Dear Rose,
I know it’s dark. I know it’s scary. You are unsure of what the future holds.You’re only five, your earliest memories shouldn’t be like this. I have so much to tell you and you might not understand it all right now. You might even think I’m crazy. Please, just try to listen.

That horrible man will go away, eventually. Please hang on to your spirit. Mommy will get better. Please keep her laughing. Your brothers will soon be your friends. Please hold on to the fun times. You will get through this stuff.

Now I need to warn you……
You will fall in love, but your heart will get broken (a lot). You will get through school, but it will be very hard. Making friends will be easy, but you’ll lose most of them. The word dad will mean something, but not the way you think. You will go to therapy for help, but it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

But within those things…..
You will be with the man of your dreams. He will find you at the right moment. Your high school graduation is coming. You worked hard and earned it. You will have friends. The few who are true are the only ones you keep. Your dad is not blood, he is the carrier and protector of your heart. Therapy is hard and there’s no other way to put it. Ironically, that’s what makes it work.

So the answers to those questions in your little head right now are…….
His name is Domanic. Buckeye Community Highschool is where. Their names are Bri, Taylor, Caity, and Xah. You will have more than one counselor. You’re a mommy to a little boy. You have your very own home. You’re doing good. You have struggles.

All at the same time…
You are loved. You are strong. You are worthy. You are kind. You are the best version of yourself at the moment. I can’t wait to see all the rest of the versions we become.
Gently,
You at twenty-four <3
Style score- 100%

