Dear Self,

I know you have felt alone and unbalanced over the years, as if abandoned. I understand for I am you.

You were never alone in the world; I was there every step of the way. I could not talk to you for I was afraid you would not understand what I was dealing with. You have endured so much over the years. I am truly sorry for the departure that took place within each of you. I hid from you. It was not fair for your growth and the maturity of life.

My first one caused you years of physical and mental pain. I know you’re the most scared of all. I know you don’t understand, and you were too young to understand. I forgive you and I love you with all my heart.

For your protection, I created a barrier around you overtime. It was not fair to you. Your isolation resulted. Protecting you from further harm was necessary. I understand now. I hope you can forgive me someday in your future. My love, you are never alone. There is another here to hold your hand and you are safe with her. It is me, the one who understands the pain and the hardships. If you do not feel me in your presence. Please, there is another; she is older than you and she also understands the pain. She is safe like me, and she will be by your side. It’s OK to play. No one will hurt you and no one will touch you. It’s difficult, I know, and it may not make sense right now.

You have a playmate, and her name is Dawn, just like you. She’s fun-loving and has an outstanding personality, much like you. She will lead you and sit with you when you need time. See love, you are free to grow, and many love you.

I love you very much. I would not be alive today if it was not for you. We grew together and we will always be together. Please let us support you; many of us are here with heartfelt support. I love you so much.

Severe violations should not happen; It is to help you grow into the wonderful person who I know you are and that is me today. I love you for who you are, I know you.

Please remember love,when you see a tree, it is life you can climb it. Colors provide the beauty of life. The dirt under your feet is stability to run free. When you feel the wind against your face, your future is waiting to hold you close. When it gets too loud, it is people cheering you on to be better. See love, it is ok. You are free, be just you. You made it love, and I need you today to show me how to have fun today. Love you

Dear loading…

When did I feel like enough? I am trying to think of that time. I can not figure it out, because it does not exist. Everybody else is Enough. I see how great they are. Let’s make a list of who is enough.

Supermodel ✅
Teenagers not feeling significant✅
Senior feeling overlooking ✅
Women not feeling appreciated✅
Men working hard, trying their best✅
Me…Loading

I waiting to be completely loaded. When Enough is complete!

Signed,
Waiting for loading to complete

There are parts of my story I never thought I’d write.Not because I was ashamed of them but because they hurt too much to touch.
But healing, I’ve learned, asks us to stop running from the noise. And so I write. I lost my innocence before I even understood what it meant to be a child.
It was taken from me by someone who should have never been near me my mother’s boyfriend. And for too long, I carried that pain like a secret folded tight, tucked behind every smile, every silent nod of “I’m okay.”But I wasn’t okay. I was surviving. Day by day. Breath by breath. Until I learned that survival was not the same as living.
I became a mother at sixteen. Twice before I even walked across the high school graduation stage in 2005. People told me I’d never make it, that my life was over before it began. But I showed up anyway. For my kids. For my future. And I graduated on time.
The father of my children chose absence. So I chose presence.I chose to be the one who stayed up all night when they were sick.
The one who worked two jobs and still made it to parent-teacher conferences.The one who cried in the bathroom so my kids wouldn’t see and then wiped her face and kept going.I’ve been a single mom since I was sixteen years old. I’m 38 now, and I’m still standing.
My mother was a functional alcoholic always holding it together just enough in public, and unraveling behind closed doors. I grew up learning how to clean up emotional messes I didn’t make.
How to read moods like weather reports always forecasting the storm before it hit.But even then, I loved her. And that love taught me something powerful: That we are allowed to feel pain and still choose compassion.That we can forgive without forgetting. That we can heal without pretending it didn’t hurt.
It took me longer than most, but I graduated college. With kids, with trauma, with exhaustion in my bones but I did it. I kept my promise to myself. Because even when no one else believed in me, I was quietly planting roots.

And here’s what I want you to know:
Your story does not disqualify you from joy, from success, from peace.
Your scars are not signs of failure—they are proof of survival
You are not broken. You are becoming.

Yes, life hurt me.
But it didn’t end me.

I’ve learned to mother myself in all the ways I wasn’t mothered.
To speak to that little girl inside me with tenderness, to remind her she didn’t deserve what happened but she does deserve everything good that’s coming.

To anyone who’s ever felt like they were too far gone, too tired, too behind
You are not.
You are right on time
You are the hero of your own story.
And this? This is just the middle.
There is still joy ahead. Still laughter. Still magic waiting to meet you.
So keep writing.
Keep healing.
Keep becoming.

You are not your pain.
You are your power.

With all the love in my heart,
You.

Dear unforgettable,

You there. Hunched in the dark, chewing your fingers like regrets, hoping no one sees how hollow you feel. I know you. I wore you.
I bled through your eyes for years. The shadow of shame draped over you like revelations in scripture. Confessing not your sins but your lofty ambitions that will never see the day.

