Take me back to the place where they know my name,
Where no one is a stranger and what makes us different is just as beautiful as what makes us the same.

Help me find the spot where laughter and dancing heal,
Where everyone is given room to be exactly who they are
and all the space they need to feel.

Find me a realm where beauty is all around,
Where nature’s canvas can be seen and heard, and what was mundane becomes profound.

Search with me for the moments where we are fully embraced,
Where the world throws open it’s arms for us with no judgment of fears or mistakes.

Oh, take me– but don’t take me alone. Help me find these places and then help me take them home.

[This is a tribute to a beautiful camp I have had the privilege of being able to attend twice now, with a community of self-proclaimed “Misfits,” brought together by a band called Magic Giant. The band and their fans are truly some of the most open-hearted people I know! Being with them gives me hope for the world and faith in myself as a writer. Several of them continue to encourage me to share my voice, and truly help me feel so grateful to be alive!]

Counting down to proms and graduations,
Students running to and fro–
One question plagued my adolescent brain:
How could I continue when there was so much I didn’t know?

People told me I was smart,
“Just like her siblings,” they’d say.
But for all my potential and book smarts‐
I was still stuck in my own way.

Struggling to embrace myself in the present,
Always trying to appear impressive,
It felt like life was crushing me into the ground,
And so I began to recede without making a sound.

I withdrew inward, convinced no one would notice,
To disappear would have been my only wish.
I felt sure the world was swallowing me whole,
And who would really care if I happened to go?

How I wish I could put my arms around that 17 year old,
And let her know that she could be bold.
I’d tell her: the things that she worried about
Were not a checklist of choices everyone else had all figured out.

Her nerves were valid,
her feelings allowed,
And wanting to love herself
Did not make her “too” proud.

I’d hold her until she knew she didn’t have to simply survive,
Until she felt‐ truly felt- that in this life she could thrive.
That even though it seemed that she’d lost her drive,
There were still so many reasons to stay alive.

I wish I could give her a key
Some magic word that would fill life with glee.
But I think I would tell her the secret
Isn’t in some lofty work position or college leaflet.

That throughout her life it would be
The people around her that would help her feel freed
From the weight of expectations,
Of turning into someone else’s “successful” creation.

The people who would see her heart,
Who would champion her softness and art,
Who would be there for the steps between finish and start,
And would help her believe in the path only she could chart.

Time wasn’t running out, the world wasn’t ending
But she could start anew to find herself and leave behind pretending
That she had to live her life like anyone else,
Suppressing her true desires like being under a spell.

Eventually, she’ll discover a way to break the hourglass
And know that the best moments of life
Are when time stands still,
And you let yourself BE.

A college graduation ceremony,
The celebration of
Hours and hours spent studying,
Working student janitor jobs,
Barely sleeping or maintaining a social life,
Driven by passion and encouraged by professors and peers.
This a defining moment I haven’t experienced,
My college journey cut short by
A doctor’s visit,
A new orange prescription bottle that felt like a cinderblock in my backpack.
A series of events that I was sure would make everyone see me as
A failure, lazy, without determination.

I moved back into my parents home,
Like a puppy without a treat,
My tail tucked between my legs.
I struggled to find my purpose,
My place in a town I thought I’d left behind.

As fate, or the internet, would have it,
I met someone.
They saw parts of me that I was ashamed of,
And told me how bright they shined.
They laid bare past relationships full of betrayal and heartbreak,
And I held them when they finally gave themselves the space to cry for how they were hurt.
We slow danced in the kitchen,
To old school jazz,
While sweet potatoes cooked in the oven..
And I saw days stretching ahead
With this beautiful being
This other half of my soul.

Wedding bells pealed,
Vows were written and tearfully exchanged.
Families drew together to celebrate,
Dancing ruled the night!
But not for me.
I sat at another wedding reception, thinking of the text message
Telling me things weren’t going to work out.
Another moment I once thought would be so defining,
Slipping away from my grasp.