Dear Unsealed,
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
This is beginning of what I would tell my younger self.
I see you, Vicki.
You were shy at a young age, yet bold enough to run out in the front yard shirtless at three years old. Your mom was incredibly angry. You told her you didn’t have any titties yet. This seems that my personality carried me through life. At one moment, I am an empath introvert. Then the next moment you are writing protest songs and standing up for humanity with a pen and computer.
I see you, Vicki.
You were always drawing, writing, and playing music from a very immature age. You are still an empath. How has that worked out? You attracted narcissistic little boys. You went to college beginning in the 70s. You studied everything I could study. You began writing professionally again in 2023. I now see red flags in relationships. I have learned to love myself. You learned to set boundaries.
I see you, Vicki.
You were always a dreamer, hanging out with your imaginary friend, Teddy Bear, singing, and at times, you very depressed. Now, you know how to deal with your feelings by using critical thinking skills and the core values therapy your therapist sent you. I will tell my younger self, “Don’t be so boy crazy! Think expansively, go for the gusto in journalism and education, don’t let the narcissistic nuts get you down, and stay creative.”
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
I say to my younger self those core values my grandma taught me were my guide throughout my life. However, I didn’t always follow the advice given to me by my grandma Carrie Soleta.
I see you, Vicki.
You had so much faith as in the story about the grain of a mustard seed and that phrase your grandma taught you held you together throughout your life. The story about the “faith of a mustard seed” is found in the Bible, in Matthew 17:20. In this verse, Jesus tells His disciples that even faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains, emphasizing the incredible potential of even the tiniest amount of genuine faith. The mustard seed, known for being one of the smallest seeds, symbolizes how something so insignificant can grow into something powerful and transformative.
You were naïve, funny, and bold. You loved writing, art, music, and reading at an incredibly youthful age. You would sit for hours playing your piano and singing those blues from long ago. Leadbelly and Bessie smith were among your favorites. You grew up in a home full of music. You were taught to like all forms of music at a different age.
I see you, Vicki, in your music class in middle school at 14 years old. President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963, while riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas. It was a pivotal moment in U.S. history, leaving a lasting impact on the nation. That must have been such an emotional and unforgettable moment, Vicki. To go from the joy and rhythm of singing to the gravity of that announcement was a stark contrast that deepened the impact. Your immediate reaction was to burst out in tears spoke volumes about how much JFK meant to you and your family. His charisma and vision touched many, and it sounds like his loss felt deeply personal to you.
It’s extraordinary how those memories stay with you, etched in time. Vicki, I see you!
Another pivotal moment was your broken right ring finger. Your mom dropped you off at middle school one morning. She warned you not to go visit your boyfriend because if you did, she would find out. You stepped out of the car. As your mom drove off you waved, pretending to walk into the school. When she had turned the corner and was out of sight you turned around, walked down the steps of the school and hurried over to your boyfriend’s house. You hugged him and you guys laughed so hard about you sneaking off to his house. You looked at your watch. Oh no, you will be late for class. So, you ran to school, not aware of your surroundings, causing you to run into an open pickup door. You caught yourself with your right hand, only to discover you broke your right ring finger when you crashed into the door. You walked the half block to school crying your eyes out. When you got to the school to see the school nurse she called your mom. Your mom picked you up shortly after the call. You stepped into her car, “Mom, so sorry. Please don’t be mad. I hurt so much.” She replied, “I told you I would find out if you went to your boyfriends house.” You replied, “Mom, you didn’t have to wish it to hurt so much!”
You broke the same right ring finger at least four more times. You were 14 and clumsy.
I see you, Vicki.
That one day you disobeyed your mom was a year of one broken finger. You had major surgery on your squashed and very broken finger. The surgeons told you they wanted to use you as a guinea pig for a new operation. You had almost completely repaired your finger. They told you they had to cut a nerve to your brain from your right ring finger. They had no idea about the end results. So, for one year I learned to write with my left hand as my right ring finger was repaired and a cast applied so I wouldn’t break it again and protect it while it healed. You called it your right-hand boot.
You now know the result of your nerve severance of your right ring finger is more than likely the reason you hold your computer mouse upside down. There were no computers in 1964.
You drove your teachers nuts in graphic arts classes, but you managed to get them off your back by telling them to back off. You asked them if they had an issue with your work, so, they let you be.
You were way too boy crazy. You hired your neighbor to iron clothes on the day it was your turn to do your chores. Sue, your neighbor loved to iron and told you she needed money to buy a toy, you hired her for the next week. You got away with that for two months. I would sit on your parents’ bed reading musician magazines and playing music. I was supervising Sue. I shared my stipend with her. We were caught. I was grounded.
I tell you that it was very entrepreneurial. Of course, women were not considered in those terms in 1964. Women were 2nd class citizens in 1964.
One incredibly sad moment was in 1966. You were in high school. You dressed in bell bottoms and crop tops. You straightened your curly hair to look like Cher. You wore Indian moccasins to a party one night. Everyone welcomed you. You were given a beer, but you didn’t drink but you sipped it. The three football boys sitting on the sofa looked at the other two football boys in the room, and then they grabbed you yelling at you calling you an Indian squaw whore. They grabbed you, dragging you into the bedroom. They raped you one by one as they forced you to not move holding you down. You weighed 100 pounds at 16. The following Monday, you were stared at, called names. You were bullied throughout high school with Indian squaw whore. In the late 1960s women were 2nd class citizens. It was always the girl’s fault if they were raped. Men were told it was okay. That followed you throughout your life. You could not tell anyone. Now, I tell you at 16, men can be useless and mean, and their tools are nothing but their pee tools.
