allow me to wrap you in tailored wool,
sympathy soft against your tiny neck,
buttons gleaming with the understanding
of time and distance, and seams reinforced
by threads spun in defiance to self-pity.

Wear your resilience proudly, its woad-dyed blue
a calm stretch of sea amid the turbulence
of childhood when icy raindrops snaked
along your skin, under your clothes,
cryobranding your tenderness with filth.

Slide your hands deep into the open slant
of pockets lined with food coupons—
brown, purple, and green printed paper
staining fingers the rainbow of poverty—
and revel in the warmth this temporary tattoo brings

feel the cuffs migrate slowly up your forearm,
exposing secondhand-stained wrists to nature,
sun, wind, and rain neutralizing the eau de ashtray film
that’s suffocated every ivory pore since birth—
inhale the quintessential scent of bare self

as buttons strain against velvet butterfly wings
emerging from an amoxicillin-induced cocoon,
their flutter a rush of purpose and determination—
heat that radiates from navel to heart to mind,
incinerating any further need for outerwear

and when your molten eruptions kiss the froth,
igneous islands take shape, grow, flourish—
a spectacular view mirrored in tranquil seas
that flash with supersaturated horizon messages
letting you know, future to past, you’ve always been enough.

Style Score 100%

Dear Samantha,

I wanted to share some thoughts with you because I sense that you may be feeling inadequate. I know things have been tough since you lost your car, which has made it difficult for you to return to work. I’ve noticed that you are actively trying to find employment, but it seems that those around you may not fully understand that you receive a government check each month. This can complicate managing everything in your household while also obtaining the necessities you need.

It likely doesn’t help that when you run out of essentials and seek assistance, people often don’t realize that we wouldn’t ask for help if we didn’t genuinely need it. I know this situation has been overwhelming and stressful for you. I want you to understand that even though you’ve been the main provider, you shouldn’t feel like you’re not enough. You have the skills to navigate the daily challenges of survival, and that knowledge is what truly matters.

I understand it can become even more challenging when you reach out to friends and they ask questions like, “What’s going on? Why are you in this difficult situation? Why isn’t your family helping? Why isn’t your partner doing anything?” Hearing these questions can add to your stress, especially if you fear being judged when you explain your circumstances. While it can be hard to open up, sometimes it’s necessary to share your situation if you want people to help or listen, even though negative feedback can be disheartening.

I hope you know that despite feeling overwhelmed and like you’re not enough, that is not the case. You are enough. Even if it may seem like a small amount, you still have the main things that matter: you are alive, and that is important.

Take care:
Mrs.Anthony

Dear Me,

I see you.

Not just the smile you practiced in the mirror, or the silence you wore like armor—but you. The girl with trembling hands and a storm inside. The girl who learned too early how to pretend she was fine.

You did nothing wrong.
It wasn’t your fault.
You were never too much, or too broken, or too hard to love.

I know you tried to disappear—shrinking yourself to survive, apologizing just for existing. I know how heavy it felt to carry everyone else’s shame, while no one protected your truth. But listen to me now: you were always worth protecting.

One day, you’ll stop blaming yourself for what he did. One day, you’ll stop begging people to believe you—and start believing yourself. And that will change everything.

You will become the voice that never came to save you. You will write the words that once got you punished. You’ll break cycles with your bare hands and choose love without violence. You’ll build a life that’s safe.

And even on the hardest nights, when the past knocks loud and loud again, you’ll stay standing.

Because you are no longer surviving—you are becoming. And I am so proud of you.

With all the love you never got,
Me

About the Author
Skye Houle is a survivor, writer, and creator of The Secret Stationery Society. After years of silence, she found the courage to speak her truth and now empowers others to do the same. Her debut memoir, She Couldn’t—So I Did: Breaking the Bloodline of Silence, is a raw and powerful journey of healing, generational trauma, and becoming the protector she never had.

