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%)

Next time I stop to smell the flowers,
I will be sure to also tell them that I, too, bloom this time of year.
Though, it wasn’t always like this, you see.
I had to first learn that watering others before I water myself only causes me to wither.
And for years, I did not bloom because I only focused on “fixing” myself.
But would you dare look at a rose and tell it it’s not good enough?
That it needs to hurry?
Bloom faster?
Be better?
A flower has the luxury of being itself and blooming when it’s ready,
And one day, it dawned on me that I deserve that luxury, too.
I didn’t yet know that if a flower doesn’t bloom, you change its environment — not it.
And so, after many years and multiple moves, changed homes, changed climates,
changed jobs, changed relationships, changed air, water, and energy…I am in bloom.
And this is all to say that I am blooming because I finally feel safe enough to grow roots
and be myself,
And I know now that it was not my own doing but God’s pruning that made the
difference.
I am rooted, grounded, and growing each day,
And I know better now than to let just anyone pick me or enjoy my beauty.

(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.

Romance has finally blossomed.

I have spent my life admiring from afar and yearning. Watching people fall in and out of love, wondering when it would be my time to meet my person.

She was there the whole time. I just had to say something.

For a while, I felt hopeless, like I was trapped in a state of singularity. With failed attempts at relationships, the constant questioning of sexuality, and fear of heartbreak, experiencing love seemed like an impossible reality. A reality I had fantasized, something so glamorous it was unattainable.

Yet, she happened, and it made a lifetime of a wait worth it.

After months spent longing, dreaming, and wishing that she would reciprocate my feelings, when it happened, it felt impossible to digest. Overwhelming feelings of affection and disbelief seemed to wash over me. I could not comprehend how such a beautiful being would see me through the lens of attraction.

With shy glances at each other, gentle touches, and exchanged laughs, I have never known feelings like this before. When I think my heart has swelled to capacity, she makes it grow impossibly bigger.

We talk until the clock passes midnight, savoring each moment that we have with each other. I am grateful for the universe for allowing our paths to cross. The chances of us meeting were slim, and the chances of us reigniting were slimmer.

The little things swoon me. Reaching out to hold my hand. Gently kissing on my shoulders. Her small hands running through my hair. Every moment I’m with her feels like bliss. What I am saying is strong, but it is true. I feel so strongly about her.

Words cannot describe what it’s like being around her. All the time in the world would still not be enough for me to be with her. I have never craved someone’s presence so strongly. I want to crawl into her skin.

I used to fear accepting love, because I was so afraid of loss. But, her love I cannot decline. I give in to her and give into my infatuations. Because I cannot stop myself from falling for her.

It baffles me how often people fall in love. How can so many people experience feelings this strong? This feeling is so unique, so unlike anything that has happened to me before. Feelings so hypnotic, consuming, and wonderful. I want to ride the adrenaline forever.

The seed of romance has been buried, and finally watered. From the dirt grows a rose. A product of my affection for her.

Style Score: 77

Loss’s burden sometimes makes winter feel endless, spring’s warmth a forgotten memory.

But then I see my children—tiny buds reaching, even when the chill lingers—and I know life awakens.

They are the blossoms I nurture when my heart feels too brittle to bloom. Each giggle and soft embrace are a gentle reminder that beauty grows in unexpected places.

Within me, I carry the strength and love my mother once infused into my very being. Even in the depths of grief, a muted power whispers of growth, perseverance, and the passing on of the light I hold within.

You see, I may not be the radiant flower unfolding in full splendor, but I am the nourishing soil, the steady rain, the gentle earth, in which her legacy takes root.

My boys—they are her masterpieces; each one a fragile bloom stretching toward the sun, transforming my sorrow into the delicate fragrance of hope.

When shadows shroud my reflection, they turn, resilient and tender, toward the light that still warms our days. In every hushed moment, when a soft smile or shared secret fills the silence, I see her—a presence forever etched in the way they laugh, love, and live.

This is where my flowers grow.

Not in the bold fireworks of triumph, but in the tender, persistent unfolding of a love passed down from one generation to the next.

Through them, I discover that even in the long winter of loss, a gentle spring blooms—one that reminds me, no matter how weathered I may feel, there is always beauty nurtured by love.

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!

April 16, 2025 

Stephanie Dotson 

Spring Blooms 

Good evening to all reading this letter!  I like this challenge because it involves my favorite season, spring. 