Your dad sent you to study nursing school in 1968. You graduated from an LVN program in 1969.
Another pivotal moment was beginning college in the 1970s. You could not wait to study everything. Pandoras box was opened, and you were Tinkerbell exploring all the merchandise. You studied Business and union management. Then you studied Journalism.
You flunked marketing because your thesis in business was about name brand clothing labels and how they were the best to buy. Your thesis was about shopping at thrift stores and buying name brand clothes that were name brand clothes but were half the price of Neiman Marcus. It was an exceedingly long thesis with descriptive adjectives, verbs, and nouns that sent your marketing professor into a rage. He gave me a grade of F minus. You switched to a journalism major. There was no Fox faux news back then.
You studied computers and makeup artistry in the 1980s. the 1980s were a trying time for you, you worked at the LA Times and for some reason you turned down the date with the rich guy and went on a date with a guy you had nothing in common with except sex. You were gullible and had way too many hormones. One night at the beach in the dude’s van and you thought you were in love. Despite the differences of cultures as you were from North Hollywood, and he was from South Central Los Angeles. You had two gorgeous babies that weighed ten pounds each. One was born in 1983. The other was born in 1987. You divorced the narcissistic South Central LA dude in 1989. It was a horrible divorce. He never forgave you and still holds grudges against you as he is a narcissist, liar, cheat, and now MAGA. So, how did we get together? He was a gun-loving fool, you were a flower child and political activist, and humanitarian. This has affected you even in old age, as he has tried to turn your grandchildren and sons against you as you stand today. The main lesson you learned from this unique relationship was that you did not go to work at the LA Times to get married or have babies. You love your two now grown men very much, but unfortunately the gun loving MAGA dad has more influence than your empath, creative personality. As he called you, weak and too caring. My oldest son told me I never did anything in my life because I don’t have money. He will ignore me until I make money with my art, writing, and music. His dad and his brother will find something else wrong with me when I make more money. So, you turned it over to God, because it’s too painful to execute your crying all day every day. Breath in, breathe out as the thorns on the stem of the rose hurt and bleed to the point, I had to search for the band aid to patch it up.
You married again, but this time a Yaqui and Chumash Native American dude. You divorced him because of domestic violence in April 2000. You now remember he went off his rocker and became extremely mentally ill as it was hereditary in his family.
You then became involved with an Italian dude named Barberini. He was much older than you. You followed him to Texas leaving your computer job which you would have retired with a good salary and benefits. You guys broke up. Then the Texas cowboy, a University of Texas political degreed narcissist whose boots were even orange. Then you guys broke up in 2016. The morning, he told you he saw demons upon waking up, and you saw angels, was the final day you ever saw him. Your friend picked you up and you spent the week with her before you left to go back to California.
You moved back to LA and kissed the ground when you stepped off Amtrak at Union Station.
Flying monkeys were everywhere as your ex-orange boots nutty mentally ill dude called all your friends.
You shed oceans of tears.
“The term “flying monkeys” in the context of a narcissistic breakup refers to individuals who, knowingly or unknowingly, aid the narcissist in their manipulative tactics. The phrase originates from The Wizard of Oz, where the Wicked Witch’s flying monkeys conducted her bidding. Similarly, in relationships, these “flying monkeys” might spread rumors, gaslight, or otherwise support the narcissist’s narrative.
Narcissists often recruit flying monkeys by playing the victim, using charm, or exploiting relationships. These individuals may genuinely believe they are helping or may be manipulated into taking the narcissist’s side. Their actions can amplify the emotional distress of the person targeted by the narcissist.
Understanding this dynamic can be crucial for healing and setting boundaries after a breakup.” ‘As per http://www.veywellmind.com’
This has happened to you with your family, your lovers, your marriages, and some of your fake friends.
You now have had a therapist since 2019.
I am now at 75, creating art, music, and writing again.
I will tell you about my younger self who did not know who you were as a human being for almost your whole life. You loved your teddy bear as your imaginary friend as a child. You have had dreams since birth that have come true. Your grandma Carrie visited you for ten years after she died. You covered up your feelings and scars by dancing on tables and sometimes drinking too much. You no longer drink nor dance on tables. You are learning you are a creative introvert with spurts of extrovert activities and then being a recluse as you are now okay with who you are. You are learning your boy craziness was absurd. Boys are just human beings and have severely damaged egos about whose tool is bigger than the next guy, it’s almost a comedy of errors except now our president is a narcissistic fool and the short tooled damaged ego dudes oversee America.
I have complex PTSD from too many narcissistic relationships and had a meltdown after the election. I spoke with the therapist two times a week for three weeks.
Women are 2nd class citizens again. Bigotry is rampant. My DNA is mixed with three African tribes, Irish, Kerry County, Ireland, London, Indios Mexico, Native American Choctaw, Mediterranean Italian and Spanish, Coptic Egyptian, Red Sea, Asian, and last, but not least, a human being.
You have learned you are a humanitarian, dreamer psychic, empath creative introvert, and to love yourself despite ugly men that have tried to make you into another person by belittling you and sending flying monkeys to your friends.
The final pivot in your life was getting old, excepting your white hair, and not chasing after men. Keep creating with all your music, writing, and art. You have health issues that include kidney disease, parathyroid disease, diverticulitis, and three old spinal fractures. Your diet is lactose free and gluten free except you can eat pan dulce and mozzarella cheese. Mozzarella cheese is from Italy and pan dulce from Spain/Mexico.
I would like to tell you other stories, but you have lived a long time. That’s for a future story.
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
Style Score85%
Style Guide Compliance92%
I EDITED THIS FOUR TIMES. I EDITED IT TWICE IN MICROSOFT WORD AND TWICE IN PRO WRITING AID. WHY DID I DO THIS BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT I DO. I THEN HAVE TO SAY TO MYSELF, “WHOA, VICKI, YOU GOT IT, CHILL!”