Let me tell you something no applause ever could, or that your father would never say since those days where he abandoned you and live with another . You were enough. Even when you lied. Even when you begged. Even when you waited for her to text back, like her attention was oxygen and you were underwater. Like you thought your father’s love was the unconditional truth that cheating for you signal of love. You thought love would save you, didn’t you? That if you were beautiful enough, clever enough, talented enough— that they would see you, name you, complete you.

But they was never your mirror.
And their validation was never your soul. I remember the nights you’d write something brilliant, then delete it because the voice in your head—the one trained by rejection, not reason—told you no one would care.
I remember when “artist” felt like a lie you wore to impress strangers who didn’t matter. Or who didn’t care for your expression of self.

You thought pain was your muse.
You thought being broken made you deep.
You thought your sadness was a virtue. But listen, Your sadness was a cocoon, not a home. A cleansing to perfect your self soothing reality that expectations from others was your own self-esteem breaking from your universe.

You wanted proof you were real.
So you gave your body. You silenced your needs. You sacrificed yourself on altars that weren’t worthy of your talents.

But I’m here to say— You made it out. Not because someone saved you. But because you stopped waiting to be saved. Because one day, deep in that pit, you realized that no woman, no praise, no poem was going to hand you your worth.

You had to forge it. With trembling hands.
With no audience. With silence as your witness. You are not a reaction. You are not an echo. You are not what they think of you, or what she didn’t say back. You are a creator.
A builder of worlds from ash. A voice that sings even when no one listens.

So now—stand up. Not because the world asked you to. Not because she finally texted back or your father came home.
But because you are still here. And that is enough.

With love.
The You Who Remembers

Maybe you were
Maybe you weren’t
Who’s to say?
Cause so were they

Feeling the same
Filled with shame,
Grief, disgust, unloved,
And all of the above

So who’s to say
When we’re all afraid

Dear Me,
(If I could write a letter to me… oh wait—you’re too young to know that Brad Paisley song. Never mind.)

Yes, you.
The girl who doesn’t think she looks good enough, sings well enough (even though, spoiler alert—you’ve got pipes), is too loud, too soft, too awkward, too everything.

This one’s for you.

Life’s gonna be hard.
And I don’t mean like algebra hard. I mean chewing-a-jawbreaker-while-stepping-on-a-Lego-in-the-dark kind of hard.
Like “how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?” hard—spoiler: you never find out because you will bite it.

You, my friend, are a mix between Bugs Bunny and a tea kettle. You’ll smile through absolute chaos, then suddenly pop your top, shriek “THIS IS NOT FAIR,” and stomp around like Yosemite Sam with steam coming out your ears—and honestly? That’s part of your charm.

You’ll feel like a lumpy chunk of coal, but guess what? Even lumpy coal turns into diamonds… eventually… after pressure, fire, and a few nervous breakdowns in the Taco Bell parking lot.

Your running? Still terrible. Truly. You run like a Galápagos turtle doing its taxes. But you do it anyway. And that counts for something.

In your 30s, girl—you start to thrive.
You go back to school (who knew brain cells could regenerate?), you write books, and you become a mom your daughter actually brags about. Yes, she’ll sass you. But she’ll also quote you like a tiny guru in sneakers.

And you know that voice you always worried was too loud?
Turns out, it’s exactly the right volume.
Because people need to hear it.
You’ll use that voice to speak up for grieving parents, for mothers with empty arms, for those wrestling with infertility and invisible grief. You’ll become a voice for the broken-hearted—and girl, you’ll carry it with grit and grace.

Now I won’t sugarcoat it:
You lose people you love.
You bury your son and your best friend in the same year.
You get fired for the first time in your life.
And yes, you do that “uphill both ways in the snow barefoot” thing… metaphorically… and occasionally literally because you forget to wear real shoes.

But you keep going.
You grieve. You break.
You rise like a dusty little phoenix with coffee breath and Walmart mascara. You wear your warrior scars with style.

And you don’t let it steal your joy.
You still laugh.
You still dance in the kitchen.
You still sing—not just loud and proud, but beautifully, boldly, and with purpose.

You’ll remember the warmth of the sun on your skin as you jumped on the trampoline, belting “Soak Up the Sun” like you were the headliner at your own backyard concert. (You were.)

So don’t rush it.
Let time do its weird little thing.
Let them laugh—because spoiler alert: they don’t matter anyway.

And you? You matter so, so much.
Even when you feel like you don’t.

With love,
The girl who still can’t run,
but finally knows her voice was her superpower all along.
– M.

