To my future self,
There you are. I see you. I’m genuinely amazed at how much you’ve achieved.
I’m the version of you that existed before everything changed. Before the heartbreak. Before the trauma. Before, you had to learn to breathe again through shattered lungs. I’m the you who used to numb everything just to make it through the day. The girl, who carried years of pain, pretended she was fine, when inside, she was screaming. You weren’t broken—you were surviving. You turned to drugs not because you were weak, but because you didn’t know how else to silence the pain that never seemed to end.
You were just trying to escape the weight. The memories. The guilt. The feeling of never being enough. The aching loneliness, even in a crowded room. I remember how you hated yourself for using, hated how it stole your spirit—but you didn’t know how else to function. You just wanted peace, even if it came at a cost.
And then… he came into your life. That man. That love. You didn’t expect someone to love you with a past like yours. But he did. He saw through the pain. He never judged you—he embraced every flaw, every scar. For once, you felt chosen. Worthy. Loved.
He didn’t just love you—he loved your kids. He became the father Adalynn had always prayed for. Their bond was so pure, so rare, so real. You watched her light up when he walked into the room, and you saw how her heart finally settled. He gave her something you couldn’t give on your own: a feeling of being fully protected. And Egypt—sweet, little Egypt—followed him everywhere, soaking up every second of his love. She adored him.
 Then that night came. July 15th.
The night that split your life into “before” and “after.” When he took his life in front of you, something inside you shattered. That moment is carved into your bones. You heard your own scream echo through the silence. You felt your knees hit the ground. You felt the air leave your lungs. That image—his final moment—haunts you. And in that moment, the old version of you wanted to die, too. To crawl back into the numbness. To disappear.
But you didn’t. You stayed.
You stayed for Adalynn and Egypt, even when getting out of bed felt impossible. You stayed through the panic attacks, through the flashbacks, through the nightmares. You stayed through the birthdays and holidays he missed. You held your babies while they cried for a father who wasn’t coming back, all while carrying your own unbearable grief.
You didn’t relapse. You wanted to. God, you wanted to. But you didn’t. You chose to heal. You chose therapy. You chose recovery. You chose you.
The Army and his trauma, the toxic beliefs he carried about manhood and weakness—they stole him from you. He thought asking for help made him less of a man. But it didn’t. It would’ve made him human. You would’ve carried that weight with him. You wanted to. But now, you carry it alone.
And yet here you are. Standing. Breathing. Living.
You are not the girl I used to be. You are stronger. You are raw and real and full of fire. You’ve turned your pain into power, your scars into stories. You are a mother who fights through the darkest grief and still finds ways to love deeper, harder, fuller.
I am in awe of you.
Keep going. You are becoming everything we always hoped we could be.
With all my heart, 
The Woman You Used to Be

Stylist score 80