It’s a little weird but I started a new journey in my life, due to my health. In October I retired from my school job.  It was difficult because for the first time in my life, I had truly found a purpose.  My grandma heart was filled every single day! It was an honor, and a dream come true.  The problem was how my health kept affecting my job and the anxiety of failure made things worse.  I had a great deal of support, but the symptoms would not be ignored. 

Fastforward to March 2025 and sitting on the front porch enjoying nature. You could hear the squirrels barking at each other because someone dared to invade its territory. The hummingbirds returning from their winter season in search of nectar.  They are quite thirsty and hungry. They are so very beautiful and one of my new jobs is making sure my feeders are clean and topped off. Each day passed and I just felt a stronger and ever growing need to go outside. Watching everything blooming and growing gave me such a sense of peace. 

I decided that I needed to grow something! A few years back we planted a garden.  It was so much fun but also infuriating.  We have a squirrel, I will call Tom, who made it a mission to steal our veggies. His family lives in a hollow cedar tree in our front yard. Our big boy green and red tomatoes in the garden were a sight for sore eyes. I looked each day to see their progress and dreamed of dashing a little salt on it and taking a big juicy bite! Poof, they started disappearing.  My husband caught Tom one day stealing our very last green tomato.  He said Tom had difficulty managing to handle the big tomato and maintain his footing at the top of the privacy fence.  The last my husband saw Tom; he and the tomato had fallen over the fence.  I think his eyes were bigger than his stomach. It’s so funny because this year we had a fence installed in our front yard.  Tom will occasionally start walking the fence and drop to his belly using his hands and feet to slide him along the top of the fence. That Tom squirrel is an action hero! 

We decided we were not taking any chances this year.  I used some hydroponic kits and currently have lovely herbs delighting my nose and senses inside my house.  The only concern now is keeping my cat summer from trying to eat the herbs. Spring to me is a time for growth.  I will grow, no matter what difficulties might arise, failure is not an option.  If there is a spirit in my heart and breath in my body, I will bloom this spring. 

Prowritingaid score is 68.

Like the birds crooning and warbling

My life’s in synchronicity

Rasing my vibration and sparkling

Opportunities arise viscerally

Realizations become crystal clear

Sharing love aglow

You persevere by facing fear

Love will always flow

Dear Survivors,
Silence can be a slow death. At least it was for me. As a young girl, I was told to keep our secret because he was the only one that loved me and who would care for me. I knew that what was happening to me when I was alone with him was not normal. Even at four and five years old, I was very aware that his actions toward me were not in line with what he preached about when he gave his sermons in front of our church each Sunday morning.
But psychological grooming can be even more cutting than the sexual abuse itself. The Reverand, otherwise known by me as Grandpa, convinced me that silence was the only path. And that God understood and forgave our secret.
My silence of what was happening first protected my grandfather when I was a child, and then as I got older it also protected me from the utter shame and disgust of what had been done to me.
Eventually my silence killed my trust, my voice, my motivation, my peace, and my ability to receive and give love. At times I thought that the silence was quite literally choking me out- that it would finally take me over completely and rob me of my last breath. I was a wilted flower, suffocated by my own silence.
I seemed to have it together on the outside but inside I was dying and no one knew it.
I spent my entire childhood and majority of adulthood being a people pleasing over achiever. I needed to control things because everything that I had ever known seemed so out of control.
I often felt like I was two people living in one body- the ugly and broken little girl with the dark secrets versus the overachieving perfect girl who would never let anyone down.
I was brave enough to confront him before he died. He dismissed my memories as I predicted he would, but it still felt righteous to confront him and see him squirm in his deluded victory over my spirit. It was still our little secret, but at least I had confronted him.
Even many years after his physical death I still continued to spend my life living in shame and hiding my truth from most people except closest friends.
In particular, I was afraid to tell my family- namely his wife, my step-grandmother. I carried the weight of this awful secret, thinking I could somehow protect her from finding out what a monster she had been married to for so long. I felt like if I told her, I would break her, and she would never speak to me again.
I promised myself that I would live in FULL AUTHENTICITY this year though and be done with trying to protect and please people. So on January 1, 2025, after fourty years of silence, I took the leep and I finally shared with her what had happened to me as a child.
I was so scared for fear of her being angry, hurt, or not believing me. And she reacted with all of the above.
But the most healing and beautiful thing happened in me being truly authentic and I breaking my lifetime of silence. I realized as I was speaking my truth to her, that her reaction and feelings did not actually matter to me any longer when I was truly being authentic to myself.
This was about ME. Somehow the words poured out like a field of truth.
And so began my first steps on the path of authenticity and healing out loud.
This was about setting free the little girl in me that had been buried for so long. I couldn’t save that little girl then- I let her petals wilt and nearly die-but now I was a phoenix and I would no longer be silenced.
So I used my truth as a torch to light a controlled burn to my forest of secrets- the truth could no longer hide in the shadow of silence because I burned the entire forest of lies and secrets to the ground with my fire of authenticity.
In this process, I planted seeds of truth to grow a garden of safety and authenticity built to bloom forever more- my garden of truth that I now share with you.
It’s frightening to be authentic and expose yourself but what we master and share in ourselves, we water to grow in others.
One little seed can start an entire garden of blooms, and this letter is another seed that I am planting.
Tell your truth.
And bloom on.