You are always too critical of yourself! You have struggled with this your entire life! Throughout school and into adulthood, you were your harshest critic.You always believed yourself to be unintelligent, unattractive,and awkward. By age 50, I thought you would be done being so hard on yourself. But here you are, still listening to the negative voices telling you that you’re not enough.
You were always quiet, and afraid to speak out in front of people. You were called shy and backward, because you kept to yourself. You kept a small circle of close friends that you liked to laugh and joke around with, a group of people with similar interests and the same goofy sense of humor. You always liked people you could be yourself around. Even as an adult, you were called a misfit.
As you grew older, and gained more life experience, you learned to open your mouth more. You learned you had to stick up for yourself. You worked many jobs over the years, including a factory, fast food, retail, and healthcare.You took college courses, and several classes for advancement in your work place. You raised a family. You suffered many loses, you went through a separation and experienced the deaths of family members and friends, as well as had many wonderful experiences, and made many lovely memories.All the experiences helped you become the person you are today. You started opening your mouth, sticking up for yourself, and started loving the woman you were becoming. Your life has been full of goodness and love.
But now, here you are at 50, and even with all those experiences, you still, at times, struggle with negative voices telling you that you are not enough. The voice points out mistakes. It tells you everything you messed up, how you could have done things better, and you feel judged.
And now on your job you are struggling with the negative voices. Your healthcare experience spans almost 20 years,with CNA certification earned around 2 years ago.Every day you go into work and pour your heart and soul into your job. You try to do everything possible to take care of your residents, and to make them happy, safe and comfortable. Love and respect for your residents and their families keeps you coming back even though you feel overwhelmed, underappreciated, and burned out at times. You try to do the best job for your residents, always keeping in mind their needs. Sometimes you go home after a long shift, feeling exhausted, drained and feeling as if your work was insufficient, as if you could achieve more, or improve on the things you have done.Sometimes you go home and stand in the shower and cry, listening to the negative voices that tear you down.
One of the things you do to relax, release stress, and helps you feel better about your self is expressing yourself in writing, something you have always enjoyed, but unfortunately you let yourself get preoccupied with other pursuits and you put your writing on the back burner. Well now is the time to get back into it. Keep writing, keep expressing yourself, keep fighting the negative voices and keep moving forward and improving. Because you are good enough, you are worthy of good things, and something will come out of your writing!

Dear Past Self,

One day you are going to find that resilience is your best friend. You will see that in the darkest of days that no matter how much that light is not shining to you that God will help you along the way. Angels will be there to guide you along your journey. There will be many times when all you want to do is just give up. Yet, in this resiliency you will see dreams come true…dreams that you will accomplish because you understand that what does not kill you will make you stronger. Your life has not been easy. It is never supposed to be. Although life may seem easy, you will see how much bullying you can take and not take. Here is how you will know.

I know there were times when you felt like you were not good enough, and I remember the struggles you faced between 1997 and 1999. There were nine guys, and only four of them were true friends. The others made you feel small and humiliated you in front of everyone. I remember you playing front yard baseball, and when you said you were going to quit, they asked why, just so they could pick on you again the next day. I remember you riding your bike across the golf course, slamming it down and crying because it was all so hard to deal with.

I know that this will affect you in the deepest of ways. Time comes and time goes, but even where you face adversity there will be times that are fun that seem real to you. You will find out all along that those fun times you thought were good end up being toxic. Toxicity is common. It is common throughout this life in all aspects of so-called friends.

Even in fun moments, like playing ping pong, Jeopardy, or basketball, they still found ways to pick on you and make you feel less than normal. And even a year later, when you were watching a show, they found a way to spoil it and make it worse for you. I remember you going to the gas station, getting a bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and realizing that you wanted to leave that behind because they were never going to change.

You showed incredible strength by writing letters to each of those bullies. In both letters, you started with the words, “I forgive you.” One of them tried to justify his actions and share his opinions, and while you ended up connecting on social media, he never truly became a friend. The other bully laughed in your face, and you stood your ground, knowing he did not deserve a second chance. You let them both know that if they ever treated you poorly again, you would not hesitate to stand up for yourself.

In the midst of all of this, you never lost sight of your dreams. Years later, you tried out for a national dance show and made it to the top 38 out of a thousand dancers, fighting through three rounds to be on national TV. You also auditioned for a national singing show, making it to the top 300 out of three thousand singers, reaching the producer round and coming just one step away from being on TV.

Your journey did not stop there. You poured your heart into writing an inspirational book of reflections, a project that took 15 years to complete. In that book, you shared one of the most important lessons you learned: life is about how you face adversity, and we all have a choice to fall or rise. I hope that you soar.

Falling down is simple. Getting back up is strength. Rising to the occasion is paramount. Failure is one of life’s biggest lessons. You must fail to succeed. Success is many things. They talk about the journey and destination. You will realize that success is not measured by what you accomplished but by how far you have come to get there. You will then realize that success is measured not by the length of time it took you to get there but by seeing how much heart and passion has produced a glorious result through repeated effort and discipline.

