Dear Little Me,

I remember you. Not just your face, but your silence. The way your shoulders curved forward like you were trying to disappear. The way your feet never felt grounded because you never knew which house you’d be sleeping in next. You never had your own bed. Your own room. Your own safe place to fall apart. You were always just visiting.

You learned how to shrink yourself, to stay polite, quiet, helpful. People loved how easy you were. “She’s so sweet.” “She’s so mature.” “She never causes trouble.” They thought they were complimenting you. But really, they were praising the pieces you hid. The hunger. The ache. The fear. The way you held your breath just to be allowed to stay.

I remember how carefully you folded the clothes that were never yours. How you picked through hand-me-downs hoping to find something that fit just right—not just your body, but your sense of worth. I remember when the school secretary would call you to the principal’s office, and there would be a black trash bag of donated clothes waiting for you. You’d smile, say thank you, then carry that bag back to class, pretending it didn’t burn in your chest like shame. Those clothes weren’t gifts. They were reminders that you had nothing of the your own. Not even dignity.

No one asked how that felt. No one noticed how you walked a little slower down the hall after. No one saw the way you held your tears until you got home—wherever “home” was that week.

You didn’t cry much. You didn’t scream. You didn’t ask for help. Not because you didn’t need it, but because somewhere along the way, you decided needing anything made you a burden. You were wrong, baby. But I know why you believed it.

You didn’t want toys. You didn’t want extra snacks or attention. You just wanted to be claimed. To be someone’s. To hear someone say, “You’re staying.” “You’re mine.” “You don’t have to earn it.”

But no one did.

So you learned how to survive without ever feeling safe.

You packed your sadness into silence. You smiled to keep from sobbing. You carried yourself through a childhood that didn’t carry you back. And through all of that—you still loved. Quietly. Deeply. Completely.

Now, I’m grown. I’m the woman you became. And I need you to hear me with everything you never got to say out loud: It was never your fault.

You were not unlovable. You were not too quiet. You were not a problem. You were a child who deserved to be kept, to be protected, to be cherished. You were worthy of a soft place to land.

You didn’t get that. But somehow, you still became it.

I have children now. And they have me. A mother who shows up. A mother who stays. I’m not perfect. I still carry your wounds. I still cry some nights when the house is quiet and I feel the ghost of your loneliness sitting beside me.

But every day, I choose differently. I give them what you never got. I wrap them in love that doesn’t leave. I tell them they are enough, not because they behave, but because they are.

They will never walk to the front office to pick up bags of clothes that whisper, “You have nothing.” They will never wonder if they’re wanted. They will never look into the mirror and ask if they matter. Because I stay. Because I hold them the way you needed to be held.

You didn’t get to be a child. But now, because of you, my children do.

You were the girl no one kept. But I became the woman who keeps everyone safe. You were the child who was forgotten. But now you live in a home built from your strength. A love made from your longing.

And I want you to know something that still makes my voice shake when I say it:

You made it.

I came back for you. I chose you. And I will never let you go.

Love always,  Me  The mother you needed.  The home you became.

Dry your eyes love,

We’re going to be fine,

Pack a bag for twenty years into time.

Say goodbye to those

Awful nights,

Lying awake

Too scared to breathe ,

Face in our tattered pillow, muffling out our screams.

Dreams of a better life

Still far away,

We will break a dozen more times

Before, we can laugh

And say ‘yeah I’m okay’

You were strong back then

despite her harsh words,

Razor blade kisses were never the answer,

but it was better than the burn,

In our core,

never being good enough,

Slammed on the floor,

We were always too fat, too stupid,

‘you’ll never amount to anything’

Hold on just awhile longer

Soon we will spread our wings.

Fear not little me,

It took us a while

To break open that crooked smile,

My God, it’s wild!

Just don’t give up

The sun will come out soon,

And all those hopes and promises

We imagined

Will come into full bloom.

Blossom, you will,

Like a dark phoenix

You’ll rise,

Rose from the ashes

Only dawn brings,

You’ll shine brighter

Than a thousand fallen stars

Yes, it was hard

Yes, it was rough

In the end,

We really were enough.

Dear Overthinker ,

I know you’re staring at that message again.

Still unopened. Still unanswered.

The blinking cursor is waiting as it always does, steady and patient, but you still don’t know what to say.

You’ve read those words more times than you want to admit.

You go over them, line by line, looking for hidden meaning. A shift in tone. A silence that speaks louder than anything said aloud.

Your thumb hovers. Your heart picks up speed. And then you back away.

Not because you don’t care, but because you’re terrified that whatever you say might be wrong or not good enough.