Authentically,
The Fiery Girl Who Finally Found Her Voice

Style Score- 98%

Life can be a bitch
But the reality of the storm
Can lead to growth
I trust that I am still learning
As my life is becoming
A wonderful garden
Fine tuning myself
Every step of the way
I am blossoming
Into the person I ultimately knew I could be
Living in my purpose:
Writing
Making all my words count
Sharing stories about my life,
Who am I,
Who I used to be,
All that I’ve been through
Allowing people to see me for me
Being vulnerable
And transparent
Making connections with others
Sharing one common goal:
Expressing ourselves through Poetry
I just love that for me
For us
I’m so glad to be a part of a community
That allows me to speak
Hearing my cries,
Hearing my laughs,
Seeing my tears,
Embracing me with hugs
And giving me cheers
As my words are heard near and far
I wish that they continue to
Motivate and inspire
‘Cause I’m truly living my dreams out loud!

What’s blossoming in my life is this bravery and confidence to feel to love. To not be afraid of how deeply I feel, how deeply I crave things, how deeply I desire things.
What’s blossoming is this new version of myself that is just becoming what I’m meant to be.
Becoming more real, more authentic, more in depth.
What’s blossoming is this confidence to just fully immerse myself in life. To immerse myself in my passions, to immerse myself in my fears, to immerse myself in everything.
To not let fear stop me.
I preach it all the time, “don’t let fear stop you don’t let fear get in the way” and yet, I sit here every single day and I do that same thing. I let fear stop me. I let fear, I let fear get in the way.

So what’s blossoming in my life right now is the confidence to say fuck that.
To just fucking feel.
To be who I am no matter how scary it is, no matter how fucking terrifying it is, no matter what goes wrong, no matter who doesn’t reciprocate, and just doing that because that’s what life is about. Life is about Experiencing. It’s about feeling, it’s about crying and fucking yelling and screaming and laughing and laying on the floor because you don’t even know what the fuck is going on, but you still keep going because it’s worth it. It’s worth living.
What’s blossoming in my life is this ability to feel that child like wonder and joy. It’s blossoming within me again and it feels really fucking good. And I’m so excited to see where this journey takes me and how far I can go and everything that comes my way, and the people that I impact, and the people that I can inspire, and the changes that I make for myself and those around me and those that are across the world. The impact that I make with my voice and my words and my confidence. The impact that I make from fully immersing myself in this bravery, in this experience of life, because it’s up to me to do that. I’m the only one who can live my life. I’m the only one who can share my gifts. So that’s what’s blossoming in my life.
The child like wonder to feel, enjoy, and experience everything, literally fucking everything, to its core to its deepest darkest depths because it’s so beautiful and I’m grateful for that.

Hello World,

Let me tell you a love story.

Love has this beautiful way of filling you up. When you are in love, there is energy, there is hope, there is joy and there is courage.

So, if she had offered me the whole world for a chance to love her again, I’d pick love.

The first few days of April, it felt like everything in Los Angeles was blossoming. But what blossomed for me was longing. I was counting the days until I’d see hernext. I knew she was traveling until April 5th, but what did that mean for us? When would we meet? Where would I see her? Would she be tired after her trip?

I had no answers.

These questions swirled through my mind the whole week, but on the 5th, these questions took a fever pitch. 

I bumped into her secretary that morning, and almost bared the ache in my heart. But would he understand this love? I am just one of the many stars in her orbit. How could he know that she was my center, my breath, my reason for being?

And so I stewed.

I knew I wouldn’t see her at breakfast that morning, because it seemed too early for her to get in. But still, my eyes scanned the crowd.