The more I grow,
The more I discover myself,
The more I lean into even the darkest parts of my mind and heart,
The more I think that my “most defining days” may be made up of simple, quiet moments.
Of the times I have held myself on the bathroom floor,
And through all the loss remind myself
I am worthy of love
And great things are still ahead for me.

For most of my life I have smothered myself beneath the ideals of others.
These expectations pushed me into boxes where I did not fit, but I tried to contort and carve away at myself to appease the “rules.”
I thought if I broke them, I would be broken. They were unyielding, so I yielded my will to their commands.

And then one day I stretched out of my box. I worried what others would think, what would become of me, what of the people who were depending on me to be “the good girl” they knew?
But as I stretched, I discovered that parts of my heart were sore.. and some were so weak from lack of use. So much of myself had remained unseen and untested in my box, and do I decided to slowly explore.

I began to see that the ideals I’d chased–
Perfect job, perfect shape
Perfect family, perfect place–
Weren’t what I really wanted.
The fact was, I didn’t know what I really wanted!
But even still, letting go of them was so hard.
Allowing myself to change my expectations was met with a lot of internal resistance.
It was easier in my box, safer.
Don’t make a mess, don’t rock the boat.

But would I ever be happy living someone else’s life? Someone else’s idea of “perfect?”

Dear Me,
I hope you know that YOU are ideal. Right now. As you are.
You don’t have to measure up to anyone’s imaginary lines on the wall. Life isn’t about how tall you are, how skinny, how fat. Life isn’t about collecting diplomas or six figure incomes. Life isn’t about what your family looks like, how many rooms are in your house.

Take up the space you need to. Even when you want to shrink yourself down.
See your beauty, inside and out. Even when the world spins negative commentary on how you look.
Value the lessons you’ve learned, and the ones that will come. Even when conventional school might not be your route.
Know that you do not need another person to complete you. Hold on to the hope that you will find someone whole, who will see you as whole, too.

When I picture you, I don’t see specific features or physical parameters that I need to meet. Life hacks or goal markers that I have to achieve by certain deadlines. Instead I feel a sense, a reassurance that you are someone who has let go of the weight of measuring up. Someone who makes choices based on kindness and light and love, not for the applause of the world.. but of the people around you. The ones who know that you are worthy of love now, not after passing tests or checking off requirements.

There is no standard of perfection. You are perfection. Simply YOU.

Love, Me.

Dear Body,

I never know how to start letters.
I’d ask how you’re doing, but I’m happy to say I think I’ve finally a pretty good grasp on finding the answer to that.
For years I ignored your requests and even demands.
Thought you were too much and needed to be less.
Thought not eating would impress.
Tried to squeeze you into boxes you weren’t meant to fit in.
Tried to make you appealing to everyone but the one who was in your skin.

I can’t say exactly when the shift happened, or what changed my mind.
I think it was gradual, more like dawn than a light switch.
A slow burn of self love growing brighter as I worried less about the size of the stitches that made up my clothes and more about the person who filled them.

Instead of running from the mirror, I paused to Really look into it.
To sit and stare at the human within, and not shy away from certain parts.
To relish in the rolls, feeling each one with gratitude for how my body reminds me that I deserve all the space I take up.
To lounge with the looser parts of my skin and not feel the need to suck it all in.
To soak in the stretch marks and the story they tell of how I will not be contained.
To find each freckle and blemish and scar, to let them remind me of how I’ve come so far.

I’m sorry for the ways I have misused and abused you.
I’m sorry for the times I put you in a position to let others do that, too.
I’m sorry for how I starved you, even when you growled with hunger.
I’m sorry for how I then turned around and smothered you with food, while you silently pleaded for me to find balance.
I’m sorry for how often I told you that you weren’t enough.
I’m sorry that I truly believed you would never be loved.

You have taught me to choose you.
You are the only body I have, and I am grateful that it’s you.
You have led me through challenges and adventures that I thought people like me couldn’t get through.
You have opened my eyes to the fact that I am more than what other people view.
You have endured hatred and vitriol and strife,
And still,
You have held me more than any other person in my life.

Thank you.
Sincerely,
Me