A Girl with a Watering Can by Pierre-Auguste Renoir is the most vivid of my childhood memories. Mounted on the living room wall, I would lie on the floor and stare intently at the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl attired in my favorite hue and transport myself to that ethereal garden. I longed to be standing amid the colors of our creator, engaging in the tranquil scene where life seemed simple. A watering can and flowers, listening to the birds sing where monsters didn’t roam.  
The delicate balance of staying present but sending my thoughts to wander where I’m not that little girl whose innocence was lost.  I belonged there, standing with confidence that I was protected from seeing the world with ghosts that forever linger in my memories.  The scene calmed my desire to disappear as a teen when I opened the door and welcomed yet another attack on my young body.  If I closed my eyes tight enough, I could smell the fresh scent of spring and breathe out the marred reflection of my battered soul.  
Were the angels crying when they saw the destruction of my once fearless spirit?  My heart drops when my mind retraces the hours spent secluded in unwanted noise.  The endless nightmares that interrupt my slumber and consume the midnight hours with fear, the flashbacks and panic that attack without warning. 
One moment can alter the trajectory of one’s destination in life.  For me, this moment lifted the fog I had been existing in for more than three decades. The veil came off. One person’s presence in my life, though they may not have realized it, was a turning point that awakened me to my value and deservingness of a more fulfilling existence.  My angel on earth who reminded me of my worth. Conversation without judgment, presence without pretense, and love without condition became the key that had been lost and could now open the lock to restore what had been hidden.  The revelations that came with that were eye-opening. The beginning of everything that was buried. Years of collecting dust brought me to this uncomfortable yet necessary pivotal moment in my life. 
The murmurs of the pale blue corolla, only outdone by the fragrance of the perfume scenting my space bring me back to childhood days where time spent outdoors felt carefree and unburdened. The pretty blooms greeted me as I headed outside to spend the day. Though the blooms only last a short while, the timing is magnificent. A tender beginning into longer days, brilliant sunshine, and joyous memories. Beauty enters at a time when everything else has yet to shine. The hope that all would be right in time.
Hope. Peace. Joy. Love. These are the words I want to live. I want to remove the words that bring no purpose. Discard any that brings pain and grief. Concentrate on one at a time but knowing that one will lead to two and so on.
However, before I could get there, I had to heal myself. I must love myself and I’m not sure if I ever had. I always thought that I did but it’s become obvious that if it had once been true, it ceased to be at some point along the way. Maybe it was a little at a time and I just took no notice. It’s possible I never quite knew how to love myself and thinking that it was selfish of me to do that. I’ve always felt guilt where guilt didn’t belong. I couldn’t see how loving yourself manifests into a better life not only for me but also allows healthy and safe relationships for those who enter our lives along the way. I was always great at taking care of my body, but I lacked in the area of my head and my heart. I never felt I had earned it. The hard part was believing I deserved it and holding fast to that commitment. Maybe it needs to be read: Love. Hope. Peace. Joy. Love. The first love is for me and then the healing is followed by the rest.
It’s in our nature to take pictures of only the good times to reminisce about.  Those moments of our lives that were captured on film, the celebrations, the birth of children, family get-togethers.  Mostly happy, joyous occasions that showed those in attendance with brilliant smiles or immersed in laughter that more often than not included a few tears from the sidesplitting cachinnations.  Brief seconds where expressions of love or contentment were captured to look back and hold onto that feeling.  I found very few solemn times captured that would dampen our moods.  I did find a few though.  A smile was missing or there were tears in my eyes.  If only I could go back and hug that girl and tell her she is loved.  
The hesitation to love my body completely has always been greater than the acceptance. To truly appreciate what God has given me. I had only seen the imperfections, the scars. Those on the surface and others hidden inside. This body, the one that holds the best parts of me, my mind, heart, and soul is worthy of praise. It’s traveled with me on quite a journey and deserves respect and admiration. The thought has crossed my mind that I’ve never realized the magnitude of all it has done for me.
The vault that holds my memories, the enchanting moments sprinkled throughout the years. The key to opening all that is my imagination and the sparks that have taken flight from it. The wounds that have been mended, though many carry the secrets better left unsaid. The ability to heal and endure is magical on its own. The miracles of life that were created and brought into this life are joyous accomplishments. The arms that cradled the tiny beings to the breasts that nourished their bodies are elements of love and nurture. They were conceived and survived within this flesh. To be in awe of the wonder of motherhood. The strength to continue each day no matter what obstacles are placed in its path.
This canvas of flesh has persevered and shown unyielding resolve with each confrontation or denial of self-love. This impermanent model God felt worthy enough to mold is incredible. A symbol of bravery, strength, and beauty deserving of garnering unwavering attention and affection. The time has come to cast the shadows aside and nurture my mind, speak kindly to my heart, and whisper to my soul that I am worth every beautiful opportunity and acknowledgment I am given. I am still here breathing and healing. I was never broken. I just needed to bloom.
 I sit and watch the sunrise on a beautiful day.  It’s spectacular. Seasons change as life does. The cool crisp air awakens my senses and fills my lungs with the scent of renewal.  I find solace in nature’s cyclical rhythm.  The leaves, like memories, rustle, and fall, making way for the promise of spring.  Today’s beauty is eternal, unfettered by the limitations of human life. The sun’s warm touch ignites a sense of gratitude within me.  Each breath is a gift.  Each moment is a treasure.  The seasons have taught me to cherish each moment.  To find beauty in decay and rebirth.  In this fleeting dawn, I feel alive.  The world awakens, vibrant and pulsing.  
 Birds sing their morning hymns, as God’s creatures begin to stir.  I seek simplicity, a sunrise, a breeze, a loved one’s touch.  Life’s complexities fall away, leaving only room for love.  As Autumn’s palette paints the sky, I am reminded:  that every ending marks a new beginning. And in this acceptance, I find peace.  Time, once a linear path, now unfolds like a lotus.  Petals of memory unfurl, releasing the fragrance of the possibility of a better future. Today’s radiance assures me every moment is a masterpiece.