I was unsure I’d see her at lunch, because she would surely want to get some rest. And still, my heart hoped.

I stayed back after lunch to volunteer at the kitchen. I figured if I’d just stay put, then I’d definitely see her before the event at 7pm.

The hours ticked by, and the game of hide and seek continued.

All I needed was one glimpse of her smile. All I wanted was to soak up the radiance that her laughter brought to the room. But with each passing hour, the realization that maybe today wasn’t the day I’d see her started to sink in.

Perhaps, tomorrow. 

My heart, mind, ears, and eyes were starting to get tired. So even as I waited, I slipped into meditation.

And that’s when I heard her name. Bena. I’d repeated her name so many times today, that perhaps this was just an echo of that longing.

Bena.

I heard it again. My heart began to dance. My feet stirred even before my eyes could open, carrying me to the source of that sound. But I didn’t have to move an inch. Because all of a sudden, two strong, warm, bony hands cupped my shoulders, and I felt a soft kiss planted on my head. 

I didn’t want that moment to end. And so I stayed rooted. Eyes closed, skin tingling, love oozing from every pore.

All I wanted was to catch a glimpse of her. But she poured love as if she’d heard the anguish of my heart. I would wait for her another 100 years if it meant one more perfect moment like this.

I finally opened my eyes, and there she was. A towering perfection in white, with the most adoring smile, surrounded by a crowd. I was once more a star in her orbit.  

Forever yours,

Style Score: 57

To the lost, confused, defeated, and hopeless,
Let me be the reminder that if you tend to your garden- you too will blossom.
My garden went through a drought. Rotten roots and dead petals plagued my mind with fears and uncertainty.
It was a garden that I didn’t want to look at. A garden I was not proud of.
I wasn’t willing to get my hands dirty- ashamed of the dry deserted soil that would sting and crumble underneath my bare feet.
I caught myself falling into the ground and when I looked around there was nothing but darkness.
Body heavy, exhausted, and surrendering, I allowed my tears to pour.
Droplets of sparkling blue light melted into the surface and from the ground arose a beautiful, healthy, strong root – I made that.
Astonished by the scene, I began to cry more; following the root I began to rise again.
I walked through my garden, tears flowing creating a river that fed the dry bed I was once ashamed to look at.
The root climbed so high, creating thorns for me to climb – providing me with an aerial view of my entire, beautiful, garden.
Some spots are still dark, some roots are still rotten, but now I see green.
I see a pink hibiscus, I see a yellow daisy, I see a garden diverse and full of life.
A garden I am not intimidated to take care of – a garden that is evolving and growing.
And like this root I will rise and fall again.
For I will return to the soil, but the seed is already planted so that I may blossom again. And again.

Style Score: 64%

Dear World

From: Me

Subject: Blossoming When Lost in the Woods

I wish for peace and love to blossom inside myself. I strive to be like a doe in a field of flowers. The flora surrounding her does not envelop her, but stresses her already ethereal essence. The buds of the flowers are as eager to bloom as her doe eyes are to explore the depths of the forest in the distance. She isn’t scared of trees blotting out the sun and she holds the skill of navigating the darkness. The wind, carrying guiding messages, whispers to her on her path to the forest. She feels close to the birds, as she can jump high and appear light as a feather. Although, she never wishes to be a bird because jumping is her talent, and that is more than enough. The doe is carefree and wild, but the meadow inevitably ends, she gets lost in the woods, and life brings her to a crossroads and a blindingly bright light. 

I often feel like a doe in the headlights, paralyzed by the dawn of the unknown future. I can’t help worrying that the vehicle of my future will run me over. With this worry, instead of realizing the reasonable action to take is to cross the road, I stand frozen in fear at the possibility of danger.

I’m like a disoriented and shaken doe, trying to clear her mind and find her way back to the meadow. I try to listen to my keen senses, but to the point where I can’t even drink water at a pond without lifting my head to check my surroundings at every crack, patter, chirp, squeak, or rustle in the forest. A danger may be lurking in the trees and I don’t want to be caught off my guard. How I wish I could fly above these tall barriers.

I walk through the woods as the trees loom over me. I wish for the safety of my meadow and I wish I could know the right turns, but maybe I was always meant to get lost. Sometimes, the capacity of wishing gets to be a heavy weight to carry. I wish for the ability to never experience bewilderment, to go back in time and know my way.

