My life has been a rollercoaster of self-discovery and survival. From a young age, I never quite fit in. In school, I had friends, but I always felt like the outsider. They got the dates, the attention from boys, the spotlight. Me? I was just… there. Tall, skinny, with long hair and hand-me-down clothes, I came from a family that didn’t have much. My father was strict, even into my twenties, and our household lacked the freedom to explore or express who we were.

But the real challenge wasn’t just at home—it was the relentless bullying that shaped my self-image and, for a long time, my life. I was teased, mocked, and made to feel invisible or unworthy. And those scars followed me into adulthood. They left me questioning my value, my voice, and my right to take up space. They turned me into a people pleaser, someone willing to go above and beyond for others just to feel accepted—only to be used and discarded when my boundaries went unnoticed or ignored.

That need for acceptance shaped my choices in ways I couldn’t see at the time. I picked the wrong partners, made bad decisions, and ended up chasing validation from people who never had my best interests at heart. Even in the workplace, I sought belonging, only to be met with superficial acceptance that often turned into exploitation. The same patterns of feeling unseen and unvalued repeated themselves, leaving me struggling with depression, self-doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being misunderstood.

For years, I carried this weight, convinced it was mine to bear. I felt trapped in a cycle of trying to prove myself to people who had already made up their minds about me. But then, somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Now, in my forties, I’ve reached a turning point. I’ve had enough. I’ve realized that the reason I never fit in, the reason I was bullied and mistreated, wasn’t because I lacked something—it was because of my light, my aura, the favor God placed on my life. People weren’t pushing me down because I was weak; they were trying to dim the brightness they saw in me.

I came across a quote one day that struck me to my core: ‘Thieves don’t take from houses or stores that have no value.’ That’s when it clicked—I had value all along. That’s why I was targeted. That’s why I felt the weight of other people’s insecurities projected onto me.

Now, I understand that no amount of changing myself will ever make someone like me if they’re determined not to. And that’s okay. Their opinions don’t define me, and their insecurities aren’t mine to carry.

I’ve stopped shrinking myself for others. I’ve stopped trying to be the loudest voice in the room or bending myself into someone I’m not just to avoid rejection. I’ve embraced who I am—flaws, light, and all.

The journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it. I’ve learned to set boundaries, to value my own voice, and to love myself without needing outside validation. I’ve discovered the freedom that comes from knowing I am enough, just as I am.

For anyone reading this, who feels unseen, unworthy, or caught in the trap of trying to please everyone else—know this: You don’t need to change to fit someone else’s mold. You are valuable, and your light is worth protecting. The people who matter will see it, and those who don’t? They were never meant to stay in your story anyway.

Dear Kamala Harris:
I’ll begin by saying that this is not a letter about politics, we’ve all seen enough of that this year. This is more a letter of empowerment and hopes and dreams.
I met you, like most of the rest of the world, in 2021 when you were sworn in as the first black American South Asian female Vice President. You are seated as the highest ranking female official in U.S. history. That’s nothing to sneeze at.
When I sit and resonate about the steps it took you to get where you are, it blows my mind. Not only did you overcome being a female in a world dominated by men, but you rose to every challenge with grace, dignity and beauty. You never said it couldn’t be done, and you kept pushing.
This letter is brief. It’s just my way of showing gratitude to a woman who defied the odds, took the hits when they came and kept going. I admire your tenacity and grit, along with your grace and beauty. You’re the “complete package.”
Thank you, Kamila, for being an inspiration for those of us who may never get the highest-ranking position. We will live vicariously through you.
God speed.

Content, a word that strikes my soul,
A whisper of stillness, an impossible goal.
It seems so small, yet feels so vast,
A memory of my past.

Perhaps it’s my youth, so restless, unkind,
An experience that shaped my mind.
Or is it the hunger to strive,
To chase the horizon and feel alive.

What if content is comfort’s face?
A quiet corner, a gentle space.
And yet I flinch—am I afraid,
Of the peace that comfort has made?