Dear Teenage Me,

Greetings from the future! I would ask, “how’s it going?”, but I already know: life is kind of overwhelming for you right now. Your family recently moved to a new country and here you are, still trying to gain your bearings and fit in at your new school all while your body and mind are experiencing so many changes. There is so much that frustrates you in general and perhaps the most frustrating thing that hits closest to home is your one and only younger sister. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering, “why are we focusing on her in a letter for me?” Please bear with me and hear me out.

People have been comparing the two of you for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s because you only have an 18-month age gap between you and how much other people think you look like. Either way, the similarities haven’t changed how differently people treat you. As the older sister, you’re the role model. You’re the responsible one. So when anything goes wrong, it always comes back to your behavior (or lack thereof) in some way. That’s been true since childhood. After all, was it proper for you to go play when your sister had homework and would be distracted by your actions? Was it proper for you to have a dirty room if it meant being a bad example for her? If she was too loud, was it proper for you to leave her to her own devices instead of telling her to take it down a notch (or ten)? The answer, of course, was always no. The expectations for you weren’t always spoken but they were clear: you had to know better and it was your job to look after your sister.

I know the expectations are even higher now. You understand that your behavior makes a statement about how your parents raised you. You revel in the praise of getting good grades, conforming to the rules, and making your community proud. You understand social cues and adjust your behavior accordingly. Meanwhile, your sister struggles in school and gets into trouble. You see how people stare and laugh at her, not with her. Your parents hear about it from her teachers, and their response is always the same: “talk to your sister”. While you want to help, you also wish you didn’t have to. You wish she could just…figure things out and not attract so much negative attention. You wish she would take responsibility and self-adjust, as you do, instead of making more trouble for herself and for you by extension.

