foot forward & kept marching. Look how stunning it all came about?
Yes, there were hazard lights in your way, yet you pushed till you couldn’t push anymore.
Your time has come, little one. You can rest your feet. Rest your mind. Keep your head held high & not turning back every few seconds trying to dodge those bullets.
You can unclench your jaw & release your shoulders. I got it from here.
You are safe. Safe from unfamiliar faces & their way of reaching for your dreams.
I got you. And I’m not letting you go. I can’t.

To that 11 yr old little girl who walked life with a full bottle – dump that expired liquid out. There’s no room for such where we’re headed. Plastic bottles are not allowed. Glass bottles are dangerous.
I love you. Let’s go crush this thing called life with our voices loud. So loud, it sounds as if a siren is going off in the firehouse. You deserve it.

Did you envision all of that?

Such clarity it brought this grown woman whose reaching 40. Letting her younger self know she’s worth it – always has been worth it – was everything. Brought proudness to her heart.

Picture this,
It’s the year 2025 & she’s more relaxed than she could ever wish for – thanks to her grown woman whose reaching 40.

Until we meet again! ♡

Writing Score 100%

At Times, It Can Be Hard To Trust,
To Feel As Though You Are Not Enough.
Your Dreams, Like Ash, May Fall To Dust
When Faith In Self Feels Frail And Rough.
But Look Closely, Dear One,
At The Dawns Soft Light;
It Does Not Ask Permission To Glow.
The Sturdy Oak Stands Tall,
Never Doubting The Sway Of Windfall,
Or The Way That It’s Roots Will Grow.
You, Like Nature, Hold A Hidden Grace,
A Unique Brilliance, And Vibrant Hue.
No Mirror Can Truly Capture Your Essence,
Woven With Purpose, Strong And True.
More Than Enough, From Beginning To End,
Being Wonderfully And Powerfully You.

You know what’s wild? Looking back at your life and realizing you lived it… but didn’t really live it to the fullest. You showed up—sure. You were present—but only halfway. Like a fly on the wall, always watching everybody else be loud, bold, and free—completely themselves—while you stayed small. Silent. Only partially you. Afraid to move too much, in case somebody noticed… you.

The truth is, you were afraid of being fully yourself. The one who made corny jokes, who was goofy at times, and who loved dancing and singing—just being you, whatever that meant. You secretly wished you didn’t care what people thought or said. But you held that part of yourself in. You convinced yourself that being quiet was enough. That if you kept your head down, nobody would call you out. Nobody would call you corny, or say you were wrong, or laugh at you. You thought maybe being shy made you safe.

So you only spoke when spoken to. You didn’t take the opportunities to show who you really were—or the gifts God gave you. You thought shrinking yourself would make you more likable. Easier to love. You only offered the pieces of you that fit neatly into other people’s comfort zones.

But that didn’t make you more loved. It made you invisible. Possibly replaceable. It made you dim your light, little by little, until it got so dim you almost forgot what it was like to shine. Until one day, you woke up and couldn’t quite remember who you were.

There wasn’t even a moment you could pinpoint. No big traumatic event that made you shrink. You just always were… like that. Quiet. Careful. Observing. Maybe it was your default. Maybe it kept you safe. And in a world that often asks girls to be softer, gentler, easier to handle—you listened. You adjusted before you even realized you were adjusting.

Now here you are. Older. Wiser. Still unpacking that silence. Still trying to figure out how to show up in rooms you’ve been in your whole life—but never fully you in. And sometimes you catch yourself wondering: What if I had spoken up more? What if I hadn’t been afraid to be seen? What friendships might’ve grown? What passions might’ve blossomed? What would people say their memories of me were, if I was no longer here?

But then you remind yourself: That version of you did what she thought was best at the time. Maybe being fully yourself would’ve brought drama you weren’t ready for. Pain you couldn’t handle. So she let pieces of the real you show up only when it felt safe. When you felt seen by the right people. When love felt certain. Maybe she kept parts of you hidden because not everyone deserved to bask in your sunlight. Not everyone was meant to hold the full version of you. And that’s okay.

And that quiet girl, that shy girl? She was never broken. That meekness, that humble spirit—that was beautiful, too. She was always worthy. Just like you are now. She wasn’t “less than” for being reserved. She wasn’t wrong for hiding you from certain parts of the world. She was strong in her own way. And she will always be worthy. Not just when she opens up. Not just when she’s trying to fit in. Even when she is silent—she is enough.

At the end of the day, isn’t she still part of you?

So feel free to be either you—you choose in the moment. No more fly on the wall. No more watching life pass like it doesn’t belong to you. No more hiding your true self.

You are enough. Loud. Soft. Awkward. Powerful. Corny. Goofy. Shy. Bright. Whole. No matter which part of you shows up, every part is worthy. Every version of you deserves to shine.

This isn’t about becoming someone new. This is about coming home to who you’ve always been. About giving that inner girl—whichever part of you—room to move again. To laugh too loudly. To cry when needed. To be okay with being goofy or corny. To speak even when your voice shakes. To take up space because you were always meant to.

You did it just the other night—dancing in your room to one of your favorite songs. You were unbothered. Letting your body move freely, singing out loud no matter the tone. For the first time in a long time, you felt free. You felt like you. You caught your reflection in the mirror and smiled. You were there. Whole. Present. Seen.

Just be you—because you are worth it. You are finally here. Not halfway. Not hidden. But the whole you. And even if it’s the quiet version one day or the bold one the next—you are still you. Still worthy. Still enough.

And to the girl who thought being quiet was the only way to be safe:
I see you.
I love you.
But it’s our turn now.

I promise to let us live out loud.

Style score 79%