Is it the lie of stillness, so untrue,
The quiet, my mind can’t pursue?
A darkness woven deep inside,
Where comfort and fear collide.

Will I ever grant myself the grace,
To rest my soul, to find my place?
Or will I run, forever torn,
Chasing a dawn that will never be born?

So she lived- she didn’t have a choice. It was a gift granted- although there were times in her life when she wanted to lay in the middle of the parkway or on her knees and pray.
It all depended on the day- the weather and the color of her lipstick.
Lately it’s been neutral – as everything she thought for 547 days never appealed-
She was duped for allowing someone in her heart…
“How” she asked herself- the promise to keep her wall up was broken at the sound of remorse -not from her lips but those of her distant lover- the one who saw prey and tried to ravage the Beast while she slept – She gave in. The truth was real. The honesty was from the heart but the storyline line and pity was one for the books, as she had never been that stupid to believe in someone else’s dream- Like- Who does that? The Fool!
Should have, would have and finally did with pain – not in her heart, but in her body. She walked away.
Her biggest fear is becoming cold- losing the innocence- not being able to find that place within her that makes her dance on the rainiest of days-
But she knew it was in her genetics – it was how she was bred.
Strength and wisdom come from silence.

This was written on July 12th, 2019. It was the day of my legal name change. I would wake up that morning as Greg and go to work, and that evening I would go to bed as Lillie. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, not because I was unsure of myself but because I had socially transitioned only 5 weeks prior.
I spent 43 years as Greg, hiding who I was so far in the closet I was finding Christmas presents (Thanks for that line, Steph). I had no idea who Lillie was and I’m still learning who I am as a woman one year later. I was scared of the unknown and what my new role in this world would look like.
After I got home from the courthouse, with a smile on my face and tears of joy in my eyes I sat down and finished this letter. The end result you see here is nothing like my first drafts. As much as I wanted to (and sometimes still want to) hate the man I was, I have been told that I should show compassion for him. For he was doing the best he could while battling his internal turmoil in a world where women like me are seen as subhuman, he did his best to protect me. This is for you Gregory,

Dear Gregory,

There’s no amount of words that can ever truly express the pain that I’m sure you’ve felt these years. You’ve kept me locked up, quiet, ignored, and worst of all – shamed for even existing. You have taken far more abuse from my internal self than is fair, even more than we have had externally. Some people have it rough in life, and you’ve made sure you had your fair share with your own self neglect and self-destructive tendencies.
You haven’t been able to ever be yourself, because you’ve had to be a “boy” because of the way your body has been. I don’t know if it’s entirely how we were born, but there are clearly signs that we have been living behind a mask of being a man. We may never have those answers. I will, however, live our identity as I am, not as we have been told to. That means you have to have the space to grow up and become the woman that we were meant to be, not the man that society says we are.
You have given me plenty of skills to succeed in this life and I promise I will do my best to not disappoint you as you hand off the torch to me. You have given me 4 beautiful children that I would not trade for anything in this world. I want you to know you have done an amazing job surviving in this world that can be utterly unfair and cruel at times. You plugged away and dug your heels in the ground and never gave up even though I know you wanted to.
Despite everything you dealt with and everything you were battling internally you did your best to be a compassionate human being. You struggled sometimes with your 2 but you always managed to find your way through. Almost 2 years ago you started to finally listen to yourself and found me hiding inside of you and I want to thank you for that, I was starting to lose my voice. But you listened and let me start to come out. I know it has been a hell of a ride we’ve travelled, sometimes separately, sometimes together. Guess what? We made it. I’m proud to have had you in my life and I’m proud to have the strength you’ve given me to continue down this path of mine. Without you, without all your experiences in the world, this wouldn’t be possible. Thank you again Gregory, I promise I’ll take care of me now. I hope you will be proud while you watch me blossom into who we were meant to be.