Dear Me,

I know right now it feels as if a thick grey fog has been placed over you, that everything is more grey, color starts fading, nothing looks the same, feels the same or will ever be the same again. Those are the thoughts I know you are having. First of all, I want to say how proud of you I am for powering through those thoughts. They are so very valid and so is your story. I want to promise you, the hard nights of work and dedication to heal and do and be better, all the blood sweat and tears you’ve put into not only remembering your story, but being able to speak about it is and will forever feel like your own retribution. Yes something really, really terrible happened to you but the growth you find after is so beautiful it brings me to tears. It is hard and it gets worse, sorry but that’s the truth. You will hit rock bottom, but your son will bring you back. Everything you do will become about getting better to be better for him. You didn’t remove yourselves from everything just to abandon him, no. You promised him that night you’d be home and you came home. There was a time I know how hard that burden was to carry but you can breathe now and truly be grateful to be alive. From the darkest of times comes life’s most beautiful moments. What if I told you that you not only got married, but you had a baby girl. The most beautiful piece of light you’ve ever created. Everything feels whole and right. You move to where the boys and baby have room to roam, in a town where the community actually cares and is tight and you might not have 100 friends but you have a few good ones. You have a beautiful family. You have your dreams, goals, values and worth for the first time and they’re actually yours! The dream is to be able to buy this place on an acre. It’s beautiful and you have chickens. Most importantly you feel the safest and most alive you’ve felt in your life. So much good came out of all that bad. Your life’s motto is to help others and to make a positive impact. Don’t ever give up because so many people look to you, your light gives a way for those who are in darkness to see. They tried to break you and you came back humble, strong and more full of light and love than you ever thought was possible. You not only found yourself but you became you.

Love,
3 years from now me

Hey you, yes you, the girl who used to hide,
Behind the fear she felt inside.
You stared at mirrors, the reflection uncomfortable.
You questioned why love felt so unreachable.

You thought your worth came from your size,
You counted flaws, ignored your eyes.
But even then, beneath that doubt,
The light in you was waiting to be let out.

You traced every flaw like a roadmap of pain,
Filling the silence with hopes made in vain.
Pushed kindness away, called it a bluff,
Never seeing that you were more than enough.

You were easy to love, but
The old wounds you carried
Built walls around hope
That your heart always buried.

The weight that was heavy finally fell to the floor,
But what you gained was so much more.
A stronger voice, a steadier breath,
A love that stayed, not one that left.

Picture this,
The year was 1996, she was a few months shy of turning 11 yrs old.
Starts at a new school. Unfamiliar faces.
As the days go on, the voices from these unfamiliar faces start to haunt her.
Awake and in her sleep.
These words grow more harsh & uglier.
As the days turn into months;
she keeps every word, every emotion, every feeling inside. Like a full bottle.
Putting the “privacy” sign up on her body.
Her bottle is like the one she keeps at home –
shut tight.
Trying to open up wasn’t taken lightly at home. Her supposedly safe place. She got shut down.Why she hibernates the words spoken of the unfamiliar voices every day.

Were you able to vision all of that?

Okay, here’s one –

It’s now the year 2025 & she is a grown woman whose almost turning 40.
She started taking care of herself at the age of 33. A month shy of turning 34.
She jumped on the therapy couch like Tom Cruise did on Oprah’s couch.
Yes, that high too.
She started to open that bottle cap twist by twist. Some days it hurt the palm of her hand. The lid being so tight to twist or turn.
This unfamiliar face wasn’t like what she was shown decades prior.
This unfamiliar face was someone she felt safe with. Someone who got her to reach mountain tops she didn’t know existed.
Hurt her to the core yet she’s never given up.

If there’s a journal entry this grown woman could write to the 11 yr old girl in 1996, it’d go as deep as this –

Brave, that’s what you are. Even when the world was ugly. When the human race was trying to knock you down. Trying to cover you up with such disgusting words.
Beautiful, inside and out.
Even when you were covered with such hatred from the outside noise. You stood your solid ground. You marched to your own beat – even when those footsteps burned.

I’m here to tell you, young girl, you did it!
We did it! We put our front foot forward & kept marching. Look how stunning it all came about?
Yes, there were hazard lights in your way, yet you pushed till you couldn’t push anymore.
Your time has come, little one. You can rest your feet. Rest your mind. Keep your head held high & not turning back every few seconds trying to dodge those bullets.
You can unclench your jaw & release your shoulders. I got it from here.
You are safe. Safe from unfamiliar faces & their way of reaching for your dreams.
I got you. And I’m not letting you go. I can’t.

To that 11 yr old little girl who walked life with a full bottle – dump that expired liquid out. There’s no room for such where we’re headed. Plastic bottles are not allowed. Glass bottles are dangerous.
I love you. Let’s go crush this thing called life with our voices loud. So loud, it sounds as if a siren is going off in the firehouse. You deserve it.

Did you envision all of that?

Such clarity it brought this grown woman whose reaching 40. Letting her younger self know she’s worth it – always has been worth it – was everything. Brought proudness to her heart.

Picture this,
It’s the year 2025 & she’s more relaxed than she could ever wish for – thanks to her grown woman whose reaching 40.