Sooner than later, you will look back not at the failures that dragged you down and beat you down, but you will look at the things that helped you rise to success. Remember no matter how far you go in life that you will never stop learning about yourself and the people around you. Life is a gift, and you cannot waste it. Look at it as a present for a kid on Christmas day. You will finally see that resilience is your best friend. You will see that angels and God did guide you along your journey the entirety of your life.

So, hold your head high and know that you are worthy, you are strong, and you are destined for greatness. Your future self is proud of you, and I cannot wait for you to see all the amazing things you will achieve.

With all my love and compassion,
Your Future Self

You’ll Get There!

Dear Deb,
I’m not sure why you felt responsible for your parents’ incessant arguing. You were a kid and at that time, not considered fully human yet. You’d raise your head up from the pillow during the night, making sure to not miss a single shouted word. After all, what if one of them left in the middle of the night? What then?
You see, this was just how they communicated, but how were you to know? You were scared of what would happen if they got divorced. People got divorced all of the time . . . so it was a possibility. Where would we live? Could we still pay the bills? Debbie, you didn’t know that other couples argued about money . . . a lot!
Mom didn’t have a job. How would she get there? Husband’s had the family car, went to work, came home, demanded dinner on the table, and insisted on quiet! He needed to hear the news! “You kids shut up!” As the baby of the family, you were cheerful and had so much to say. When you forgot and talked again before the news was over, Dad pounded the table to get your attention. That was scary. You felt stupid and quieted right down. It wasn’t your fault, you were a little girl and forgot things.
Do you remember the rare occasions that you made Dad laugh or when he said something about you doing something good? You’ll need to think really hard, because it almost never happened . . . but when it did, it felt so good! It was a nice feeling right up until he got angry, scared, hungry, worried, or impatient. He could get really mad at his boss and co-workers. When we walked in front of the T.V. during a sporting event, it got really loud! Debbie, you were bright, compliant, and regardless of what you thought, a creative child.
Remember the times that you found a new art project to try? His first words were, “Whatcha making? A mess?” He really thought that was funny! His cynicism cracked him up! Sarcasm was a measure of intelligence, I guess.
Not to change the subject but, you always worried about being overweight. The energy and obsessive thoughts kept you awake at night. You seemed to correlate being thin with being attractive, appealing, smart and ambitious. You really weren’t less than, you were figuring it out. Being obsessed with food wasn’t your fault. Stuffing your mouth seemed to distract you from bad feelings.
Do you remember how you felt after a great big food binge? Your mouth tasted bad, your stomach gurgled, and that fat feeling! It rated right up there with hatred. Guess who you hated? I’m here to tell you that you were a worthy, bright, sensitive child who hadn’t found her voice quite yet. You hadn’t learned that discussing feelings you didn’t understand, or that made you feel uncomfortable, could actually help. There will be a time, young lady, that we (I mean you) will start speaking and may never shut up! Even if the nightly news is on! We will be “HEARD AND SEEN!” And furthermore, what you have to say is valuable to others and even to yourself.
So little one, please find someone to talk to, your mom loved you and would’ve listened, but she wouldn’t have understood. She just simply didn’t know another way. If she’d have understood, she probably wouldn’t have stayed married to your dad. She’d have told him that her voice counted, her opinion was valid, and that she expected him to help with the kids and even some “woman’s work.”
She’d have told him that even though she didn’t work outside of the home, she shouldn’t have had to grovel for spending money. She wouldn’t have tried skimming a few dollars extra from the grocery money. Or how about this? Maybe she would’ve reminded him (and even believed herself) that marriage should be a partnership. The bigger person or the one who hollered the loudest shouldn’t have fancied themselves the boss!
Debbie, you are so curious about how the world works and where you fit in. Be patient with yourself. Those yucky feelings are not dumb or shameful. You are more than enough! You will do amazing things!

Your Friend,
Deborah

Hey you,

It’s okay to slow down. To take a breath every now and then. Stop killing yourself to save someone who has no interest in saving you. And I know this is hard for you to understand right now.

But eventually, you will.

It’ll take a lot of trial and error. Sleepless nights with a tear-soaked pillow. And more heartache than you think you can survive.

But eventually, you will.

You and I both know that the little voice in the back of your head that tells you that you’re not enough- isn’t so little anymore. In fact, it’s so loud that you can’t hear anything else.

But eventually, you will.

You will wake up one day and realize your worth isn’t measured through the eyes of others. Nor can it be bought with good grades or their good graces.

You will look in the mirror and see a stranger. Beautiful, yet oddly familiar. She will look a little lost, too. Not knowing where to go from here.

But eventually, she will.

And that doesn’t mean it’ll be that easy. You will have to remind yourself every day. Sometimes more than once. Like on the days when his love is withheld. On the days when all of who you are is blurred by everything they tell you, you’ll never be.