Lillith

I wrote this to myself July 2nd of 2019. This was in the days leading up to my name change. My therapist had suggested some kind of ceremony, something to commemorate my name change. I had struggled with wanting to do something for this milestone in my life, I had socially transitioned 3 weeks prior, and I really wanted to celebrate my transition somehow. My days as Greg were numbered and I wanted closure on that chapter in my life. In the 2 years seeing my therapist exploring my gender I would ‘write’ in a diary on my phone and let my therapist read it at the beginning of each session and that would dictate how the session would go. I had shown an affinity for expressing myself through writing in the previous 2 years so writing me a letter from him to her was my assignment. This would be the very first of my essays about my transition and what we as transgender people go through.

Lillith,

Take a breath. Look down at your two feet. Where are they right now? Look around you. Do you see nature? Go touch the leaves. Pick a flower and deeply inhale its beautiful fragrance. Do you hear birds? Stop and take a moment to go listen to their music, because not everyone is so fortunate enough to be able to hear and enjoy that experience. Do you feel the sunshine on your skin? If not, go step outside and be grateful for the fact that it is constantly shining down on you, and that you are alive.
Life isn’t a sprint, it’s a long race and you’re not in it just to “win.” Be gentle with yourself. Be messy sometimes. Let it all go. Embrace all of your learnings and cherish your experiences because they truly are divinely fated.
No one lives forever so be sure to cherish every moment, and when they pass and when you pass, find comfort in knowing that we are simply souls within these bodies, and we will all be connected at some point again. Life is a gift, not something that is a given, so enjoy every second while you’re here. Make the most of it. Live it to your fullest and please, be true to yourself Lillie. You had a rough road to travel just to even exist. You are valid, you are real. It’s not a dream anymore. I’m handing over the keys to this vessel I’ve called home for so long. Now it’s your turn. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize this was your home and you were screaming to be let in. I know you’ll do great things, and I know you’re truly on your path to happiness now.
While I know you aren’t as experienced in the world, you are getting ready. Soon, I’ll leave full charge to you, because you are the only one who is truly deserving of this body. Even if it never matches how you feel some days, it will always be yours. I’m sorry for having contaminated it with the presence that was male. My stoic demeanor has been wearing us down, and while it has been partly to hide the pain, it’s just as much because of my embarrassment from having you inside. This is your body, not mine. I really hope that I didn’t screw it up too much for you. Wear what clothes you want, because you deserve to wear them. Be the woman you were destined to be. Don’t be defined by my mistakes.
Years ago, I prayed to anyone and anything that would listen for your happiness. On your road ahead please don’t lose hope. We were put here on this earth to feel joy and not be blue. There will be sad times and bad times, and I know that you have the strength to see them through. Look at how far you have come. Look at all you’ve accomplished. Hold your head high! Though I can’t know for sure how things will work out for you, no matter how hard it gets, please realize, please understand that you weren’t put on this earth to suffer and cry. We were made to be happy. So, for me…..for you….please….be happy.

Gregory

I sat on concrete pavement asking the stars to show me a sign~

Snow flakes melted on my lips~
Opened eyes
I knew he heard my chime
The wind was speaking to me~
“Child ~always be kind”

Visions of a natural divine- My Lord did hear my cries

I wanted to be held by thee
A force to teach me wise
My daddy a vague belief
My Father treats me kind
I fall in arms so thought to be something I long to know

Pandora reassures herself at midnight in full moon’s glow

Heavy footsteps led a life in vain
Heartless memories draw so much shame
As only I smile to feed the dreaming tree
“Daddy come quick” so gone in memory
I begged and plead that very night God took heed in the stars so bright
Though disbelieved the sacred wind
To trail the roots that polluted kin
Begged salvation for I reached the depth
To discover the dreaming tree subsists
Nourish it with heart plus soul
Two sprinkles of dreams and three of gold
A dash immortality and one of bold

The dreaming tree lives, the relics unfold

Those who did not believe that night
Heard the winds had predicted a crest moon and rain
When evil lied in rhythms of naked branches

The eclipse made the marked apologize in nodded shame

My dreaming tree had grown all this time
I knew,
I know,
I believe.

