To the voice of self-doubt in my head

 
To the one who made me believe I couldn’t, I could.

 
To the one who made me afraid to learn to drive, now I drive across the country several times a year.

 
To the one who made me feel I wouldn’t make it on my own, I’ve been thriving since I moved out in 2019.

 
To the one who made me feel I was never smart enough, I’m now in a Ph.D. program.

 
To the one who made me want to stay in my comfort zone, I moved across the country by myself.

 
To the one who made me think I don’t deserve love, I keep opening my heart and trying again.

 
To the one who thinks I can’t,

 I can.

Wednesday June 3rd, 2026
It’s been a long journey with my body and I. We are a double-edged sword. One thing I know for sure, though, is that we are making it day by day, minute by minute. To my tummy…you are my biggest insecurity, and it’s been a whirlwind! I see all my beautiful women counterparts around me, especially in the modeling world. They have beautiful, flat stomachs. As some of them walk confidently down the runway with their amazing bathing suits alongside myself, I think to myself, why can’t have a tummy like them? They can wear anything they can ever dream of without a pouch in sight. They can pose in a variety of angles effortlessly and flawlessly. I think to myself, why can’t I? Is something wrong with me? Is my tummy too big? Am I not beautiful enough like these women out here catwalking in confidence on the runways? Or dynamically striking poses left and right at the camera. Truth of the matter is I am good enough! I am more than my negative beliefs. To my lovely tummy…we made it through everything good and bad. Let’s talk about all the good things we accomplished together. We have successfully completed NYFW 2020. We have completed the Miss New York USA 2021 competition. We made our first TV appearance. We made it through several successful photo shoots. So, to my lovely tummy, we love you! You are beautiful! We’re going to persist! We’re going to keep accomplishing and making it through. We’re going to win because we were born to win forever and always!

Dear Insecurity,
You are nothing. Really, you are. Nothing without me, anyway. And I wouldn’t be the same without you. Allow me to break it down and explain exactly why.
If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have to use manipulative and cunning tactics to get your way. You wouldn’t need to gaslight me to be heard. Your intentions wouldn’t be hidden beneath seemingly innocuous motives. You wouldn’t have to search for covert or unique ways to manifest in order to get the last word and be right. You would simply be right.
As I sit and break down exactly where intrusive thoughts stem from, it has become clear to me that none of these ideas were originally my own. No one is born with self-hatred. No one feels ugly or messy as a baby. Toddlers do not worry about their weight or if people like them. Babies look in the mirror and laugh; they do not see ugliness or look for flaws. Even when a small child has an accident, they may become embarrassed, but they typically don’t take it personally and let it turn into shame. If they do, it is a result of being told to do so.
All of these things are learned, as well as taught. We absorb ideas and thoughts as children, making them part of who we are and adopting them as our own. We fiercely believe what we are told. We had no reason to believe we were being harshly criticized; our guardians’ and caregivers’ words were factual to our impressionable and delicate ears. We become what we are told we are, particularly by those we love and trust. When those people we love and trust have not faced their own deep insecurities, we pay the price. It can be a hefty, lifelong fee.
You are the collective echo of a toxic culture and society. You are the voice of a narcissistic upbringing ringing in my ears. You are my complex trauma trying to break me. You are the angry projection of forgotten faces and past hurts, of jealous and jilted lovers, and of others who have passed on their own insecurities. You are the residue that remains years after toxic relationships have ended. You are the words of an unhealed generation that did not have the same knowledge and tools we are fortunate to have today.
You are the shadow of a much more complicated part of myself—a part I have not been ready to confront and accept until recent years. You are a reason for my addiction, and my addiction keeps you alive and thriving. You are the cracked mirror I haven’t replaced out of complacency and an innate need to stay broken.
Until now, you have been the one thing in life that stayed consistent, no matter how much I tried to run away from you. Self-medication and addiction only kept you quiet, and even then, it was a temporary fix. When the vices ran out, you were back and stronger than ever. Little did I know that when I tried to ignore you, I was actually feeding and encouraging you to rest and grow.
Over the years, I have grown exhausted as you thrived and assured me you were in charge. You convinced me you only had my best interests in mind. I have tried to fight you, knowing you were wrong. I have tried ignoring you and running away, only to learn that I was running away from myself. That is because you are a part of me, and always will be. I will never be without you, and I have accepted this. You have shaped and been there for me; you have served your purpose as a voice of perspective. You will always keep me genuinely humble and will not let me forget where I have been. You have challenged me, and for that, I am actually grateful.
However, it is time to change the dance. It is time for insecurity and ego to step aside and let confidence and compassion lead. They have been growing, healing, and waiting patiently for their turn. Let them take over; it might be nice for you to finally have a rest. You have worked so hard for the entirety of my life. You have earned and deserve it.