Old me would have a lot of judgement and criticism for current me to handle. Current me would have to sit her down and help her understand how things unfolded. She’d probably fall off her chair. I imagined old me sending a letter to current me and then turning up at the door.

Letter from a Former Self
Good morning, it’s been a minute.
I hope you are aware,
Those ideas you had were fine like china teacups-

What was that? Sit a minute? Sure. Maybe we can have a little tea;

Do you remember the time Mrs. Wright gifted us an entire set, with the blue flowers around the rim?

Do you still like teacups like that?

What color did we finally paint our kitchen?

Do you still like handmade toys and long walks with ice cream cones at the end?

Did we stay the course or bail on the grumpy hubby? Of course we stayed. How many prayers did it take? I can see something finally worked, you look content. So he must have stopped with the shoving and choking and all that.

What devotionals do we like lately?

How many languages do we speak these days?

Did the kids go to college?

Style score 100%

Between us
A few moments of silence would hang in the air.
The phrase

What happened to you?
Seeps into the corners of my mind.

I prefer to be alone.
Or at least I don’t mind being alone.
I don’t waste my time trying to please everyone.
Sure, I am still caught up in my feelings–
But I feel truer to who I am.
I have grown more cynical, less surprised by the cruelty of fate.
& I now prefer Guinness to a Bay Breeze.

Not everything has changed though, has it?
No, not quite.
I still get motion sickness on a hammock.
& love to watch sad movies.
Chase sunsets down country roads.
Turn to the lyrics of Billy Joel to fix my problems.
Drop anything to help anyone just because I can.
In this life, if we can’t help each other, then what do we really have?
I still long for the same person as I always have.
We would laugh–
How are you still not over them?
There are some people who are worth
Every spare thought
Forever.
Oh, how the hopeful romantic in me will always remain.
As will the sentiment:
That things will always get better.

—

ProWritingAid Style Score – 100%

Hello…. It’s been quite a while since you’ve heard from me… I know. I’ve just been kind of lying low. Sitting in the shadows, I guess you could say. Watching you grow into a new and better version of yourself each day. Yes, I’ve seen it all in your everyday life. All the good times, along with the struggles and strife. I didn’t want to interfere during your hard times and possibly make things, for you, worse, so I just sat back and watched you fight your battles, and yes, it truly did hurt.

So many times I wanted to visit you, but I couldn’t bring it upon myself to show. It took me a while trying to understand how and why you just up and let me go.

I questioned my entire existence and purpose in this world. I eventually realized that I am nothing more than just a foolish girl. It took me some time, but I eventually accepted and made peace with what was, is, and what will be. I understand now that our time together was meant to be brief. As I see you now with the new version of yourself… I want you to know that I’m proud of you and you too should be proud of yourself for so many things, but most importantly, for being you and no one else. You could have never gotten as far in life as you have to this day if you and I had never parted ways. I see that I was meant for you to grow and learn. I fulfilled my job duties… carrying them out, to the best of my abilities, full term. Swallowing the pill of letting you go is bittersweet, to say the least. It brings excruciating pain to know that we will never again meet. I will cross your mind from time to time… bringing different emotions for you to sort, process, and file. One thing is certain…. your thoughts, of me, will always leave you with a smile.

I know there will be times that you miss me just as much as I miss you, but don’t be sad, angry, or feel anything negative towards something you outgrew.

I happily watch you grow from the shadows of where I was left behind. It brings me such joy to see you grow… It gives me an immense sense of pride.

I just wanted to write and tell you these things… as this will be the last time that you hear from me. To be honest, though…. I will never be very far. I will always be a part of you. I will forever be the past you that you keep tucked away inside your heart.

(Style score 60%)

(Style Score 100%)

Dear Twenty Year Old,
You worry too much. Your worry comes from needing to control. The need to control comes from fear of not being enough. But you don’t know to break all that down yet. All you know is the uneasiness. That unsettled state. That uncomfortable churning of the insides called worry.

And because you invest so much of yourself in it, your worry will materialize.
Take for instance the worry that is consuming you right now. The worry about getting laid off from the job that you obsessed over and handpicked, after evaluating, analyzing, comparing, consulting.

That coveted, perfectly crafted job. You *are* going to lose that job. You are most definitely going to get laid off. Ironically, the actual moments leading up to and the moment you are walked out will pale compared to how it all seemed in your worriful imagination. The weeks that follow the lay off will be full of surprises, full of open doors and unexpected openings.

But with that experience, that grip fear has had on you loosens. That bind control puts you in, and your need to control softens. Worry comes undone.

Right now, if I could reach out and see you, I’d hold your face in my palms. I’d look into your eyes and say, enjoy this. Savor this experience of getting laid off. Enjoy the pay package you’ll receive. Take that and travel. It is like a month of paid vacation.

Toss worry into the wind and live with the freedom of knowing: all is always working out for you.

Love always,
-You, the fearless version.

April 16 2025

Stephanie Dotson

Talking to myself

Perception is everything.

What you are told isn’t always the truth, you trust the person not their words.

The abuse you see, and experience will NOT break you. You ARE enough!

Do not wait for someone else to do what needs to be done. You learn so much more about yourself when you do it will your own hands.

Eventually mammaw will pass. I know it terrifies you and keeps you awake. It is a part of life. She will give you everything you need to succeed.