I gave my all (so spent) as dear you are to me
The forecast called for a sunshine horizon
Out on the torrent sea
The dreaming tree survives in you
May your daddy be thoughts in knotted ribbons of blue
Your Father will provide for you at times of despair.
My dreaming tree blossoms
I smell spring in the air~

Dear Tracy Chapman:

You and I became friends early on in your career. Your unique voice and storytelling style drew me in. “Give Me One Reason” and “Fast Car” were on repeat on whatever device I was listening to at the time.

When I heard “Fast Car” for the first time I was hooked. Those lyrics were so down to earth and touched me in a way that made me believe I could do anything, and that there was no where to go but up.

Even over thirty-five years later, when I hear that song, I crank the volume up (I think I’ve blown a speaker or two listening to that song), and sing at the top of my voice. Your and my voice compliment each other. But certainly not in the same fashion as you and Luke Combs.

Tracy, when I heard you and Luke sing together at the Grammy’s it was simply magic. Watching Taylor Swift and Jelly Roll, singing along, knowing every word, was a tribute to how your lyrics and voice can transform even the biggest stars into your biggest fans. I’m a huge Luke Combs fan so the fact that you and he collaborated on that song was music to my ears.

One of the things I admire about you is that fame never went to your head. You have, and still do, maintain a private life outside your career. That’s hard to do in this day of social media, and everyone wants to know everything about everyone. You’re an anomaly. That’s very cool.

I like seeing you pop up occasionally. It reminds me of my younger years. Your songs touched my soul in a deep way, leaving me feeling hopeful about life’s possibilities.

For now, I’ll say see you later. Hopefully we’ll bump into each other again soon. In the meantime, I’ll be working in the convenience store, stop in some time. It’s just ‘cross the border and into the city.

Dear Former Self,

I know life is hard for you. I understand how just existing is painful. Once you dreamed of being happy, or at least content. Now you only dream of death. Don’t give up though little one. Start believing that happiness is within reach, that you can and will find it someday.

You think you’re so wise, but there’s things you still don’t know. Someone should have told you that what you’re feeling is a sickness of the mind. Instead they let you believe you are bad – antisocial to hide away, stubborn not to eat, and “always airing your dirty laundry” when you finally do speak. This sickness, this clinical depression, has eaten away your confidence, overwhelmed you with sadness, and closed you eyes to hope. It’s trying to kill you and right now it’s winning. But you’ll get strong, find the help you need, and beat this thing back.

Someday those endless stream of doctors will lead you to some good medicine. You’ll have to keep up with a lot of pills, but it will quell that mad misery plaguing you. You will get to know your sickness inside and out, including how to zap it’s energy and hold over you.

I will not lie. You will never kill the beast. But your dream of happiness is still achievable. You can learn to tame the monster, hold it at bay, and when it grabs you, you’ll be able to loosen yourself from its grip. As you grow bigger, it’ll get small and weak.

Someday you won’t be alone in your struggle either. You’ll find love and understanding in real friends and a life partner who takes care of you when you can’t care of yourself. This love will fill your dry well of loneliness and you’ll feel warmth instead of that chilling cold.

You’ll manage a semblance of normalcy – and not as a show, but genuine stability and satisfaction. You won’t be happy all the time, but you will come to a place where you realize you’re happy with your life. No longer will you dream of death. Instead you’ll dream of exciting new adventure lying ahead. Oh, and adventures you will have – summitting snowy peaks, riding trains through India, making wine with your cousins in eastern Europe, skinny dipping in the Pacific Ocean, studying under the Dalai Lama, and so much more.

So don’t give up little one. It may take a while, but some day your dream of happiness will come true.

Dear Jamie Kern Lima:

You and I are new friends. I met you this year when a peer brought your book, “Worthy” in to work. She placed it on her desk near mine and I grabbed it asking, “What is this!”. I was drawn by the title (great choice) and curious immediately. My peer explained she heard about the book and had just started reading it.