My legs are sore from the endless walk to the way out of the woods. My belief that there will be an end dwindles, but I’m renewing my commitment to myself and I vow to not let wavering hopes get in my head and lead me to give up. I will keep trying to remind myself that trying and believing is enough. I might not literally have my flower field, but I always have it with me. I know that my dedication to showing myself love and to let love in is blossoming in my flower field, even when all seems to be drowned out by strong winds with presently indecipherable messages, even when petals blow away and end on “he loves me not”, and even when every noise in the woods sounds like some force coming to get me. Still, I keep going, keep picking myself up.

Nearing the point of total exhaustion, but keeping my head up as I continue to believe I will reach the end, I finally see a sliver of a soft, golden atmosphere on the horizon, lighting up little specks of color and a comforting blanket of bright green. I let this confirmation of the cycle of lost and found sink in as I reach the meadow and just start strolling slowly. I see the patch of budding red roses growing from the shine of a new romance. I’m struck by their already rich color, but if the color were to wrap me in its vibrance, I wouldn’t object. If the color does dim, even with my objection, other roses, maybe of an even richer red, will grow in the future. I see the daisies and daffodils: blank white pages waiting for me to write in them and my abundance of bright yellow ideas. Tulips have grown in my garden for as long as I remember and provide a familiar and comforting aroma. I don’t know the wildflowers by name, but maybe one day I will. I see the sprouting hydrangeas that are firmly rooted to the ground as long as they are watered and the sun shines down upon them. They seem to look brighter after I gaze upon them with a smile. I jump for joy, feeling ready to re-enter the forest after renewing my connection with what will always be there for me. I walk on, firmly believing in my inscribed ability to bloom once again. 

(Style Score 83%)

What is blooming in my Life?

As I sit down to write this, so many things run through my head. But the simplest and yet deepest answer is me.
I am blooming. My true self is finally peeking through. Before trauma, I was me. Me before the abuse. Me before I realized I wasn’t loved by the people I loved. I before the hurt. Me before the pain. Me before depression. Me before anxiety. It’s like my soul has gone home. I am secure in ways I never thought possible. The impostor syndrome is not as bad. I have more control over the things that I can control. I have locked in with my purpose. And I am coming out of the cocoon I have been hiding in for so long. Yes, I still have troubles, but the peace that is in my soul with the ebb and flow of life’s river is something I simply can’t fully explain. I am filled with gratitude, and I honor the Most High to the fullest because I realize now. That every death I experienced to get to this point, every pain, every ache, every heartbreak, was so worth it.
I look forward to the joys and pains of life because I am so much stronger than ever. Each experience allows me to go deeper within myself so I can then minister to people and help them heal. I don’t have to hide who I am or feel intimidated, and I am open to receiving the goodness of life.
I was so broken last year, and I suffered in silence.
I retreated into my old mindset for my final death. So, I guess I am blossoming into the person I was always afraid to be. But now I am not afraid. And I know that I am sacred and I understand how to honor all that I am without shrinking myself. So here is a poem I wrote that is the best way I can describe what is growing in my life…

Is she a phoenix?
Is she a flower?
Or is she a butterfly?
Or maybe she’s a bird?

Maybe she’s rain.
I know for sure
She reincarnates
Time and time again.
She evolves.

Maybe she is a volcano
Active, ready to erupt.
Destruction and rebirth
As her lava flows
Pruning and purifying
The Earth.

Maybe she’s
just a force of nature
Powerful but delicate
As a flower

She sprouts, grows
and blooms…
Maybe she is exactly
Who she knew she was
All along…

I love you. I hope your life is blossoming in ways. As unimaginable as I am!

Blossoming

In the hush of early morning, nature breathes.
A hush not of stillness, but becoming –
Naples Zen Garden grows with the dew-touched peace,
Each frangipani tree whispering soft hallelujahs
As their blooms uncurl, pale pink and sun-kissed,
Like Prayers answered slowly, but fully.

The soil speaks, and I have learned to listen.
Bright yellow zucchini blossoms beam upward
As if they know joy is their birthright.
Dainty white strawberry flowers nod with promise,
While the fruit remains green-
Patience dressed in velvet potential.

Purple lavender spikes reach upward
Like tiny incense sticks,
An offering to the God who met me
In the dark nights, and didn’t let go.
Even the tomatoes and peppers
Still wear the green of promise, not yet ripe but fully alive.