You will have so many hardships, too many to discuss, but you will learn and inspire others with your love, faith, trust and your brilliant soul. You also don’t take yourself seriously, that’s a great thing! People who aren’t happy with their lives will pick on you because they want to fit in with the crowd. You will overcome the things you were called. You will surprise them all. You are a crowd of one and you are awesome!

M: Hey, kid!

KM: Hey…

M: How are you? You seem a little sad.

KM: I’m okay, life’s just life, ya’ know?

M: *nods* I know, life doesn’t stop being life though!

KM: …

M: Sometimes you’ll have ups and downs. Right now, you’re going through a lot. Sometimes you’ll set it down, carry it again, and set it down again. That “a lot” doesn’t ever truly stop being a lot. But that’s okay. You get stronger. You learn things. You keep going. Sometimes you rest.

KM: Thank you for that.

M: Of course! Anytime!

KM: You’re not doing too bad for us, you know? I’m glad we pulled through. Thank you for raising me. Maybe we can chat again sometime?

M: Yeah, maybe we can. I plan to, anyway. Even if you don’t always answer right away. I’ll keep in touch.

KM: Hey, uh, before you go…?

M: Yeah?

KM: How much more do we lose?

M: I can’t tell you everything, as there would be nothing left for you to learn. We lose a lot.

KM: …

M: But we also gain more than we lose. Keep your heartbeat strong, kid, for both of us. Our future will thank us.

KM: Hey, I’m glad you visit me. You’ve made a lot of progress. I know you didn’t believe in yourself, but how could you not? You’ve been through a lot… like UH LOT UH LOT. But you still have faith and hope in humans, you still love, and you’re still working for me, for them. Give yourself more credit. If I have to keep our heart strong, you have to give yourself credit where credit is due.

M: I’ll work on that.

KM: …

KM: You say that.

But mean it…

M: …

KM: Mean it…

M: I’ll try my best to give myself more credit. No promises.

KM: Sounds about right. See you around, bigger me. I love you.

M: I love you, too, little me. Thank you for waiting.

Your smile seems so real. How have we turned out? Do you still love her? Is she still your everything? Is mom still alive or are we talking to her ghost? I bet you’ve done something amazing with your life. Been better than I could ever imagine. Do your eyes still light up when thunder strikes? Or do you fear the way it booms like she did? Do you dress the same way, or have you chosen to be “normal” like the rest? Do you think you’re pretty?

My smile is genuine this time, not something to please others. We’ve turned out alright, but I’ve realized that 28 is still a child compared to how long I want to live. I still love her, and she loves us. Everyone knows now and I hope to call her my fiancée one day. She is my world.

Mom died last December, cancer like dad but so different I suppose. We don’t talk to her ghost much, not like how we did with dad. We miss him more, I think, then her, maybe because her death feels like a void that was already there. I’m actually a teacher; it’s hard work but I think I’m doing amazing at it. They make me smile. It’s not the life I thought I might have had, but I think that’s okay. I still love thunder and rain; It washes away the heaviness of my soul. It hasn’t rained the same in years. I miss it, like an old friend. I dress in what makes me happy which hasn’t changed much, but now I’m learning to love my body even it’s a hard thing to do. Normal is still overrated, but that’s okay, too. I have days were I catch myself in the mirror and I can’t believe this is me. I look beautiful and I’m glowing. There are days I feel like a gremlin and some I am just happy I have someone who loves me in every fashion.

My life continues and I’m glad you were apart of its journey.

Style score 82%

Dear Old Me,

Wow. If only you could see where you’re going. Where you are now is nothing compared to where you will be. You would never believe how much you—and your life—will change.

Things seem scary right now. You’ve lost more than you ever could have bargained for: your job, your spouse, your sense of self-worth. You have no idea who you are, what you want, or where you are going. You feel as though you have hit rock bottom and are crawling around in the dark, looking for something to grasp onto.

You reached the point where the only way was up. Fumbling in the darkness, you grasped onto hope, to the light up ahead. You looked toward faith and not your fears. No matter the hardships weighing like an anchor on your chest, you knew that there was more to your story.

I’m grateful you didn’t give up on yourself. I’m grateful you kept your faith despite feeling torn down. I’m grateful you chose the path of taking care of yourself and understanding the pain that hurt you, but has not defined you.

You are not your mistakes or your past hurts. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of second chances. You are worthy of great things.

You didn’t understand and perhaps never will, why you had to go through what you did. We often ask why, but the question to be asking is, “Where?”

Where am I being asked to go?

Where do I need to change?

Where do I need to trust?

Where do I have to let go?