I downloaded it through my Audible app and couldn’t wait to start listening. Audible is my best friend. I’ve struggled with reading my entire life. Dyslexia does not have a formal diagnosis, but when I had my youngest son tested for a learning disability it became clear that both he and I have dyslexia. We’re in good company, though. Some of the smartest people in history were known to have dyslexia, and they made it through just fine.

I started listening to your book on my way home from work that day. I was instantly hooked. In your book you described what I, and many other women feel in this crazy world we live in. I loved listening to you tell the story of never feeling that the next promotion was where we needed to go, and all the other areas of life and love left us feeling unworthy.

Your book changed my life. Your words began to make me understand that I was worthy. Worthy of all I wanted in life. That word is in my vocabulary daily. As I work with young women to help them believe they can do whatever they want, professionally and personally. That the next promotion is as much theirs as their counterparts, that they deserve love and being in a toxic relationship is not where they could soar.

When I finished the book, it felt like I was letting go of a friend. But we continued our newfound friendship with your book “Believe It”. Here you brought me through your journey of starting a company from the ground up. When others turned you away, you did not give up. You continued to grow your business organically to become an extremely important cosmetic company. When you sold the company in 2016 for $1.2 billion, all I could think was, “How do you like me now.”

You were told no many times. But you never gave up on your dream. I am inclined to give up too soon. I tend to think I am not worthy of the next big promotion, or I don’t speak my mind for fear of making others mad. Your books have changed that for me. I’m less afraid of ruffling feathers or asking for what I need.

I follow you on Instagram. It’s my way of staying in touch. I love watching you as you continue your journey to help others believe they are worthy of whatever they want. You have a special gift.

Thanks, Jamie. We’ll stay in touch.

Dear Julia Roberts:

You and I met in 1988 when I saw you as an up-and-coming actress in a film called Mystic Pizza. I didn’t really know you, but I was intrigued by the film’s name; I grew up less than fifty miles from that little pizza place in Mystic, Connecticut. My husband used to ride his bike past the real Mystic Pizza all the time. His grandmother lived near there.
I remember watching that film, seeing a young actress with a certain twinkle in her eye thinking, boy she’s going to go far. And you did.

Pretty Woman is one of my all-time favorite movies. I used to binge watch it repeatedly, watching that Cinderella story end like every young girl thought it should; with the guy getting the girl and the girl getting the guy. Of course, having Richard Gere be the guy didn’t hurt, but that’s another letter.

After that, there was no stopping you. Every film you made, to me, was a hit. Watching you play different women, some strong, some not so strong, helped me believe I could do whatever I wanted with my life. And I did.

I lived vicariously through your characters. Notting Hill and Runaway Bride were two more of my favorites. But when you portrayed Erin Brockovich in 2000, I think that was one of your best films. It allowed me to see a more serious side of you as a strong woman with a passion for the underdog. Talk about perfection; you played it well.

As time went on you continued to impress. Taking time to have and raise a family, immersing yourself in philanthropic ventures, and speaking out about causes that are near and dear to your heart. I’ve really enjoyed watching blossom into a beautiful, passionate and talented woman that I’ve come to admire.

I know we’ve never met, and likely never will. But I wanted to know that you’ve made an impact on my life. And for that I’ll be grateful forever.

Dear Betty Crocker: (My mother’s name is Betty)

I met you at an early age. You were in my mother’s kitchen long before I was born, but you were not there alone. Another woman, Fannie Farmer, graced my mother’s kitchen in her small cookbook collection.

Fannie was much older than you. Her original cookbook was published before 1896 for the Boston Cooking School. The book I inherited from my mother was last copyrighted by Wilma Lord Perkins in 1959. The binding is compromised, the cover torn, but the pages are intact, although stained from years of use.