The crucifix tree is bearing fruit now – first time ever.
It took root in a year of global pandemic,
Grew into the shape of a cross
After the Vatican wrote to me,
Pope Francis, himself, praying
For my own father by name: Joseph Michael Finnegan

Thanking me for my book:
“What Does Your Garden Grow.”
That was then. This is Easter.
And now the cross gives life,
Now it bears fruit. A resurrection,
Not just of the tree, but of me.

The century plant has bloomed.
After all these years, decades maybe-
A silent witness to all I’ve endured.
Now rising with an 8 foot spike,
Like a giant asparagus spear,
Laughing in the wind.

It blossoms once in a lifetime,
Just like this moment of ours.

For years, it stood still,
Gathering strength unseen-
Just like I did
Carrying the memories and ache,
Tending to the broken
Awaiting my own spring.

And now I see:
The fruit on the crucifix tree,
The towering century plant,
The work at Urban Meditation blooming.
The roots I watered in faith
Are yielding blossoms.

The Princess of Freedom has awakened.
Her voice is rising like morning birdsong
On a new YouTube wind.
She sings of healing,
Of Truth without shame,
Of wellness and community.

One woman rebuilt
Her skin, her spirit, her scholarship funds
With Grace pressed from grief
And Joy born from Justice.
Everything blossoms in time,
and now it is mine.

Mine is not a flashy harvest
But a holy one.
The kind born in silence,
Nurtured through prayer,
Grown under the stars,
When no one was watching.

So I tend it still:
Each petal, each leaf, each story,
Because I know what blossoms
In the garden
Is never separate from what blossoms
In the soul.

And I will keep blossoming,
As long as I am free.

Dear World,
Love is blossoming within me. Despite the pain I’ve experienced in my lifetime, I am continually reminded that all that really matters is love. I’m continually reminded that we are all made of love and it truly makes the world go round, despite appearances.
Love began to truly blossom when I started fertilizing my inner garden and tilling the ground to grow love for myself. I realized that when I had stored and saved tokens of love from people through the years; I was doing so to prove to myself that I was loved. It really hit home; that I needed to work on self-love when hearing the phrase ‘I love you’ from a social media influencer hit me hard. I realized that I was starved for love and I needed to stop looking for it from the external world. Instead, I had to look within. It started with notes to myself, telling myself that I loved me. That sounds corny, but it impacted me profoundly to see those words every day, and to know that they were authentic.
Developing that self-love helped me establish and hold my boundaries. I knew I had grown when I found myself drawing lines in the sand where before I would have accommodated others at my own expense.
This may sound counterintuitive, but loving myself more also helped me to hold myself accountable in better ways. I’ve always been tough on myself–I don’t mean that I have negative self-talk, but I’ve always put pressure on myself to perform. It has helped me to be successful, but I’ve come to realize that the success has always been at a cost to myself. The stress I place myself under to perform has taken its toll on my body in different ways over the years; some subtle and some not so subtle. Loving myself has helped me to ask myself hard questions about my priorities and to hold myself accountable to ensure my actions are aligned with my priorities. Sometimes that means prioritizing rest and self-care and realizing when I’m pushing myself too hard. I’m learning to value times of non-productivity; I know now that they are the key to my creativity. Loving myself has meant learning to listen to my body more and trying to honor it and its needs instead of forcing it to push through things when it’s tired.
Loving myself has helped me to realize all the innate qualities that I possess that have helped me to be successful. I still have all those qualities and I don’t need to place pressure on myself to be successful. I don’t need to put pressure on myself because those traits will always be there. In learning to appreciate my strength, courage, determination, tenacity, creativity, I’ve realized that I need to honor those and other qualities about myself and that has meant prioritizing myself and committing to my relationship with myself before others. Of course, I slip up from time to time and resort to old patterns and habits, but I know I can always begin again and recommit to myself.
I often look back in time to compare where I was one year ago. This too, has helped me to love myself. I’m not someone who can easily see where I want to be five years from now; but when I look back, I can appreciate how much I’ve grown as a person. As long as I’m still learning and growing, I know the future is bright and I remain hopeful.
In learning to love myself, I have learned that I have developed a greater capacity to love others. It seems as if there is a never-ending supply of it and so I’m not afraid to give it freely by being kind to others in small ways every day. I don’t commit acts of kindness with an agenda or plan. But I’m always glad I do because I’ve found that on days when I need it most, that love comes back to me. On days where my heart hurts or is tired, those refractions of love help my heart to stay open. Those days also feed my hope. It really can be a never-ending cycle—if we let it. It’s not always easy, but it is always worth it.

Pro-Writing Aid Score: 76