There is a strong feeling of bitterness that often rises in your chest these days that you don’t have a word for yet. The word is “resentment”, and you feel it in spades. It’s the reason why there is so much anger in your voice whenever you talk to her. It’s the reason why there are hidden and not-so-hidden jabs in the way you speak about her. It’s also the reason why you don’t see how much she is struggling too. How she struggles to figure out whether people want to be their friend or their entertainment. How she also feels the weight of others’ expectations, except unlike you, she knows that she doesn’t meet them. While your resentment highlights her flaws, it allows you to forget her incredible sense of humor or the fact that she is one of the kindest people you know, despite the bullying she experiences. Your resentment makes you so focused on your own confusion and pain that you can’t see her own.

And when you do figure this out years later and remember the screaming matches, the tears, the mean words, the first thing you’re going to feel is shame. Shame for not being the sister she needed and not being able to take those words back. But wait, there’s hope! I write to you from a time when you and your sister are a strong unit. You laugh and cry together. You apologize better when you upset each other. You now poke gentle fun at your differences and are still fiercely protective of each other. Eventually, you’ll start to forgive yourself for what you didn’t know and what you could have done better. You’ll start learning from her how to be yourself more and contort yourself less. And when your sister encourages you to write, you will roll your eyes good-naturedly and move onto other things without realizing that she has planted one of the many seeds that need to sprout before you’re ready to take that leap.

What is a body if not a safe space?
How come within my skin I faced
Uncomfortableness from friend and foe the same.
I look back on it now and laugh at the shame.
Brought upon me by those
With old school Christian ways.
“Boys will be boys,” they said when I complained.
About how they gripped at my chest
My thighs, My bra straps, My thick mane.
It all felt so hopeless then.
It felt like I couldn’t win.
Against a system, a culture, a people
That had deemed my body public property.
When my mother found out she set me straight promptly.
That I should not encourage trouble upon me
And to not make myself enticing to draw in unwanted company.
In the halls of my Southern elite high school
I rotted away knowing there was nothing I could do.
That was until me too
When I saw people cared to not let boys do what they want to do
To stand up for bodily autonomy no matter the obstacles I had to go through
Guns, knives and defense classes caused clashes
with family and boyfriends alike
But we persevered
We fought to be not only protected but also feared
I am proud to say we have incited tears from abusers’ eyes
As they kiss their families goodbye
After I used ICE to cool my rage
And send them packing from a cage
To their country of origin.
We did not let our religious start to life
Hinder us from doing what’s right.
Silence begets silence
Passiveness begets passiveness
In it grows rot that must be dug out and purged.
We have found our voice and the strength to not let it be silenced.

Dear (younger) Alex,

Recently, your parents uprooted your life in Rochester, Minnesota and moved to start a new chapter in Fairfax County Virginia. You just started the 4th grade at Sangster Elementary School and already, your classmates treat Jamestown like it is Disneyland, ride real horses, and have perfect cursive penmanship. Obviously, Virginia has a hard time letting go of the colonial times and takes higher education extremely seriously. But, besides Virginia being oddly proud of it’s past, I know being the new kid in school is hard. Getting teased over your midwestern accent is one thing, but the truth is, I know you don’t want anyone knowing about your secret.

A few months prior to moving, you found out you have dyslexia. Dyslexia sounds pretty bad considering you don’t even know where to begin on how to spell it. Dyslexia is something where there is no cure and there are no pills that will help. Instead, you just have it.

Now, if circumstance couldn’t get any worse, you are now stuck in a classroom full of ivy ledge go-getters. Yet here you are, already behind and fearing you will fail out of school for thinking you are not smart enough due to your learning disability. At this point, you assume your best solution is to morph into a shadow, to not talk since you already sound foreign, and constantly dread that everyone is going to find out. Especially when the teacher decides to go on an intense humiliation picking spree and will randomly select some poor soul to read out loud. Of course, there will be some students who will want to show off their college level reading skills but, the teacher loves to pick on someone who hasn’t had a turn. Unfortunately, repeating quietly to yourself, “Don’t pick me” magically manifests into being chosen.

