Dear Unsealers,

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where, no matter what you do or say, it feels like you’re trapped in a box? Even when everything seems fine, do you feel like you’re being watched every few minutes? It’s as if you’re just going about your life, but because people know your circumstances, you sense that something is about to happen any moment.

What do you do when you’re in a room, fully aware of everything at stake, yet still feel overwhelmed, as if you don’t know what’s wrong? Or when you express your feelings and receive the same responses repeatedly, like, “Oh, I’ve heard you,” or “What do you want me to do about it?” It can be frustrating to hear the same replies almost every time.

How can you overcome these issues and maintain a positive outlook?

Dear Community,

I would like to ask a question and share my thoughts: Does anyone believe in connections? When I search for the right person to be with, I often develop a special bond over time that I find hard to break.

For example, I’ve been experiencing a lot of ups and downs with my partner. When I discuss our problems with others, I often hear questions like, “Why can’t you just leave?” or “You shouldn’t have to put up with this; just walk away.” I understand that people will have many questions, especially if they aren’t aware of the full story.

Many say that when you find the right person, you’ll just know it. However, I don’t know if I’m alone in feeling that if you started dating your partner in high school, became sweethearts, and remained friends afterwards, a strong connection develops over time, right?

That’s my dilemma. I admit I’ve had intense discussions with my partner, and I’ve shared this with everyone, including my family. Leaving is difficult, especially when your heart is still invested. It battles within you: on one side, you love the good things about him and want to stay; on the other side, you resent the negative traits and want to protect yourself.

Then there’s that voice in your head reminding you that he’s your best friend—the person you clicked with instantly. You don’t want anything bad to happen to him.

My question is this: If you have a connection that feels so strong, how can you break it if it comes down to that choice?

Hold your head high and stand tall, no matter the storms around you. Ignore the noise, the doubt, the negativity—none of it defines you. Breathe deeply, let the weight of yesterday fade, and fill your spirit with the light of possibility.

Place your hand over your heart and feel its steady rhythm—proof that you are here, that you are chosen, that you are blessed.

This moment is a gift, another chance to step boldly into your purpose. No setback, no obstacle, no pain can take away what is meant for you. Walk forward with courage, knowing that every breath you take is an opportunity to rewrite your story, to rise, to shine, and to claim the life you deserve.

You are unstoppable. You are divine. Keep moving forward, Queen!

Dear Mary, daughter of Joachim:

I thought it appropriate to write to you on this eve of the celebration of your son’s birth.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when we met, but it was very early in my life. As a child, I was introduced to you through my Catholic upbringing. I learned of you and revered your place in history as the mother of Jesus Christ.

Through teachings in the church, I learned that you were chosen by God to deliver a son who would eventually die for our sins. As a mother, I can’t imagine giving birth to a child that I knew was destined to die to save the world. That’s a heavy burden.

Through stories told in the Bible, I learned that not only did you and Joseph take on this challenge, but you did it with the utmost grace.

How proud you must have been as Jesus taught us to live in God’s light, to do His work and act in ways that put the rest of us to shame. Through every adversity, your son rose to the challenge, even when He was falsely accused of witchcraft.

Ironically, those who questioned His powers were the same people who brought Him to the cross.

Mary, if given the chance, you and I would have a cup of tea and talk for hours. I have so many questions, one mother to another.

In closing, I’d like to thank you for your sacrifice as Jesus’s mother. I’ll refer to one of my favorite Christmas songs: “Mary, did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters . . . And when you kiss your baby boy, you’ve kissed the face of God.”

I watched you from the shadows,
a quiet, steady beat.
You moved through the world
like the ground kissed your feet.

I studied the curve of your laugh,
the shine in your eyes,
dreamt of moments we’d share,
but they were all lies.

I was invisible, a ghost in the crowd,
a whisper, a breeze, never too loud.
But inside, my heart raged,
a storm I couldn’t tame,
trapped between silence
and the sound of your name.

So one day, I stood tall,
my fear on display,
and told you the truth
in the boldest of ways.
But your smile held pity,
your answer a no—
a wound I expected,
but it still cut low.

Yet from that “no,” I found my voice,
discovered in me, I had a choice.
No longer hiding in the cracks of the wall,
I became the light that burns through it all.

Now I walk taller,
no fear in my step,
because loving myself
is the best move yet.

You didn’t choose me,
but that’s okay,
I’ve learned to love me
in a brand-new way.

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.

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.

There’s no handbook for dealing with people who feel like thorns in your side—those who cut deep when you least expect it, prick at your insecurities, and seem determined to make life harder. We all meet them, and if we’re honest, some of them are planted right in our daily lives, rooted in relationships we can’t always avoid.

For me, the thorns came wrapped in familiar faces. Some were colleagues, others were friends, and, hardest of all, a few were family. They didn’t wear their sharp edges openly. No, these were subtle thorns—the kind that poked at my boundaries and quietly undermined my worth. The sly comments, the dismissive tones, the constant undercurrent of comparison. At first, I told myself I was overreacting. “Maybe they didn’t mean it that way,” I’d think. But the more I brushed it off, the deeper the thorns sank.

I remember one particular moment like it happened yesterday. A family gathering. I was sharing a small victory—something I’d worked so hard for—when someone cut me off mid-sentence with a sarcastic, “Well, that’s not that impressive. Some people do that every day.” Everyone laughed. Except me. I sat there, my cheeks burning, my heart shrinking. It wasn’t just about the comment; it was the weight of years of similar moments piling up, crushing any joy I had in my accomplishments.

The hardest part of dealing with thorny people is the self-doubt they plant. I started to wonder if I was being too sensitive, too needy, or maybe just not good enough. I replayed their words over and over, trying to figure out what I did to deserve their barbs. The truth is, you don’t have to do anything. Some people operate from their own pain, insecurity, or inability to see past themselves—and that has nothing to do with you.

But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. I tried everything. I fought back, trying to “prune” their thorns by calling them out, only to end up exhausted and frustrated. I tried being overly kind, hoping my softness would dull their edges. It didn’t. It felt like no matter what I did, their thorns kept finding their mark.

And then one day, I stopped trying to fix them. I realized I’d spent so much time trying to change them that I was losing myself in the process. It wasn’t my job to soften their edges or avoid their pricks. My job was to protect my peace and heal the wounds they’d left behind.

So, I started setting boundaries—real boundaries, not just the ones I whispered to myself in moments of hurt. When a thorny comment came my way, I responded with calmness and clarity: “That’s not okay to say to me.” When their presence drained me, I gave myself permission to step away, to leave early, or to say no altogether. And when their voices echoed in my mind, I replaced them with my own—louder, kinder, and full of the truth of who I really am.

Dealing with thorns taught me something about myself, too. They taught me where my wounds were and where I needed to grow stronger. They forced me to find my voice, to stand firm in my worth, and to stop looking to others for validation. But they also taught me grace—not for the thorns themselves, but for the reality that everyone carries some pain. Some people just don’t know how to carry theirs without hurting others.

I still face thorny people. They’re unavoidable. But now I see them for what they are—not obstacles to fix, but reminders to protect what’s precious. To let the thorns stay where they are, while I grow and bloom despite them.

What if the most challenging person or experience in your life that was actually your greatest teacher—what do you think they’ve been sent to teach you?

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.