I remember my mother using both cookbooks often. By nature, she was not a good cook. She stayed in a lane of soups and stews that left a lot of room for error without being inedible. Although, there were times when she concocted creations that left much to be desired. Like the time she “emptied the refrigerator” and decided to put shrimp cocktail sauce into my father’s homemade Sicilian gravy. Horseradish, an ingredient in cocktail sauce, gets hotter when cooked. This made the gravy so spicy it was not fit to eat for young children with delicate palates. Epic fail.

You and Fannie spent years trying to teach my mother to cook. While there were glimmers of success throughout the years, ultimately she would not master the craft.

A tradition in our family, as in many families, was that my mother would cook our favorite meal for our birthday. One of my last birthdays before she died, my mother made one of my favorite meals: galumpkis (polish cabbage rolls). She made them in the crockpot (stew-like meal) and served them over egg noodles. It was one of those comfort foods from my childhood.

The last time she made them something went terribly wrong. They were dry and burnt and not at all what I remembered from my childhood. Turns out she had forgotten to add the liquid ingredients to the crock pot. I think that was the last time she cooked for me. From there I would bring ingredients to my parent’s home on my day off and cook for them. It worked out better that way.

Betty, I gave you a bad wrap for a while. Pictures of a perfectly coiffed woman in a red dress with a white collar was what I remembered. Back in the day, there wasn’t all the information there is today, so I drew my own conclusion of who Betty Crocker was. For me, the stigma of being a stay-at-home mom cooking cobblers and pies was not what I was in for.

When I received my own copy of your cookbook for a bridal gift, I smiled the obligatory smile, feeling like I was pigeonholed into being the perfect wife. But as time went on, I learned that I needed you. My mother was not a great example and taught me little about cooking with fresh ingredients from scratch. Now I’ll admit I’ve had my fair share of mistakes, none of which I can blame on you or Fannie. Like the time I left chicken quarters on the grill unattended on low for over 30 minutes. By the time I got back to them, they were so dry that they were more like chicken dust than chicken quarters.

Or the time I made nacho pasta out of a can of nacho dip I bought to get us through a storm. Those who know me know I don’t eat much canned anything, but I don’t like to waste food either. This was my way of using something instead of throwing it away (boy, wonder where that came from).
My husband and son, who tasted it and refused to eat it, still kid me to this day. When I ask what they want for dinner, their response is anything but nacho pasta.

Betty, I am honored to call you friend, and Fannie too, but now you sit at the table with the likes of Ina Garten, Giada DeLaurentis, Joanna Gaines, and Paula Deen, just to name a few. These ladies are included in my collection of over fifty cookbooks written by various chefs, both men and women. I believe you paved the way for their success.

In closing, I’d like to thank you and Fannie for laying the foundation for woman, and men, to create an entire industry around feeding people delicious food to fill our bodies and our souls. Bon appetite (let us not forget Julia Child).

Dear Wynonna Judd:

You and I could be sisters, I would be the older one. I’ve listened to you and your mom for years. Your angelic voices heard on the airwaves of country music. With hits like Why Not Me (1984), Grandpa (1985) and Love Can Build A Bridge (1990), you were always on my radio.

Then when your mom died in 2022, I felt I’d lost something too. But my loss of hearing your mom’s beautiful voice was nothing compared to your loss of a mother and a life long singing partner. I’m sure the whole is deep, and still healing. I lost my mom in 2016 and there are still raw spots in my heart.

In 1993 you released Only Love, your second single. Your voice is so pure and vulnerable. That song moved me. That time in my life with a bit of a fog. My kids were both born and I realized that my marriage was simply my unrealistic fairy tale.

Only Love allowed me sail away from my reality to an island of green and be free. I could feel my feet on solid ground even with the waves coming crashing down. That song was my source of strength during a turbulent time. I hung on your every word.

I must go for now, knowing I can put my trust in just one thing, for me it’s God and his love. I hope you have a blessed day; one filled with only love.