Now as the future you, I could lie and say no one finds out and you will never get teased. Instead, I am here to be honest with you and deliver the good and bad news.

First, the bad news:

The fear of randomly being called to read out loud is forever going to be scary, even to this day. The continuous teasing never ends, people will question your intelligence and ask you why you take so long to finish tests. I can also guarantee that someone in the room will always correct the way you mispronounced a word. There will be many late nights making flash cards, rereading chapters, and triple checking your answers on tests to make sure you read the question correctly. It will be increasing frustrating to hear people say they don’t need to study since it’s so easy. When for us, it’s not so simple.

Now for the good news:

I understand the determination to be normal is what truly drives you. But, the older you get, the more you will realize that we are never going to be like everyone else. We simply cannot be and that is because we are not suppose to be. All the hard work you put in trying to be normal actually turns into grit.

Instead of seeing dyslexia as a burden – dyslexia is a hilarious gift because what isn’t funny about saying, “Can I have some antelope?” When you ment to say cantaloup. Eventually, the fear of being wrong doesn’t worry you anymore because we are so use to not being right. Besides, your entire intelligence isn’t based on a multiple choice test. So instead of hiding, we started embracing learning, asking questions and studying because having unique ideas and being naturally curious is what opens doors for you.

So although we are not perfect I promise you one thing for sure: you will never fail. Matter a fact, you will just continue to grow and eventually learn how to really fly.

Dear Taleena,
Opportunities will come before you, accept the challenge instead of avoiding a collision. Let ambition flow through your veins with every step. In elementary school, you will have an assignment where you will choose a business venture. Your creative mind will choose to be a banner designer where you will create advertisements for the local classroom businesses. Having a rapport with your fellow classmates will allow you to become the most successful business with recurrence. Your reasonable prices will be relatable as these businesses are just starting up and they need advertisements for their goods and services. Constant smiles and banter will catch the attention of shoppers. Personalize the banners for them to sparkle and shine in the elements of laughter, chaos and townsfolk activities. Maintain this enthusiasm through all of your encounters and don’t let any opportunities pass you by. Build an enterprise and pass through the generations that hard work and dedication will lead you to the destination you deserve and desire.
Sincerely,
The one who endured through the chaos and turmoil to create a path for success and independence.

To my young soul-

You didn’t know why-
You had a compulsion to lie.
You were born to sow chaos,
Then to watch from the side lines.

You didn’t know why-
You sat and read in the trees for hours…
Why you loved no one’s company,
As much as the magnolia flowers.

You didn’t know why-
You never felt like enough.

You didn’t know why-
You had a desire to bleed.
You didn’t know why-
Pain felt like a need.

You didn’t know why-
You were up all night.
Despite a handful of Tylenol P.M-
No fatigued mind in sight.

You didn’t know why-
All you could do to speak was to write.

You didn’t know why-
You were full of love and disdain.
You didn’t know why-
You just had to paint.

You didn’t know why-
Why you always dyed your hair,
Why you cried in the corner-
Why you threw that chair.

You didn’t know why-
You felt no love or care.
You were so out of control.
Unaware of what festered in your soul.

You didn’t know why-
You were the only human alive.
You didn’t know why-
You were born with a desire to die.

You didn’t know, why you didn’t need sleep-
You didn’t understand your dreams,
About being six feet deep.
You didn’t.

You didn’t know if you had an idea-
Or a disillusioned psychosis.
You didn’t understand you were still you,
If you accepted the diagnosis.

You didn’t know how to be-
You didn’t know why
Until finally you listened to the DSM 5.
You didn’t know how to not be defined.

You didn’t know about manic depression,
You didn’t know why you felt such desperation.
You didn’t know why- you didn’t know.
A bitter pill to swallow.