Until we meet again! ♡

Writing Score 100%

At Times, It Can Be Hard To Trust,
To Feel As Though You Are Not Enough.
Your Dreams, Like Ash, May Fall To Dust
When Faith In Self Feels Frail And Rough.
But Look Closely, Dear One,
At The Dawns Soft Light;
It Does Not Ask Permission To Glow.
The Sturdy Oak Stands Tall,
Never Doubting The Sway Of Windfall,
Or The Way That It’s Roots Will Grow.
You, Like Nature, Hold A Hidden Grace,
A Unique Brilliance, And Vibrant Hue.
No Mirror Can Truly Capture Your Essence,
Woven With Purpose, Strong And True.
More Than Enough, From Beginning To End,
Being Wonderfully And Powerfully You.

You know what’s wild? Looking back at your life and realizing you lived it… but didn’t really live it to the fullest. You showed up—sure. You were present—but only halfway. Like a fly on the wall, always watching everybody else be loud, bold, and free—completely themselves—while you stayed small. Silent. Only partially you. Afraid to move too much, in case somebody noticed… you.

The truth is, you were afraid of being fully yourself. The one who made corny jokes, who was goofy at times, and who loved dancing and singing—just being you, whatever that meant. You secretly wished you didn’t care what people thought or said. But you held that part of yourself in. You convinced yourself that being quiet was enough. That if you kept your head down, nobody would call you out. Nobody would call you corny, or say you were wrong, or laugh at you. You thought maybe being shy made you safe.

So you only spoke when spoken to. You didn’t take the opportunities to show who you really were—or the gifts God gave you. You thought shrinking yourself would make you more likable. Easier to love. You only offered the pieces of you that fit neatly into other people’s comfort zones.

But that didn’t make you more loved. It made you invisible. Possibly replaceable. It made you dim your light, little by little, until it got so dim you almost forgot what it was like to shine. Until one day, you woke up and couldn’t quite remember who you were.

There wasn’t even a moment you could pinpoint. No big traumatic event that made you shrink. You just always were… like that. Quiet. Careful. Observing. Maybe it was your default. Maybe it kept you safe. And in a world that often asks girls to be softer, gentler, easier to handle—you listened. You adjusted before you even realized you were adjusting.

Now here you are. Older. Wiser. Still unpacking that silence. Still trying to figure out how to show up in rooms you’ve been in your whole life—but never fully you in. And sometimes you catch yourself wondering: What if I had spoken up more? What if I hadn’t been afraid to be seen? What friendships might’ve grown? What passions might’ve blossomed? What would people say their memories of me were, if I was no longer here?

But then you remind yourself: That version of you did what she thought was best at the time. Maybe being fully yourself would’ve brought drama you weren’t ready for. Pain you couldn’t handle. So she let pieces of the real you show up only when it felt safe. When you felt seen by the right people. When love felt certain. Maybe she kept parts of you hidden because not everyone deserved to bask in your sunlight. Not everyone was meant to hold the full version of you. And that’s okay.

And that quiet girl, that shy girl? She was never broken. That meekness, that humble spirit—that was beautiful, too. She was always worthy. Just like you are now. She wasn’t “less than” for being reserved. She wasn’t wrong for hiding you from certain parts of the world. She was strong in her own way. And she will always be worthy. Not just when she opens up. Not just when she’s trying to fit in. Even when she is silent—she is enough.

At the end of the day, isn’t she still part of you?

So feel free to be either you—you choose in the moment. No more fly on the wall. No more watching life pass like it doesn’t belong to you. No more hiding your true self.

You are enough. Loud. Soft. Awkward. Powerful. Corny. Goofy. Shy. Bright. Whole. No matter which part of you shows up, every part is worthy. Every version of you deserves to shine.

This isn’t about becoming someone new. This is about coming home to who you’ve always been. About giving that inner girl—whichever part of you—room to move again. To laugh too loudly. To cry when needed. To be okay with being goofy or corny. To speak even when your voice shakes. To take up space because you were always meant to.

You did it just the other night—dancing in your room to one of your favorite songs. You were unbothered. Letting your body move freely, singing out loud no matter the tone. For the first time in a long time, you felt free. You felt like you. You caught your reflection in the mirror and smiled. You were there. Whole. Present. Seen.

Just be you—because you are worth it. You are finally here. Not halfway. Not hidden. But the whole you. And even if it’s the quiet version one day or the bold one the next—you are still you. Still worthy. Still enough.

And to the girl who thought being quiet was the only way to be safe:
I see you.
I love you.
But it’s our turn now.

I promise to let us live out loud.

Style score 79%