Something that seems so small to someone else feels massive to you. Because you’re scared that one wrong word might be all it takes to confirm what you’ve always feared.

That you’re not enough.

Your mind never stops.

It replays conversations, builds stories out of silence, creates meaning out of thin air because you’ve learned that pain doesn’t always come with a warning.

You overthink because you’re trying to protect yourself. Because you missed something once, and it hurt more than you knew you could handle.

Now you catch everything, hoping it’ll be different this time.

Wishing you won’t face abandonment again.

If you can get ahead of the pain, maybe then you’ll finally feel safe.

But even when nothing bad happens, you still feel like something is wrong. Like you’re the thing that’s wrong.

And all this overthinking, all this fear, it lives in your body.

Your chest stays tight. Your shoulders carry what no one sees. You toss and turn at night, running through a list of things you said, wondering which one made you too much.

You delete the texts. You rehearse the goodbyes. You shrink yourself into silence to avoid being seen the wrong way.

From the outside, it doesn’t look like anything at all.

People think you’re sensitive or dramatic or just too much.

They dismiss my worries by saying “you’re overthinking,” as if that’s helpful.

But they don’t know how long you’ve lived with the fear that if you mess up, you’ll be abandoned.

They don’t know that deep down, you still believe love is something you have to earn.

This doesn’t just show up in romantic moments.

It’s there in friendships, in family dinners, in moments that are supposed to be happy but feel like something could go wrong at any second.

You smile and laugh and still wonder if you’re annoying.

You feel joy and still question if it’s allowed.

Because a part of you is always waiting for the proof that you’re not enough. That youll messed up. That youll ruined it. Again.

So you perform.

You act calm. You try to be low-maintenance. You pretend you don’t care, even when you do.

Because if you don’t show how much it hurts, maybe they won’t leave.

If you act like you’re fine, maybe you can keep them from seeing how scared you really are.

But here’s the real question you can’t stop asking:

Am I still lovable if I stop pretending I’m okay?

You want to be okay. More than anything.

But you’re tired of carrying the weight of every silence, every maybe, every almost.

You’re tired of holding your breath just to be easy to love.

You’re tired of trying to earn your place.

And I need you to know this.

You don’t have to keep living like this.

You don’t have to carry all that fear just to be worthy.

You are allowed to want reassurance.

You are allowed to need clarity.

You are allowed to take up space, even when you feel unsure.

Your needs don’t make you unlovable.

Your questions don’t make you too much.

Maybe healing isn’t about becoming perfect.

Maybe it’s about learning to pause.

To notice when your mind is spiraling and meet it with gentleness.

To remember that not every silence is rejection.

Not every change means you failed.

Not every feeling of unworthiness is true.

You are not broken for feeling this way.

You are not weak for needing comfort.

You are not hard to love.

You are someone who has had to survive in a world that didn’t always make space for your heart, and you’ve made it this far anyway. That’s not a weakness. That’s strength.

You are still worthy, even when you’re struggling to believe it.

You are still lovable, even when your thoughts try to convince you otherwise.

Keep showing up. Keep feeling, even when it’s messy.

Keep allowing yourself to be seen, even when it’s scary.

You don’t have to earn love by being easy.

You deserve it just as you are.

With the gentleness you’ve always needed,

Me

As you continue reading through this letter, you’ll remember me, I promise. I want first to say I am so sorry, the reflection staring back, almost blurry, will soon begin to take shape, please bare with me. Although impossible, I wish I could have met you differently back then. I wish the strength that I now possess were so visible then. I always thought life for you back then could have been so much simpler if only I had taken the initiative and begun catering to the heart that you wanted to share with the world. Unfortunately, outside noises began taking the space of my own, which later expelled the love that I wanted you to have for yourself. I needed to put a stop to it somehow. But at that time, I wasn’t sure what direction to take to begin the much-needed transformation. I was hurting you, and I knew it. I thought that maybe if you had cut just a little deeper, you’d uncover something worth bragging about, something that would fill your soul, you know, overflow that cup of something that you so desperately were seeking within. It’s been a very long time, and there’s a possibility of this letter being returned to me. But if it does make its way to you, I’d like to explain.