Now you know.
Yet you can’t leave it behind,
With a diagnosis you must make room,
Now you know.

Your mood is a disorder,
Yet it’s all you’ve ever known.
So swallow that pill in the hopes-
One day you may not need it anymore.

You’re perfectly whole,
Yet now you know.
Escaping not unscathed; only wiser.
You’re young and you’re old.

Now you know.
You’re my shoulder to lean on,
As the world is cruel.
Now you know, I didn’t know you.

It’s okay to hate her
To hate them both
Death will not excuse bad parenting
But one day I promise you
The shards of their broken promises
The Bricks of grief that hold you back
And drown you in fear
Are what build the foundation of your forever
So again yes
It’s okay to hate her
To hate them both because one day
I promise you’ll learn to let go

Dear Deaja,
How cool is it reading a letter from your future self? You’re probably in our room at grandma’s house with your headphones on blasting old school rap music so you can put off doing homework. I know there are over a million questions racing through your tiny child’s mind, bad new we never grow wings. Seriously though, in our life we get to do things and see things we never even dreamed we would but at this point I know your mind is only focused on something no kids this young should ever have to be worried about. I understand this is something you don’t ever want to hear but the sooner you hear it the better your mental health will be. Firstly, none of this is your fault. You have to remember who is that parent and who is the child. You have done everything you know how to do since you were seven years old, and the fact is when someone refused to change even after you constantly tell them how they hurt you, then you have to realize that they don’t value their relationship as much as you do. You’re a thirteen-year-old high school student and if that wasn’t hard enough on you, you just found out from one of your classmates that your mom moved away from you, and she also took your brother and sister without saying a word to you. By now you’re on day five of trying to call her and getting no response. I’m sorry to say she won’t answer the phone for you, in fact, at some point she will even change her number altogether.
Secondly, nothing is wrong with you. Grandma is going to tell you to keep calling her once a week like clockwork and not to stop no matter how many more times she sees you break down. I want you to know its ok to be sick of being hurt by the same person. I know how much it hurts you to see all the other kids around have their mothers in their lives and while your dad and grandma struggle to cover it up with you with toys and fun and whatever else, it’s just not the same. That haunting feeling like something in your life is missing, that there’s a piece of your heart you can’t seem to find it and it feels as if you never will. I promise that feeling won’t be there forever, you can and will find your way to fill that hole with things that bring you peace. Despite what the world and some of the people around you will say, no one has the right to keep hurting you. The simple fact is that even after having children, life will never be like the kind of parents we see on the tv shows, the world just doesn’t work that way and there are people in the world who are too selfish to put other, including their own children, before themselves. Between you and your mother, you are the child in this matter not the adult. The responsibility of taking the first step to mend fences should not always be on you. Lastly, it’s ok to be the villain in someone else’s story. While your mother will keep trying to charm you with promises of doing better, wanting to get to know you and doing better from then on, it’s all a lie. Someone who really cares about you will never keep letting you down. They will not repeatedly cancel on you at the last minute, leave you high and dry without a phone call for weeks, months and years at a time, nor will they try to make you out to be the problem every single time.

as a young pup
i was told many things
some i wouldn’t understand
while others i would abhor

my guardian would try their best
to teach me how to behave,
there’s a right time and place
is what they constantly say

never run away
don’t bark at night
don’t eat this or that
never ever bite anyone

over the years i had grown,
not yet fully understanding
why i would do as i am told
i only wanted to make them happy

then came a mighty storm
with a deafening echo
and enough flash
to turn night into day

my guardian was not home
and i was terrified, all alone
the wind blasted open my door
and i felt the storm coming for me

in a panic i ran away
trying to escape this dreadful storm
yet nowhere i went felt safe
so i kept running further away

eventually i ran far enough
to no longer hear rumbling
yet now, i was completely lost
and couldn’t help but to bark for help

i smelled something approaching,
with relief i ran towards them
only to be greeted by snarls
and growls of impending doom

