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

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

This one’s for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful Mosaic

The words flow through my mind
Like the wind through the trees,
Dancing about like leaves on branches,
Flipping and flopping—oh, what a sight.
But this is dyslexia, if you must know.
I read and spell like a jumble, so slow.

My words come out twisted,
Like a tongue twister I can’t tame.
When I try to speak, my thoughts get flipped,
Making people giggle or snarl in shame,
Thinking I’m lazy, or worse—ignorant,
But that’s not it, not at all.

On top of that, my mind races,
A hundred miles a minute,
The creative side taking over,
My vision, a blur, as I try to finish.
Focusing on a task? What is that?
ADHD is what they say,
But I’m not hyper, not today.

At 32, I was diagnosed with this,
They called me lazy, but that wasn’t it.
I try so hard, but the simplest things
Feel like mountains, impossible to climb.
I am misunderstood,
They think I’m dumb,
But deep inside, I am smart,
If only they could see that part.

I’m trapped in a fight,
Yearning for someone to see me,
My heart tangled in a storm,
With all this comes anxiety and grief.
Triggers hit me hard,
But at least I stand,
I guess that’s something to be proud of.

Empty space fills my soul,
A part of me is missing—
My child and his soul,
Who am I behind this mask of pain?
Sometimes, I wonder about that myself.

I’m a puzzle missing pieces,
Maybe one day they’ll see me
Like a beautiful mosaic on the wall,
All of me, not just the broken parts.

The words flow through my mind
Like the wind through the trees,
Dancing about like leaves on branches,
Flipping and flopping—oh, what a sight.
But this is dyslexia, if you must know.
I read and spell like a jumble, so slow.

My words come out twisted,
Like a tongue twister I can’t tame.
When I try to speak, my thoughts get flipped,
Making people giggle or snarl in shame,
Thinking I’m lazy, or worse—ignorant,
But that’s not it, not at all.

On top of that, my mind races,
A hundred miles a minute,
The creative side taking over,
My vision, a blur, as I try to finish.
Focusing on a task? What is that?
ADHD is what they say,
But I’m not hyper, not today.

At 32, I was diagnosed with this,
They called me lazy, but that wasn’t it.
I try so hard, but the simplest things
Feel like mountains, impossible to climb.
I am misunderstood,
They think I’m dumb,
But deep inside, I am smart,
If only they could see that part.

I’m trapped in a fight,
Yearning for someone to see me,
My heart tangled in a storm,
With all this comes anxiety and grief.
Triggers hit me hard,
But at least I stand,
I guess that’s something to be proud of.

Empty space fills my soul,
A part of me is missing—
My child and his soul,
Who am I behind this mask of pain?
Sometimes, I wonder about that myself.

I’m a puzzle missing pieces,
Maybe one day they’ll see me
Like a beautiful mosaic on the wall,
All of me, not just the broken parts.

A Message Through Time
Marli Wright

If I could send a message across sea to shining sea,
How would I convey my advice in just one piece?
What have I learned in this short life so dear,
That is important for everyone to hear?
I suppose it would be to cherish each moment,
The good, the bad, and those moments hard to bear.
Laugh and be present, and cry in your grief,
Follow your dreams and never look back in disbelief.
Love with a heart that fears nothing at all,
Give freely of yourself and let others give in return.
Hug your loved ones tighter each day,
And thank God for another moment they stay.
Cherish the heartbeat of an unborn child,
Learn from the old soul, who offers a final smile.
Take it from someone who has loved and lost,
This unbearable grief of a child’s loss.
Live each moment as if they can see,
And make yourself proud of the person you’d want them to be.
Remember, in an instant, life can be gone,
So cherish it deeply before it’s withdrawn.

As I reflect on my life in my thirties,
It feels like I’ve lived an eternity.
From innocent and sweet childhood days,
To learning how to love and weep in different ways.
My soul has shattered like glass on the floor.
Yet I’ve learned to pick it up once more.
Dreams are not always what they seem,
And fairytales remain in books we read in our dreams.
Life as a child was genuine and freeing,
Only fully appreciated when grown-up and foreseeing.
In these thirty-two years, I’ve seen life’s highs and fears,
Moments when I’ve wanted to die, and moments I’ve held dear.
I’ve experienced the joy of life and the pain of loss,
Sometimes in the span of a single day’s toss.
Reflecting on my innocence and childlike faith,
I realize it’s not always easy to maintain that state.
But my resilience to live outweighs my desire to die,
No matter how often I felt ready to try.
If I could travel back in time and meet the child version of me,
I’d say, “Life will be tough, you’ll face challenges you cannot foresee. But in the end, you’ll prevail, despite the hurdles you’ll meet.”