All the times you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror, you’ve always seen yourself as someone different. You knew who you were and your capabilities, but the thought of being considered beautiful never came to mind. Knit picking on your features because you remembered in the 3rd grade that one person who made you feel less than, and you hated yourself for it. The glow of your dark skin was never a curse. I wanted so badly to let you know that at the time, what they said wasn’t true, but sadly, I believed them. This would later dictate the fate of your love for yourself. Please know your complexion was never a curse, you were blessed but the earth and kissed by the sun. I so wish I could have told you how beautiful you are. When you walk into rooms, it’s as if time freezes, because people are always anticipating your next move. Oh, and your smile, I can tell you if I could ever go back in time, I’d laugh so much that those big cheeks you have would hurt from the joy I knew you tried your best to hide. I wanted you to understand that you were never ugly; those words have no right to be in the same sentence that holds your name. There are so many things I have learned from the negativity that you’ve received then. Never allow people to project onto you the feelings they hold for themselves; their insecurities have nothing to do with the woman you were. It only shows that they refused to heal the parts of themselves that you were forced to hate. Deep down, I know you wanted to express to many how happy you were within yourself, but that was constantly shut down because of society’s favoritism for those who look nothing like you. Please know you were ALWAYS ENOUGH, always!

The way you looked was never a problem; your body was and will always be beautiful. The days you deprived yourself of food to be seen, gaining the approval of those around you who didn’t give a shit about your wellbeing but more so how you lack love for yourself made them feel more superior than you. I know time has passed, I’ve uncovered so much about you as the years went by, but I want you to know if I had the chance to choose again in that moment, I’d choose you all over again because you were always my first choice. Being seen doesn’t equal judgment. I want you to know I have sat amongst people who see me and have fallen in love. My fingers tend to move faster than my mind can sometimes comprehend, but as I cry while typing this letter to you, I need you to know that you’re a gem. Every room you’ve let fear dictate how you’d enter has been removed from its hinges. Your path had been paved and was just waiting for you to take that step to begin your journey. The light you’ve held within has been guiding so many on their journeys. There are so many things about you that I’ve admired, but most of all, I am happy you never gave up on yourself and you fought against the things that tried their best to hold you back.

Again, I know this letter may turn into a return to sender, because the address you once resided at is no longer listed. But wherever you may be, I will continue to wish the best for you! I love you!

Yours truly, with Love,
Gracelyn N. Morris

To the little girl
Who lives inside of me covered by the flesh of adulthood
Drowned out by the ruckus of the world around us

The brown beauty
With glimpses of heaven reflecting through her brown eyes
The one who never realized that she in fact did have more time

To the little girl
Whose heart was pure as snow
And nails were short and low

As they were the manifestation of your anxiousness
How it chipped away at your being
And you chipped away the bedding of your nails
Caused by the ripping of your teeth as if you were teething

I sometimes find myself grieving
For your underdeveloped broken bones
Softened soul
Bruised skin
Your long walks home

To that little girl
Did I ever tell you that I loved you?
Did I tell you that the inside of your palm can hold the world?
That factually speaking you are in fact a beautiful little girl.

You are not
Unloved
Unlovable
Nor are you a burden

You are loveable because God so loved the world
That is for certain

I write you this letter to express my love
With the mindset of a past and future hug

I say to you
Your tough skin and strength are not your personality
Your timid nature and softness are not the curse of your reality

Inside of our totality is our morality
Your experience is simply foreshadowing
The greatness that you will experience

You must stay just to see how good it gets
Little girl your world will turn and shift
Yet no matter how many times life attempts and hits

You are love
You are loved
You are the physical representation of the one above.

You are perfectly written
Evenly splitted
Loud and attentive
Quiet and submissive
Multi-dimensional

You spread love through a darkened world that is wicked
I say this to you
I want you to never forget it

I see you,
I hear you
I love you
I am you

I promise that you are never alone
Inside of me I provide a space as your home

To the little girl
Who lives inside of me covered by the flesh of adulthood
The girl whose drowned out by the ruckus of the world around us

The brown beauty
With glimpses of heaven reflecting through her brown eyes
The one who never realized that she in fact did have more time

Hi.
———————————————————————————————————-
I dedicated this piece of poetry to the child I was and the child that I am. Internally as beings we hold every experience that we have ever experienced. We are all simply mosaics. A mosaic is a pattern or image made of small regular or irregular pieces of colored stone, glass or ceramic. We are all the physical manifestation of the patterns and images made from the regular and irregular behaviors and beliefs of those around us. We are all products of our environments. Sometimes those environments destroy our self image, our light, our being.

That is what happened to the little girl who lived inside of me. That child felt inadequate and alone. Two things that were never true. So within time I aged and navigated this thing called life. Eventually while doing so I found myself fixing the broken pieces of who I am. I dedicated myself to a journey of self healing. The little girl I am unable to rid myself of deserved it. It was her God given destiny: Growth.