they told me to leave,
as this was not my home
and they have their own guardian
whom they love and adore

so i ran some more
but i had grown tired & hungry
and stopped to scrounge for scraps
any piece of food i could find

i picked up on a pungent smell
coming from a nearby ditch
and against all i have been taught
i scarfed down this half rotten corpse

it didn’t take long for me to be sick
my stomach would grumble from pain
and i had to lay down to rest
at least for a few hours until daylight

when i awoke from my sleep
i was too disoriented
to have proper judgement
for what i was about to do

a human was approaching me
with a handful of treats
but i did not trust them
so i growled and lunged at them

they ran off and i ate the treat
that was dropped on the floor
i tried to go back to sleep
but i didn’t get much of a chance

another human approached me
this time without a treat
but a very shiny stick
with a loop at the end

i snarled with every step taken
and i didn’t know what to watch out for
is the stick to be used against me
or is that just a distraction?

before i could realize what happened
there was something tugging at my neck
and i was bound to the shiny stick,
slowly being dragged away into a kennel

we rode to a depressing building
and i was taken inside to a cage
i figured this was it for me
as my neighbors would soon agree

they told me their stories as i did mine
one of them said they had a similar tale
and how they have been stuck here since
which only made me further more sad

now i finally know why
i should never run away
or why i shouldn’t bark at night
and especially not to eat everything

most important of all,
i know why i shouldn’t bite
because now i am held captive
and there is no escape from here

a few days passed and i have given up
on ever being able to see my friend again
my guardian truly was taking care of me
and i missed them and their ways

and that’s when it happened
i couldn’t believe it…
the cage door opened
and they were there

my guardian came to rescue me!
i was filled with such joy
i would never disobey again
not even during a storm

Dear Younger Me,

I see you. I see that ache you carry, the weight of feeling unseen and trapped. It feels so heavy, doesn’t it? You’re surrounded by people who should protect you, but instead, they make you feel small. A home that doesn’t feel safe, and it hurts in ways that can’t be spoken. I hear you. You feel silenced, hidden in a corner where no one truly hears you, lost between the expectations of others and with the sting of neglect.

Stolen innocence, the abuse that no one stops or acknowledges. But none of this is your fault.Those cutting words that make you doubt your worth, those looks that make you wonder if they’re right. Like maybe you really are just angry, bitter, and undeserving of love or peace. I know they call you a rotten apple and expect you to be grateful for the hurt they inherited and handed down. But they don’t see the wounds beneath, the pain that drives you to lash out, the scars of neglect, and the love that was withheld. They only see the shell and never the child inside that’s aching and unseen.

But I’m here to tell you. They’re wrong. You are so much more than their words, stronger than the brokenness they try to make you carry. You are not their mistakes, You are not bound by your parents mistakes and their past does not define your future. I know how lonely it feels, and I’m sorry it’s like this. I wish it could be different, but I need you to hold on.

I’m grateful you put down that bottle. In that moment of darkness, you chose hope over despair, strength over silence. Remember, surviving was an act of courage; you’re still here.

That anger you feel! That fire in your chest! It’s real, and it’s valid. But don’t let it consume you. Let it keep driving you. Let it remind you of all you’re worth, of the life you’re going to build that has nothing to do with their judgments. You’re the author of this story, not them. They don’t get to write who you are. Not the teachers, not the doubters, Not your parents, Not your grandmother or anyone who has tried to break you down.

Inside you, there’s a strength that nothing can extinguish. It’s there to push you through every dark day, to rise again even when it seems impossible. Each trial is adding to that strength, that courage, that unstoppable spirit they never expected. And just know that one day, you’ll be surrounded by people who truly see you, who understand the battles you’ve fought and celebrate you for every inch of progress.

You’ll walk across a stage at an HBCU, bold and unapologetic, knowing that every ounce of pain only fueled your rise. You’ll stand there as a powerful Black woman who didn’t let anyone else define her, who became everything they said she couldn’t. So keep going, little one. Feed that fire, let it guide you. Be bold. Be unstoppable. Speak up, no matter who tries to silence you, and don’t ever apologize for the woman you’re becoming.