Dear Sara Evans:

In 2005 I went through a nasty divorce after 20+ years of marriage. The man I married, had two children with, turned in a monster, turning my kids against me, lying to close friends causing a wedge that would never be released.

The scars of that marriage ran deep. To naively love someone for over two decades, left raw emotions; some of which may never heal.

Fast forward to 2010, when I heard your song A Little Bit Stronger, the true healing began. God sent you to me through my radio. As I listened for the first time, I sobbed uncontrollably. You wrote my anthem song.

Since that time, you have been by my side like a best friend. Since I first heard it, that song has been part of my music library. When I need a little boost, there you are to remind me that each day I am a little bit stronger.

Last weekend my husband attended your concert in Hiawassee GA. I worked early that day, so I was tired, but I had to stay. I loved listening to your new songs are well as your past hits. But your last song was the one I’d come to here.

Sara, I can tell you that, although I am in a good marriage now, and at a good place in my life. That song brought me to tears, and I could feel your words infusing me with strength.

I’ve got to close for now, I’m busy today, getting stronger. Thank you for being a source of strength even on my weakest days.

Dear Younger Self:

I take one glance at you, and the first words that come to mind are weathered and worn. You have been through so much and have had it sheltered in what you had considered your safe place. I know you were so young so there was no way for you to fully conceptualize the magnitude of everything that was happening to you as you were developing.

Waking up and dragging yourself every day was a struggle. You would beg and plead to just stay home as to not face what was going on with you in school. I could look at your face and see the visible stress that your childhood was causing you.

You went to school only to get teased and laughed at because of your disability. Something that was not your fault and no one else’s fault. You were being neglected and left behind by teachers and the people who were meant to be there as a building block in your life seemed more like a roadblock.

Because of the neglect I felt, my typing teacher called a meeting to tell my mother that I smelled of urine. My mom got visibly upset and said that if I had the help I needed, this meeting would have never had to happen.

I would say that this situation was the turning point that caused you to go downhill as far as depression is concerned. I look back on that version of you, and the first thing I recall is the bags under your eyes from no sleep and your disheveled hair from an obvious lack of self-care.

I can clearly remember when you were begging your mom to let you stay home from school to avoid the overly emotional load and toll it took on both your mind and body. Your parents had to continually remind you of how far you had already come and that you only had a couple of months left.

I knew from the way that you were struggling that months would feel more like years. Thec days were grueling, going from feeling like you were someone important to the feeling that you felt like you didn’t matter to anyone.

These mood swings had your depression declining in every sense of the word. So much so that you had begun to wonder if life was worth living anymore. You came home every single day to put your Lifehouse “No Name Face” CD on and cry your eyes out because the lyrics of every song had an unusual tug on both your heart and mind. You had never felt a connection with a band like this, and you knew that it was something very special. So special in fact that the lyrics from the song “Simon” can be credited with saving your life and bringing you back to life in a way that would become nothing short of a miracle.

As you move on in your life and graduate from high school, this is when you begin to see significant changes in both your behavior and mental health status. You had never experienced such a positive feeling before. College was a turning point when you had a great interest in your social work studies and were fully immersed in techniques to help others while also becoming a better person and working on the prosperous adult you were working so unbelievably hard to become.

Your grades were excellent and you were feeling like a brand-new person in all aspects of the word. I believe that college can also be credited with your positive decisions to keep going no matter what roadblocks you have yet to face. There would be numerous ups and downs, but the good news is now you know how to handle them in appropriate ways.

You should be immensely proud of yourself. You rose up from the very bottom of depression, only to rise as a more confident and loving human being. You did what a lot of other people unfortunately don’t end up doing, and that is surviving the worst moments of your life. You still do not give yourself adequate credit. You are so strong; your strength is your pinnacle. Not enough can ever be said about the way you have chosen to live despite the fact that your disability has taken over your body and stripped you of your once-treasured independence. You always tell others that your patience and laid-back attitude are your secret to happiness, However, I feel that your strength is your real superpower. Give yourself the credit, it is not arrogant when it is the truth.