Where do I need to set boundaries?

Where is my intuition leading me?

Where is my faith calling me?

There are many “where” questions you will ask yourself in this healing process, and in doing so, you will discover you have more strength than you ever knew.

The old you will be a distant memory, and pretty soon you will realize a new version of yourself that you will be proud of. And that is worth celebrating every single day.

Love,

New Me

Style Score: 82%

Dear younger Katrell,

Hey there, teenage Katrell! I really want to let you know a few things that can help you out with life. First and foremost, you’re going to be ok! You will not suffer from the loneliness you are feeling at this moment. But you will learn to forgive and heal from the hurt your parents put you through. It was not intentional. There are no handbooks on how to be a parent, so they are trying the best they know how. You will be ok, after you were touched as a toddler. We were only 4 years old; it wasn’t your fault. But with that being done to you, you will protect your own. Just make sure you learn from your mistakes and build that relationship with Christ. It’s installed in you. Go to Christ about everything and not humans, for they don’t have a handbook either on how life is supposed to go. We all are just going with what we see. It’s ok to take chances, though. That’s what makes you different from the rest. You love to take chances, but watch out! Don’t follow the crowd. Don’t listen to that friend, she’s lost, too. Pray before everything, and use your intuition. You will have some good and a lot of bad days, but you will see how God looks out for His/Her children. You don’t have to do anything to the ones that hurt you. Your angels will protect you. You will also need to understand this: that word, LOVE, people use it to get what they want out of you, so pay attention to their actions. Love doesn’t hurt. For Love encourages you to do better. Love is everything you read and your mother used to read to you in the Bible. Remember, “True Love Waits”. She gave that to us entering the 6th grade. Don’t let anyone show you differently. Now we went through life loving hard, and its gotten your heart broken by the most important people in your life. But here’s the good news! You’ll be just fine! No one, not even you, are perfect. But you are a splendid mother, as you always wanted to be. You are a great provider and protector of your children, and they love you deeply. You’re also a great friend, sister, and daughter. Everything you dream turns into reality, so keep dreaming. Don’t worry, God got us! No, you won’t be with your first love, not even your second. There’s a good chance that the 3rd one is a charm. That one became one of your bestest friends, so don’t think that the world is over when you have to let go of love. Love has always been important to us, and I finally figured out why. But it takes patience. A lot of it. We barely have that at your age, and even now it’s tough. When you want it, you want it right then and there. But that’s not how the universe works. It takes patience. So slow down, focus on your craft because you have a lot of it in you. Don’t rush it either. That’s where patience is so important. No one taught you that there’s more to life than love. I mean, yeah, that’s important, but you also need to focus on bettering your craft than about these boys, cause they are only distractions. You (we) wrote our first 2 books and we’re working on so many more. Remember, you love writing, so keep a journal. That will help you not to repeat the same cycle. As you grow up you lose alot of your loved ones along the way, so cherish them. Love on them hard and hear goes that word again, be patient with them. You are a very brave individual. You have overcame so much. Instead of running away from your issues, write through them. There are people depending on you. After losing your sister made you question why did she have to leave this earth? You got so mad at God and stopped going to Him/Her about your problems and things ended up very bad for you. That decision you made did not make anything better, you only got lost again but you never lost your faith and with that God let you see her one last time in your dreams and from then on you kept following your dreams. You have always been a go-getter so don’t stop and remember No distractions. Remember to also be kind. No matter what. People will take your kindness for weakness but don’t let them change you God have you to be. I love you with my entire soul but please don’t forget to stay focus, be patient and trust God. Those 3 will bring you success in everything you do.

Love Always,

Your older self.

style score 77%

This is the worst moment of your life. Within six months, your father left, the pandemic handed you jobless, and now you’re homeless after the fire and your fiancé left because of the stress. At this moment, you’re in your pajamas since that is all you escaped the flames in. I know you’re sorting through donated clothes in your piss-stained hotel room, trying to find something to wear to the gas station down the street. You’ve likely never felt so empty; expect a hard recovery. However, the promising news is that not only do you recover, but you also flourish. Su su.

First, I must bear the sad but semi-sweet news that you still do not talk to your father, or rather, he does not talk to you. Despite his continued public disapproval of you, you’ve found inner peace. Your life is not sinful, Katie, nor are you selfish. This has been a tense buildup no matter how well you performed; you could never be his perfect daughter. Now, you choose to surround yourself with so many loving people that his absence no longer bothers you, which sounds surreal, I’m sure. Su su.