One day, you’ll look back and know that every tear, every struggle, and every moment of anger was part of a journey to becoming unstoppable. And you’ll be so proud of the person you fought to become.

With love and pride,
The Strong Black Woman You’ll Become

Dear Younger Me,
When I was your age, I told myself I was afraid of the dark. I slept with Mom until an age some might find “too old,” but I never really liked being alone, so why force myself? Dance Academy would play, and I’d drift off beside her, feeling the comfort of my glasses slipping off my face as I dozed. Eventually, I got used to doing it on my own. I’d take off my glasses and watch TV until my eyes grew heavy. The images were always blurry, but that never mattered—it was the comfort, the sounds that lulled me to sleep.
As I got older, I realized it wasn’t the dark I feared, but the silence. I couldn’t just sit with my thoughts, so I played music each night, letting it fill the quiet until my mind faded into sleep.
When I turned 16, I wanted more space and moved into the basement. I was thrilled to set it up like my own little apartment. “Will you be able to sleep all the way down there alone?” Mom asked, a little worried. But quarantine had changed me. I had grown comfortable with myself and even welcomed the silence darkness could bring.
Weeks passed as we finished setting up my room. Once we put the bed in, I stayed there alone all night—but then I’d return to sleep between my mom’s and grandma’s rooms. “When are you moving down?” Grandma would ask, and I’d say, “I’m just waiting until I set it up exactly how I want.” To everyone else, it might have seemed like nerves, but I knew I’d get there.
And I was right. I finished setting up the room and began sleeping down there just fine. Occasionally, the shadows would deceive me, forming images that dissipated as the lights faded, but I eventually grew accustomed to this. I wasn’t afraid anymore.
At the age of 17, I discovered that I had Type 2 diabetes. Type 2. The explanation, “Your blood sugar is too high,” didn’t seem like something a “normal” 17-year-old should be dealing with, and it made me feel like I was at fault. You need to change your diet.” The news hit hard, and I retreated into myself, looking for anything that would distract my mind. 
That’s when I started reading—book after book, writing reviews, marking my favorite parts. I read so much that I decided to write my own story. I always heard that I was good at it, so it felt natural. I wrote as an escape, just letting the words flow without overthinking. 
I haven’t finished the book yet, but it has led me to a life I never expected but am grateful for. I want to be a writer because it’s something I can control. There was always something that made me feel powerless and afraid, but writing let me create worlds, characters, and stories that follow the rules I set. In a world where so much is unpredictable, writing felt like a steady ground beneath me. I decide how things begin, how they end, and everything that happens in between. So I wrote Darker in the Shadows for you, the girl who just wanted to not feel out of control—a story dedicated to the version of me who turned the darkness into a sanctuary, a place to grow and thrive.
With love, 
-A