And again, this won’t be easy. But you have to remind yourself. You are enough. You may not feel like it right now…

But eventually, you will.

For the you who saw worth only in the reflection of others’ eyes,

a fractured mirror reflecting back distorted expectations,

a performance played for an audience that never applauded,

a constant striving for a love that felt conditional, a love withdrawn

Finding yourself stranded on the barren shore of self-doubt.

I remember the whispers, the incessant, gnawing doubts

that burrowed beneath your skin,

insidious tendrils of insecurity choking the nascent blooms of hope.

Not good enough, they hissed, a chorus of condemnation,

Not worthy of love, of kindness, of belonging.

You are a burden, a nuisance.

The venom of self-hatred,

corroded your spirit, 

etching deep fissures in your self-esteem.

You saw flaws where others saw strength,

deficiencies where others saw potential,

a landscape of imperfections magnified under the harsh glare of self-criticism.

You were a prisoner in the fortress of your own mind,

the warden, the judge, the jury, and the executioner,

all rolled into one merciless entity.

You believed, with a chilling certainty, everyone you loved would leave,

affection was a fleeting mirage, a cruel trick of the light,

destined to vanish, leaving you abandoned in the aftermath.

You built walls of self-protection, brick by painful brick,

mortared with fear and reinforced with the conviction that vulnerability was weakness,

an invitation to abandonment, a guarantee of heartbreak.

The frantic scrambling to hold on to love, the desperate pleas,

the constant vigilance, anticipating the inevitable departure,

the exhaustion of fighting for a place in the hearts of those who seemed

determined to push you away.

The crushing realization that the battle was always one-sided,

you were the only soldier on the battlefield,

wielding a broken sword against an army of indifference.

The bitter truth that no one seemed willing to fight for you,

champion your cause, declare your worth,

stand in the breach and defend your right to exist,

to say, “You are enough. You matter. You are loved.”

The agonizing question that echoed in the silence of your soul:

Why am I not worth fighting for?

The crushing weight of feeling disposable, insignificant,

a transient presence in the lives of others, easily replaced, readily forgotten.

The sting of being used, manipulated, exploited,

a tool to be wielded, a vessel to be emptied,

discarded once the desired outcome was achieved.

The hollow echo of empty promises, the charade of affection,

the cold realization that you were nothing more than a means to an end,

a stepping stone on someone else’s path to happiness,

your own well-being sacrificed at the altar of their self-interest.

The theft of childhood, innocence shattered,

trust betrayed by the very hands that should have nurtured and protected.

The world turned upside down, boundaries blurred,

the safe haven transformed into a battleground,

where love was a weapon and vulnerability a fatal flaw.

Your father, the architect of so much pain,

the source of so much fear,

the sculptor of your deepest insecurities.

His actions, words, very presence,

a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy,

a relentless assault on your self-esteem,

leaving you fractured, struggling to piece yourself back together.

The silence imposed, voice suppressed,

the truth buried deep beneath layers of shame and guilt.

Being invisible, unheard, unseen,

haunting the edges of your own life.

The anger simmering beneath the surface,

a volcano waiting to erupt,

a righteous rage that threatened to consume you.

But you survived. You endured. You persevered.

Against all odds, against all expectations,

you clawed your way out of the darkness,

emerging scarred but also stronger, more resilient,

more determined than ever to reclaim your voice,

to reclaim your life.

The silence ends now. Your voice will be heard.

The truth will be spoken, loud and clear,

unapologetically, unequivocally.

Boundaries will be drawn, lines will be defined,

The walls will be rebuilt, but this time, they will protect, not imprison.

Stand up for yourself, for the girl you were,

for the woman you are becoming,

for anyone who has ever been silenced, abused, or marginalized.

Be the advocate, the defender, the champion,

the voice for the voiceless, the light in the darkness,

the safe haven for those who have nowhere else to turn.

Be the person you prayed for when you were a child,

the protector, the comforter, the unwavering source of love and support.

You will heal your own wounds by helping others heal theirs,

transforming your pain into purpose, your suffering into strength.

You are enough. You are worthy. You are loved.

Not because of what you do, but because of who you are.

You are a survivor, a warrior, a beacon of hope.

You are the author of your own story now,

and the ending will be one of triumph, of healing, of liberation.

This is your promise, your declaration, your unwavering truth.

You are, were, and always will be enough.