Second, you’ll end up meeting a man here pretty soon, and boy, is he a piece of shit, but trust me on this. It will be stressful, and many tears shed, but even now, you hold no resentment as it matured you and increased your passions and rectified your morals. He’ll help you meet your husband; again, trust the process. Su su.

You also work in bridal now which you love and yes, it is almost identical to “Say Yes to the Dress” and you’re doing it in Los Angeles! Hundreds of gorgeous gowns surround you in your beautiful boutique, some are your own designs. Your apartment in LA is in a beautiful cozy spot, nothing too grand but better than the basement unit you were used to living in. Su su.

Oh, how could I forget! I almost did not mention, but you are now a professional actress and singer. Yes, your lifelong dream became fulfilled after you moved to the city for more opportunities. You started off modeling, which got your connections and headshots. Soon, you met your amazing voice coach, who helped you gain even more opportunities, and she helped guide you up to a more successful career. You also won an Emmy last year, big congratulations! Your award, from the PSWC (not nationals), is beside me as I type this. You just finished your role as Sandy in “Grease” and received three standing ovations. You possess brilliant talent, so please, do not stop singing and performing. Su su.

This life we live is great. We did not obtain the material sense of luxury, but what we have is more than priceless to us. Your life’s incredible sense of peace, considering all we’ve been through, is overwhelming to write about. You are very young, yet incredibly strong, and I just want to thank you for laying the foundation of who I now am. You are resilient, compassionate, kind, and deserving of unconditional love. I hope these words can provide some comfort to you as you rest, and trust me, there will be a reaping of what you have sowed. Su su.

(Style score: 100 percent)

Lil’ Lesa,

I found you in the cereal aisle. Curled up behind the forbidden—behind the Cheerios, the Frosted Flakes, the Fruit Loops. You had folded yourself into a ball. Only when I moved the cereal did I notice how tiny your body was, how fragmented. Your beating heart hurt, and your soft green eyes were half-mad.

You see me now—ten million miles from the promises we once made—and you think I’ve left you, too. That I’ve forgotten. Forgotten all the things that meant something. You think because I left those promises behind, I’ve become just like them. The inconsistent-parental figures who figured you were better off on the cereal shelf.

But you’d been hiding in that space long before the hurt. Before papa’s drunk-crazed eyes. You were so afraid he’d see you there—thumb in your mouth—and take, shake, rattle all the bones, spitting spattered matter into your face. His drunken-belted fist. It welted, swelled, and stayed. Then he’d make a scene, throwing cereal boxes and other things, saying, “Look what you made me do. Be appreciative that I threw that, tore that, made those—by doing that, I saved you!”

We ignored the lines he crossed—the promises, the relapses, the abuse. Until we couldn’t anymore. Now, I’m silent. I can’t bring myself to speak to him. I try not to care that he can’t move his body along the mountain line or fix the rusted ’67 Pontiac transmission. He crossed too many lines.

As a child, we learned not to move. Movement meant being seen. Stillness meant being forgotten. Momma taught us forgetting. She’d leave you there—not always on purpose, but always forgetting. Forgetting her promises to come back. We are still there, Lesa. Still afraid of being left in places we can’t leave.

When we became mothers, we feared losing our own children. We gripped their hands too tightly, tracked their steps, packed fear into their bodies, and marched them into a fictional battle. And now we watch their genes push them to run. I see it in them—the restlessness, the resistance. The echo of everything we never unlearned.

Underneath it all, we are still the scared child beneath the stairs, behind the book, under the floorboards. I tried to move my little self beyond the scared look. But you go running every time something is hard. Something frightens you, and you run. You used to pull my hand and wonder why my feet turned to concrete.

You said people like us don’t wait to see—we know what’s around the corner. We know that certain footfall. We can’t let them see us cry, never let them see us weep, because they use it as fuel for why they can rain more and take more. And I try to tell you: this time, it’s our children. And with them, they’ve taken my heart, my belief, my hope, my future, my happiness—and all my feelings have run off with them. But this time, I want to see. I don’t want to run.

And you used to pull my hand harder. “Don’t stay,” you said. “It only hurts more.”

But I want to stay. I want to believe this time is different. You don’t trust that, and I get it. I do. But I want you to know—this time, I’m not running.

You had moved an impenetrable part of me—one I forced into silence years ago. You were a figment of my reality, a small inconsequential entity sitting on a cereal shelf. I silenced you, convinced you didn’t matter.

But when I saw you there—thumb in your mouth—it reminded me of all our possibilities. I thought, maybe. Maybe I could love you whole. But you were the product of years and years of parental rejection. There is no easy replacement for that kind of ache.