As a 22 year old woman, I wrote this poem to as a letter to the girl who felt she was never enough. As if her existence and presence on earth was a gift. A gift for herself and those she encountered. It’s a piece of acknowledgement to the part of me I can never rid myself of. As a 23 year old woman, I read this poem loudly and with pride. I know that all things that are good will come to me. As I am a child of God and all that is good comes from him.

This poem is a love letter to Jessie L. Bady. This poem is a love letter to Poetically Bel. This poem is a love letter to the mosaic that I am.

It pains me to say goodbye, but it is something I must do to live in my truth. The truth is
I never needed you, because I was strong on my own. I do want to thank you for helping
me realize just how strong I was. Thank you for showing me that doubt has no place in
our life. You help me to fly again. So, I will open my wings and fly free not only for you,
but everything you represent. I was always worthy. But I now realize that I was my worst
enemy. I stopped myself from believing that things were possible for me. I let fear hold
me back. It crippled me and kept me in a chokehold but no longer. I know what
I am capable of, and I am learning every day just how resilient I am. Goodbye to her, you are no
longer me and I am no longer you.

Dear Me-Who-Didn’t-Feel-Enough,
I wish I could tell you I’ve figured it all out—that somewhere along the way, the fear faded, the doubts disappeared, and I finally felt… enough.
Like I was doing it right. Like I belonged.
But I haven’t. Not really.
There are still days I look in the mirror and only see the flaws.
Still days when my best doesn’t feel even close to good enough.
When the house is a disaster.
When the kids eat nothing but boxed mac and cheese (again).
When I try to be the perfect mom, wife, daughter, human—and somehow manage to drop all the balls at once.
When the bills outnumber the dollars, the inbox stays full, and I seriously consider running away to live one a desert island in Tahiti with no Wi-Fi.
There are still moments when the silence after an interview feels like confirmation.
Still nights when I lie awake, picking apart every word I said that day.
Still that quiet voice that whispers, Maybe they’re just being nice. Maybe they don’t really mean it.
You thought you weren’t enough back then.
And honestly? Some days, I still do.
But I’m learning to believe that showing up is enough.
That boxed mac and cheese isn’t a moral failure.
That the mess doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong.
That love isn’t measured in perfectly folded laundry or homemade meals.
That trying—even tired and unsure and overwhelmed—still matters.
I’m starting to believe that I don’t have to earn rest.
That I don’t have to fix everything to be worthy of grace.
That maybe I’ve always been enough—flaws, doubts, and all.
So I keep going.
I love. I doubt. I cry. I try. I laugh. I dream. I show up anyway.
Maybe that’s what enough looks like.
Not perfect. Not polished. Not sure.
Just… here.
Still learning. Still trying. Still writing. Still breathing.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s more than enough.
Love,
Me-Who’s-Still-Becoming-Enough

I saw your voice that sang softly within me. The one that screamed out in the silence of your struggles. Taking the liberty to wait in the silence and slowly grow. You were as small as I remember back then, As I grew, you saw firsthand all the struggles ahead of us. You were fearful, and I knew that. You spoke softly, crossing your arms, unable to speak your truth. The one that made you shine. Even when you took everything to heart, no matter how small or fragile. You wanted to strive, forced to lead your life in constraints of peer pressure. Yet as the mind became cloudy within the voices of the past. You yearned for growth, expanding it year by year. The moon rising and shaping you as that light in endless night. You stood tall with the knowledge of your mistakes turned into passion. Searching tirelessly for your truth, having to vent countless nights, the same problems repeatedly. Burying your head between your pillow, crying softly, wishing you could have done more. From the fear that you couldn’t get along with your peers or your family. Sharing parts of yourself to as many people that you could a hold of. Bearing the burden of rejection because you spoke with happiness and you wanted to spread that same feeling to those around you. Sharing that same burden just like your favorite comic book heroes did, because you wanted change. Slowly, you leaned on others to support you, building the foundations up. As time went on, that knowledge slowly revealed itself to yourself. That child within you still held your hand along the way, looking through the same lens as you did. A smile placed upon you, bringing you closer to theirs. That I was that hope I needed all along. I was lonely, yet your voice kept telling me to not give up, to adapt just like you always have. Shredding the mold of your past to pave the way towards your hope. That sometimes, you going to freak out and you will feel lost. But guess what you are that guide, because you always, knew didn’t you. That I didn’t lose, I was my hope, that I was made to challenge the narrative. You grew as your mind did, latching onto it bit by bit. Trusting the process and staying on course. Where a consistent narrative drove you to live a life of comfort, but your mind opened to new possibilities. Curiosity challenged doubt and failure fueled perseverance. Forging the bond of two souls to build harmony.