To the Child of trauma who became herself once again,
What were you thinking? When you stood there in the dark hovering in a multitude of trauma and tears and only found the courage to hide? Where was the fire that once filled your soul to push the boundaries of life? I only have questions for that beaten down creature of endangered spirit. If only you could have seen then where you would be now. God’s timing is all powerful and the time to pray was never more essential that in those moments of despair and fear. FEAR, the one word that rebellious free spirit never knew before the narcissist took over every cell of your being. To let another steal the essence of a life is unfathomable. To let someone overwhelm you to the point of exhaustion in every sense of the word is beyond all reason. But you did that to yourself. You gave them the power to beat you down. You were battered by life and let that crack in your armor break. You are so much more than that feeling, that enigma. Life is only for a short span and then it is gone. The light was shining in the dark that you let burn out is still an ember. Stoking that fire and breaking free of the stranglehold was possible, long before you let it happen. Never lose sight of that fire again. Never let the negatives outweigh the positive in your heart. Take the lessons of the past and push them aside into the hard fought wisdom of today.

Dearest love, I know your heart has ached and you’ve weathered storms alone. I see the way you shine your light, even when no one else would know. I love the way you stay so soft, and the way you bloom like a rose. Those stormy nights have only watered something deep that grows. No longer should you hide away, no longer letting worries stay. I see the parts that have lain dormant, a whisper of the soul. I know your strength and feel the power that courses through your bones. It’s time to claim and accept the parts that once felt unknown. So embrace the joy, the blessings, and life that are a gift to you each day. Sink sweetly into the pocket of peace that comes when you let yourself play. Each moment you have a choice to feed that which you wish to grow, so tell me love, will you choose less or something else unknown? Even when things seem unclear, the choice of faith is there. Trusting in a path unknown, a higher path is sown. Let your wings spread, feel the sunshine, celebrate the space! Even when the clouds arrive, keep that beautiful smile on your face. The depths you have travelled to, many would remain. But you have seen the dark space and turned it into light. Your devotion to being whole will always be what’s right.

I am a man that has seen much change. I use to be a retail manager. Now, I’m a writer. A writer on the road. A published writer. My first book, waiting review on Amazon.

I’ve seen many changes in my life. I’ve reflected on my own writings and have grown from the man I use to be. I faced many obstacles in my life. In front of me, tiles laid by God. One tile a day. One tile a day is all it takes for the changes to have happened. God continue to open doors and bless me with the opportunity to keep writing.

Many things have come and gone and I’ve been able to overcome these obstacles in my life. I developed a love for poetry. That love has blessed me. Hands from God that flow words onto paper. Words and paper that people will want to read. I have my first published book coming to Amazon and a partnership with a traditional publishing company. God continue to open doors and bles me with the opportunity to continue working as a published author.

I have seen a rework of myself. I have become an author, and I have left the industry of retail. Many challenges and obstacles have come my way as a writer on the road. I have been able to overcome many of them. This life isn’t easy. Transitional living. God continue to open doors and bless me with the opportunity to have my work in people’s hands.

I am a proud author despite the difficulties and struggles that I have faced. I never thought I could achieve the goal of becoming a published author and I have. I never thought I would leave the industry of retail but I have. I am good enough to change who I was.

I’m on the road Another tile placed by God.
A tile placed
I’m living on low inside my life a tile placed
Under my feet
Enjoying the days another tile
placed
Enjoying the nights my love
For writing
Reading is here
Writing
Poetry
Life. Poetry. Life.

Dear the girl who stood at the threshold of every room, unsure whether to enter or vanish,

You learned early that some kinds of strength are heard before they’re seen. The sharp rhythm of high heels on cold tile announced her arrival like a warning. You measured love in decibels, not hugs or softness, but how loudly she moved through the world while you tried to keep your footsteps quiet. You thought her click-clacks were the sound of everything you weren’t: bold, certain, essential.

You kept asking: how can someone so close feel so far? How can someone speak of love and never be there to translate it? You searched for signs in her absence—an untouched lunch, a bruised silence at the table, the way she never asked what you wrote in your diary but always paid the school bill on time. You didn’t understand yet that love, too, is a language. And she spoke it in currencies you hadn’t yet learned to count.

You were praised for being quiet, for folding into corners, for not needing much. But when you were hurt and no one said his name, you learned that silence has a cost. You thought that shrinking yourself might protect you from the shame that wrapped around your skin like smoke. You mistook survival for erasure.

Still, you noticed things others didn’t. The way someone’s silence held more warmth than their words. The way strangers cried freely in Hanoi, or how the women in Mai Chau wove stories into threads. You wanted to tell your own stories but didn’t trust your voice to be enough. So you listened. You watched. You built quiet sanctuaries where people could speak without fear of echo. And without realizing it, you were redrawing the shape of what it means to be strong.

For a long time, you saw her as a country you could never cross. She was firm where you were fluid, certain where you were questioning. But one day, she showed up to something you built—not with critique, but curiosity. And in her pause, you saw it: she had been watching, quietly proud, in a language of sacrifice and distance. Her love had never been absent. It had just been unfamiliar.

You once believed there were only two kinds of people: those who speak and those who listen. Those who fight and those who feel. But now you know: you are a borderland. You are both protest and prayer. Both wound and witness.