Dear Savannah,

Greetings sweet, precious girl. I know you are tired, confused, hurt and alone, but I promise, it gets better with time. Eventually, you will learn that the sins of your mother are not yours to carry. I know it pains you to hear the screams coming from a closed bedroom door as your father is barraged with curse words, or the feel of the spit coming from her lips as she spewed profanities and insults in your sweet face as you feel the sting of the vacuum cleaner cord go across your mouth, busting a tooth in the process. I see you there, standing on a stool to make your brother and yourself macaroni and cheese to prevent the pang of hunger in your stomach. I know you wait by the door for your father to come home so you can feel the only sense of stability or security in your 8-year-old existence. I know you feel like time stood still when you saw your mother with a pistol to her head to play Russian roulette, even though you were too young to know what that “game” was. I am aware of the fear and hurt that your young heart endured as you witnessed your mother sitting upright on the middle of her bed, surrounded by the drugs that she abused spread all around her. You could feel your chest tighten and your eyes well up with big tears that rolled down your face as she raised the pistol to her head, pulling the trigger for the first time. The shrill of your scream that echoed through the hall of that disheveled home still echoes in your mind. Finally, you start feel relief, once your father pushed you and your brother to the side as he leapt in the room and tackled your mother to the ground. Five days she would be away. Despite all the hurt and terror and pain she afflicted on you and your brother, you can’t help but wail yourself to sleep, wondering if she was safe and cared for in that hospital. I just want you to know, beautiful, that you DO recover, only after your own struggles almost stand in the way of your own sanity. Your fear and own insecurities brought on by the trauma you endured at a young age will lead yourself down a dark, winding road of destruction, spearheaded by drugs, fueling a fire that would destroy everything in its wake. You will grow to have two children of your own. Children that you will eventually lose to the system due to your own poor decisions. You will hear the Judges honest words as she tells you that you will “never get any better, and you will NEVER have your kids again. “Despite all of that, you will eventually find God and get sober. During this time, you will find peace, like you have never felt. You will begin therapy, and learn that those horrible, unspeakable things that happened to you as a young child, do not have to define who you are today. One day, you will be able to look in the mirror and love the person that you see staring back at you. One day, you will tell your story to others in recovery, shining a light in their darkness. One day, you will work as a peer support specialist at a rehabilitation center for expecting mothers, guiding them with your own path of recovery and be a constant reminder to them, that sobriety is possible. You are going to thrive sweet girl, breaking out of the shell that once held you captive. Did I forget to mention to you, you young warrior, that you would sit in front of that same judge, 8 years later in the same chair, as she looks you dead in your eye and congratulates you on a job well done. You will hear her announce to the courtroom that you are in fact a fit mother, and before she knocks down the gavel, she declares that you once again have full custody of your children. You will sit in that chair and feel everything come full circle. You can now be the mother, sister, friend that God intended. You will glow and begin to enjoy the little things in your life. You are a warrior, my sweet girl, now go on out there and show the world!

Love,
Your healed self

Hello younger Glenn, as an adult, I think about the time you are having and all the exciting opportunities that have presented themselves or will be in the coming years. I know that you feel like life has been challenging at a young age and that you have tackled most of your problems, but I am here to tell you that plenty of challenges lie ahead that are difficult and some that are fun. I am proud of the man that you and I have become. A lot of that is thanks to our parents and the upbringing they sacrificed to provide for you and our brother, Michael.
To say that life gets easier would be a lie. Naturally, as you get older, you will have bigger decisions that have a larger impact on your life. The fun will be had with both family and friends but overcoming challenges will be looked upon with similar fondness.
Right now, you have a lot of thoughts that trouble you and cause anxiety. The expectations that you have for yourself and what type of person you would like to become are heavy and I sympathize thinking back to that time. Growing up is not easy and throughout the evolution of society, doctors have focused more on the anxiety that you feel right now. Struggling with thoughts that take up your attention for days and distract you from life is something that occurs daily for you, but I am here to provide you with some relief. As we got older, the intrusive thoughts that caused depression and anxiety have been controlled.
Every dream and goal that your thoughts deviated from, can be conquered and reached as you grow older with the help of family, friends, medicine, and doctors. Life was a constant struggle with battling OCD and focusing only on your thoughts. It is something that never goes away completely, but we have overcome the thoughts to live life more freely and pursue the dreams that should have dominated our minds instead of struggling with thoughts that brought us down at times.
The struggle was strong enough for me to get help from a professional who helped me develop the tools to battle with our struggles. The medicine was the final piece of the puzzle that allowed me to grow and become a baseball coach, a husband, and best of all, a father. The fears of not being worthy to be a husband and start a family are forgotten and the focus can be on your wonderful life.
Besides being a father, this was the biggest challenge of my life to this point, and it brings me to tears to tell you that help is on the way and that this is one challenge that we can beat. It is a challenge that has been won but continues with a bigger army behind us.