Infinite Lifetimes Within One
I. On Living and Loss
I have been struggling to try to figure out how to heal, and I just realized I may have
known all along. Like I’ve always done it. I’ve done it again and again and again in my
life.
If I’ve had enough experiences in my life to last someone’s lifetime, then the gift is
receiving multiple lifetimes. To try again and live differently. I suppose that in itself is a
blessing. To have seen and felt means to have lived. And I have lived—not for long, but
in depth.
Self-actualization comes through time and experience, and I’m only 31. But I’ve
survived worse, much worse. And I can do it again.
II. On Humanity and Complexity
We all exist here on Earth to teach each other lessons—either through love or pain.
Humanity can only be so perfect. We can only hope to do so much, but only so much is
within our human grasp.
Our capacity to love is great, but so are the flaws that come with being human. The
lenses we look through, the experiences that shape us—these make us who we are,
and also make the mistakes we make. To accept humanity in its purest form is to accept
imperfection.
III. On Thought, Self, and the Static of Society
I sometimes feel quite alone in these thoughts. My friends and family aren’t always at
this level of comprehension. Most of what I reflect on is philosophical: societal
development, the human being, the coexistence of good and evil, of light and dark.
We live in a time where media overload overstimulates people into distraction. It
becomes hard to see through the static. People get lost. I still get lost. But I'm still
human—still flawed. Understanding, though, is better than not knowing at all.
To be the person you want to be means removing the noise and looking inward instead
of outward. Who are you when you are alone? When emotions rise and fall? When
nothing exists but your own particles and soul, what does it mean to exist then? Who
am I, if I am not defined by outside perspectives?
The greatest question remains the shortest: Why?

IV. On Immortality and the Nature of Change
People crave immortality, seek it, have always sought it. But what is the point of living
forever? As we live, the choices we make—our downfalls, our growth—these are
already signs of rebirth, over and over.
Why seek eternity when we are already gifted with infinite lives within one?
Is it better to sit forever in the face of fear, or to embrace the unknown and understand
life and darkness for what they are? Nature is not about to change for us—it is constant.
But we are the variable. We can grow, change, pursue. We can also slip, fall, and crave.
With every darkness comes light, and with light comes darkness. We live in a cycle of
change, because as nature is constant, and change is nature, change is constant.
V. On the Soul, Reality, and the Final Question
If reality was fractured, how many of us would still be whole? How many of us would still
be able to identify the self? Could you?
You can debate that consciousness is the identity to the self—but is it not dependent on
the bricks we’ve laid to build that consciousness within ourselves as we age?
Reality may be the veil that holds the fabric of existence together, but on a different
level—immeasurable to human science—is the soul still intact if reality no longer is? If it
is, who are we at base? If not, should the soul’s energy be a measurable quantity in this
world?
If I’m still asking, who are we at base?—perhaps it is the journey and the destination to
both have the question and have it unanswered. Perhaps the debate is to debate. To
question life is to live it. To question who we are and what life is without other static is to
clearly see the question, even if we never hold the answer.
But going back to the point of humans as a flawed creature—intelligent, however
flawed—the mind wanders forward, but it also wanders backward. It may never truly be
that this question can be answered, until we stop having experiences.
And perhaps then, the answer to life is, in fact:
Death.
VI. Closing Reflection
I am not searching for answers. I am living the questions. And that is enough for now.

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.

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 

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%)