Still, I kept going. On the cusp of something good—when hope flickered and love started to root—you quieted inside me. Part of you was proud. Proud of the life we’ve built. The stability. The safety. The strength. And yet, part of you was heartbroken. That in protecting our children, we taught them fear.

The doctors called it a blessing when they removed you from me. Said you must have had a defect. But I lost half of myself. There became two versions of me—one still laying silent on the operating table, holding onto you. The other, still sitting on the cereal shelf.

But listen closely, Lil’ Lesa.

You should be proud of me.

We never got everything right. But we broke cycles. We loved better. We’re still learning. Still showing up. And I’m not leaving you behind anymore.

I’m here. Still holding your hand—

Me
Prostyle score: 91

You still carry the moon on your back.
Do you remember?

That crescent—delicate, deliberate, inked into your left shoulderblade when you were still trying to believe in softness. People probably still assume it was for the aesthetic. For the symmetry. For the romance of the night. But no.

We got it because we didn’t feel whole.
We etched it there because something in us was always waxing, never quite arriving.
We needed proof that becoming could be permanent.

I wonder if it’s faded now. If time has thinned its edges, made the ink blur like memory. Or if someone has ever pressed their lips to it, slow and reverent—kissed it like a poem, breathed against it like scripture. If their lips lingered there not for beauty, but for belief.

I wonder if you’ve forgotten how we used to stand before the mirror, tracing that crescent like it was a spell—like if we followed its curve with steady fingers, we might summon the parts of us we hadn’t yet grown into. That little sliver of moon was the first thing we ever claimed when everything else—our voice, our wants, our right to take up space—still felt like someone else’s permission to give.

Do you remember the words we used to whisper like a secret between ribs, like a prayer we were afraid wouldn’t be answered?

“Don’t let this be all I am.”

We wrote it everywhere—in the margins of notebooks, within late-night drafts, between sighs we never let anyone hear. We moved through the world like half-drawn maps, ink bleeding at the corners, hoping someone might take the time to chart us. To name the mountains we carried, to find the oceans we kept quiet.
I kept thinking wholeness was waiting on the other side of becoming—after the right city, the right love, the right version of our body, or our laugh, or our name.

But you—you live in the after.
So tell me: what did wholeness turn out to be?

Was it loud, or did it hum beneath your skin like a lullaby?
Did it arrive like a thunderclap, or slip in quietly, like morning light across bare feet?
Did it demand your attention—or did it just… wait for you to notice?
Do you still chase things too hard?
Do you still replay moments in your head until the words feel holy?
Do you still ask the mirror if you’re enough?

I hope not.
I hope you ask for everything now—clearly, unafraid.
I hope you sleep like you deserve to be rested.
I hope you speak like the world was made to listen to your voice.
I hope your reflection greets you like a soulmate.

I wonder who you became when no one else was looking.
I wonder if you ever danced wildly and forgot to be self-conscious.
If the moon on your back finally made sense—not because it made you whole, but because you stopped needing to be.

And if you’re reading this—then I kept going.
Somewhere beneath your ribs, I’m still curled up and watching.
Still hoping. Still cheering you on. Still trying to become the kind of woman who makes the stars look twice.

Ink doesn’t lie.
That crescent?
She’s still mine. And now she’s yours.

With love,
Your old, half-lit self.

Style Score: 79%

Dear Younger me,
You don’t know it yet but you love life! You’re happy and healthy and living it to its fullest. Between concerts and music festivals you’re always doing something. And believe it or not, you’re not on any medications anymore! You took yourself off and never looked back. The thought of hurting yourself hasn’t even crossed your mind in I don’t even know how many months. I know life is scary and you’re so unsure right now, but please keep going. You’re going to be so happy you did.

Do you remember our first funeral?
How terror, unnatural poise, and a light blue dress
bound our fragmented shards
so tightly that they fused like plates of armor,
unyielding and permanent—
a mold to shape past, present, and future experiences?
Ones devoid of the therapeutic scent of lavender?
Yeah, me too.
And we still seek the warm hug of purple blossoms
underneath a smiling summer sun,
taunting us from breezes that cannot touch our skin,
and the reassurance in the face of overwhelming loss and upheaval
that we will be okay because we are loved.
And we are. Loved. Okay.
Despite being an unrecognizable lump of tarnished metal
electroplated and reforged too many times to count,
bits of funerary fabric adding a mosaic of color to the gray,
we are strong and beautiful like Vermont wildflowers—
a sea of scents swaying among long, emerald grasses,
infusing the wind that rushes from now to then
with a healing perfume that will cease to exist after we are gone
and leave him in a molten suit gasping for air.

Style Score: 100