If I could reach you then, the girl trying to be loud enough to matter, I would whisper: you were never too soft. You were seismic. You just moved in a different register.

And that’s the version of strength that saved you.

With everything you didn’t yet know,

Dear House of Horrors,

You weren’t so terrible after all. Growing up mixed-race, in a community that doesn’t know how to perceive me, as one of seven children, knowing the pains of poverty, alcoholism, addiction, and seeing generational curses passed down first hand, your house of horrors provided a peculiar comfort to me. No child should have to witness what happens when murder plagues your family history, but I did. Through the yelling, the fights, the numerous police calls, and the sadness that plagued you, the house of horrors birthed something beautiful.

Mom and dad did the best they could, but distractions, taking care of my autistic and schizophrenic siblings, and my grandmother, who suffered dementia, chaos became known to me very early on. And I kept hearing the same things: blood is thicker than water, but when you grow up in the house of horrors of what is you, I’d rather be swimming in the coldest ocean than have to face what’s behind these doors. But still, you fed me, clothed me, allowed me space to pray, solace to write, to create, to become.

And I left you for a time, out into the world to New York City, where I sought out to follow my dreams, only to find myself broke, broken, and on the run, back in your house of horrors, filled with even more pain and suffering than I knew before. A sadness wrapped me up like a familiar blanket, because generational curses don’t end, unless they end with you.

So here I am, forgotten. Not knowing who I am anymore. Feeling as though I am withering away and slowly losing the memory of the powerful angelic tongues my mother prayed over me from in her womb, and throughout my childhood. The gifts I was given from the great holy mystery, which I know to be God, as a writer, as a poet, and as a dreamer. I was trapped in your dark, haunted, house of horrors, living my true life Shameless, so desperately wanting to be a character in Cheaper by the Dozen, but feeling left behind.

But then, he broke me. Or so I thought. And as I spoke the words to Yemaya, “I call all parts of myself back to myself”, my tower moment cracked me open. My world crumbled, and yet something beautiful happened in your house of horrors. I could see again. And as I took my blind fold off, I heard, maybe for the first time, the voice of God.

As I reconnected with Mother Earth and poured my healing cries into her soil, I looked at myself in my phone and saw her. I saw my beautiful smile, which is more than skin deep, and saw myself again. Her, teenage her, when the world felt lighter, laughing her, woman her.

She danced in the house of horrors and broken home, laughed and sang, jumped, twirled, played, wondered, prayed, and wished.

And she wrote again. I wrote again. I wrote when it didn’t make sense, and I write now because I know that living in the house of horrors wasn’t because I was abandoned or broken, it was my testimony. And now, at 31, as I venture off into new waters, in my golden year, I thank you, house of horrors. Not only am I more than enough, but I embody and embrace all of which makes me, me, in this lifetime, and all lifetimes to come.

So now, when I look in the mirror, I smile at the reflection because I recognize her again. Hello again, beautiful girl, beautiful me, beautiful you.

Dear young Rose,

I know it’s difficult for you going to school every day when all of your friends have turned on you because the popular kids are mean to you. I know it is embarrassing when you’re the only one who has no one to play with at recess and you have to sit on the cold step by yourself waiting for it to be over. It was even worse that other day when that boy thought it would be funny to kick a ball at your head. I know it hurt your feelings when the entire grade planned that kickball game and excluded only you intentionally. Kids can be so cruel!

I know you cry yourself to sleep at night with anxiety over what the next day will bring and secretly wish that your life could end so you would not have to feel tortured anymore. The other kids’ behavior is not a reflection on you or anything you have done wrong. It’s a sign of their own insecurities, showing what terrible people they are for picking on someone who doesn’t defend themselves. You’re a really extraordinary person, and those kids can’t see it because you hide who you are from everyone. They don’t understand you because you are different and their minds are too simple to be open-minded, so they reject you. It’s not your fault.

I know how lonely you feel when you go days without saying a word to anyone, not even family, because you feel like no one cares. You’ve always had me right there with you the whole time, and I’ll always be there for you. It may not seem like it, but I am always right there with you, loving you and providing hope that things will someday be better. I am the one telling you that those kids are wrong about you and they don’t know what they are talking about. I’ll always be there for you.
You’re a person who deserves respect just like everyone else. Nothing you could do or say would warrant mistreatment of any kind. It doesn’t matter how old you are or what skills you have. You are brilliant and funny. You’re kind and generous to others. You are strong enough to get through the rough start you’ve had to your life so far, which just shows how impressive you are. It’s incredibly unfair that you weren’t raised to know that you are precious and are worthy of love and attention.
One day, things will change for you. You’ll get tired of the poor treatment from those who aren’t capable of loving you right and you’ll distance yourself from them. You’ll learn how to set better standards for the people you want in your life and take down the walls that keep you from being vulnerable and authentic with others and you’ll let people in to love you. You will focus on the things that bring you joy and peace. You’ll learn to love yourself and take better care of yourself. You will have many people in your life who appreciate you and all of your gifts. Because of everything you endure now, you will be a kinder more understanding person of other people’s pain and your empathy for others will have no limits. The world is a better place because you are in it and you should never forget that.

Mirror, mirror
Locked inside
So deep
What do you see
When you look at me
Your only clouded
With your own self-defeat
Judging with the hate
You built for your own face
The answers you seek
When your questioning
Everything
Will never be true
Until you
Discover the truth
Mirror, mirror
Find the key within
Lies and deceit
Keep you trapped
In a cage
You’re simply stuck
In your head
Mirror, mirror
Don’t you see
I’m not your enemy
You perceive me to be
Look Closely
Its merely
Your own reflection
You are seeing

Dear young Me,
If this letter were meant for a mere stranger, I would ask how you are and what has been happening in your life. But I know the answers to those questions; I still remember standing in your shoes and the prayers that stayed unanswered, or the days you spend tearing at your skin trying to stretch yourself open and peek inside to find any familiar goodness and light within yourself, hoping to rip it out to offer as a plea and use it to justify yourself to God and your family, that you were still the little girl they knew, full of bright, dopey smiles, loud singing, and never-ending chatter. And when your heart, which was unburdened before things went wrong, was bigger than your mind and rationality, it was willing to love, show kindness, and acceptance to those around you, even if they were a mere stranger brought into your life with a heart full of love and a mind of naive hope to connect with them .i remember how You clung to how those around you acted, dissecting their speech, their reactions, and even their smiles, trying to replicate them as your own. I remembered how you’d fear slipping up and revealing your true self—the quirky, messy, and sometimes gross interests that captivated you.how our mind would overflow with questions, leading us to express thoughts that didn’t make sense to others, and make them question whether we were just a person like them, or an alien wearing human skin who would one day dissect them to understand and find the answers to the questions that would plague their mind,

Years and Birthdays have passed, and now I’ve turned twenty-two, yes, you read that right we made it to our its funny how, lifes moves pretty fast believe it or not and the days of questioning every molecule that made us up as a person, seeing the bits of family members we could acknowledge and recognize within ourselves, and hating how we could see the destructive anger, the pain, and struggle we saw in those close to us and mourning how our future would end up and how it was inevitable if we were still so young and yet felt so much about the world and how it was shaping us and im sorry that i couldnt understand what was going on with us ut merely trying to blame everything on being merely childish with our sensitivity, Looking back, I wish i could tell you that all those times you felt like an outsider, like you weren’t enough just by being you—those feelings didn’t just disappear even. But eventually, we’ll discover people who resonate with us. You’ll notice those with quirky hairstyles that clash most beautifully, or the girl next to you who immerses herself in a book about an unusual topic, diligently marking her favorite passages. You’ll meet the wonderfully weird friends who fit into your life like puzzle pieces, all questioning the norms, thinking outside the box of ‘normalcy.’ These are the people you’ll come to recognize yourself in, and they will transform your world. The movies, books and films that will resonate a little too deeply and youll find a connection to people youe never met but know so many more other people are voicing how they feel how they view the world and the people around them in the most ground breaking ways, where one may see as a film created to unerve the the audience, youll see it more deeply, Imagine a pocket world where you’re not the only bitter or sour berry in the bunch. In this space, you’ll feel a wave of acceptance and understanding—not just from yourself, but from others as well. And you need to be with those people You’ll hold your head up high, knowing that even if people cannot fully understand you, it’s not your job to be performative like a jester for the world around you and never apologive for you being you, Your only purpose for the rest of your life now is to love and indulge yourself fully in the life that surrounds you. We only live once, and we may neve know if we will have the chance to grow old and reflect on the things we regret or the life we wasted by keeping ourselves packaged up, so younger me keep struggling, keep fighting because the world only gets more colorful down the dark tunnel your in at the moment, and the people who are on the otherside love you. But until then, be gentle with yourself. Growing up will feel like breaking at first, but you’re not. I promise you’re only growing,
P.S. I love you now and always.

Oh dear, pardon me for the fear. It never belonged to you, nor suit you. Who told you to lose yourself in that mirror?
Frolicking in depths of question to a tier. Where did you meet the idea that you were only mere?
How could you marry the enemy? Still clinging to the possibility of being neither here or there… But yet you insisted to continue to borrow from that not so random place that made you insecure.
Forgive me for not acknowledging the facts, how you could be ethereal. Im glad you could surpass the gleaming in your eyes, for the other side.
it’s gorgeous when you learn not to lie.
you didn’t realize the goodness in the midst of your still dance was so sheer.
So my dear, apologies are near.