Dear Insecurities,

I hate when you show up; that loud background noise you make when I start to relax. As soon as I think I’m comfortable, here you come reminding me how undeserving I am of happiness. When he says, “I love you”, instead of his voice, I hear you loud and clear. You don’t even have the decency to whisper, “Bitch you do not deserve love, why would you?” You show up at the most inconvenient times. Why do you want me to doubt everything? How fucked up do you have to be to try to break me when I’m trying so hard to love myself? This new job might be the best thing for me, but yo hating ass always got something to say. Am I supposed to struggle forever? Do you want me to be miserable and alone? I bet that would make you happy. I bet Major Depressive Disorder is the goal. I bet you hope my anxiety gets so bad that the panic attacks return?

How dare you tell me that I’m unworthy of all the things I’ve worked so hard to get? Nope, not this time. I can feel the love radiating from my son when he hugs me, and I deserve that shit. When my man looks at me with those deep baby blues, not only do I feel love, but I see it as clear as the waters in Turks and Caicos. My circle may be small, but the admiration they give me could fill Madison Square Garden. When my best friend mentions me, it’s always to share that I’m #GOALS! “Bitch, you are HER!”, she shouts that shit with so much Bravado I can’t help but believe it’s true. My job picked me because I was the best; no, scratch that, because I’m always the best. Fuck you for thinking you could take over my life. Fuck you for ruining so many relationships and so many good opportunities. I AM HER! And I will always be THAT BITCH!

I know you will always come knocking on my door. When I’m alone or starting a new adventure, you will be staring through the window. Just like in a horror film, the music will creep through the speakers, and doubt will try to slowly creep in. Maybe you’ll start with a whisper, maybe you’ll blare like a natural disaster warning alarm. Whatever tactics you have planned for me in the future, they will not work. I’m eating good, drinking my water, and staying healthy. Yep, I’m seeing that therapist and meditating daily! I’m prepared for you this time. I’m glowing, and I refuse to let you dim my light.

No sad tears or beautiful send-off. I’m throwing your shit over the balcony. You are not welcome here.

Respectfully,

Dear Insecurity,
I think we need to take a break. It’s not you … it’s me.
I know we’ve been together for 45 years, but I’m not the same person I was last week or last month or last decade. We’re moving in separate directions, and try as either of us might, I don’t see a future for us.
I remember when I first met you. I was in sixth grade, new to your good friend Puberty, new to the middle school, and desperately trying to find a place to belong. Kids can be cruel, and thanks to the bullying I got to meet you at an early age.
Why didn’t you tell me you and Puberty were besties? The teachers covered that in sex ed. I get it, though – it was the perfect opening for you. You just wanted to belong, and with Puberty you did. Me and all my peers, filled with raging hormones, changing bodies, and big confusing emotions – you find the lly fit in.
The thing is, I never did, and I still blame you for that.
You also never told me you and Bullying were frenemies. The more I was bullied, the more you cemented your place in my life. You may have found your people, but you made it so I couldn’t.
Let’s not forget the other member of your friend group, Weight. They have been along for the ride with you, making me think I’ll never be good enough or thin enough or pretty enough. I’m still trying to find a way to gracefully break it off with Weight, but it’s kind of hard in this looks-are-everything world we live in.
You probably already knew this, but I finally parted ways with Puberty a couple years ago and never looked back. Good riddance!
You know, Insecurity, you’ve been with me through all the major milestones of my life. You were quiet during my college years but became more vocal around the time I got my first job. You were there with me and Anxiety on my wedding day when I realized halfway through the ceremony that I left the marriage license at my house, and I know you were the one whispering in my ear that I was already screwing up at this marriage thing.
You were there the first time I held my newborn daughter and questioned if I truly had what it took to be a good mother. You’ve been whispering in my ear for years about me never measuring up to that impossible standard that lives rent-free in my mind, and then pointing out all the struggles that reinforce that.
Lately you’ve been sneakier about hiding who you are, but you’re still there. The thing is, dear Insecurity, I’ve gotten better at seeing you and setting boundaries. And while you’re asking “Are you sure you want to do this?”, I’m busy making new friends – Optimism, Aplomb, Confidence, and Courage.
My new friends have also given me the strength to tell you this. When I said the break wasn’t because of you, that was your cousin Self-Doubt talking.
It’s totally because of you.
Sincerely,
Me

Dear Insecurity,
I remember you on my first day at that famous food company in Ireland. The air smelled of fresh herbs and possibility. I, Angel, a 20-year-old Chinese girl studying food marketing, walked through those glass doors with a heart so full it could burst. The developed kitchen gleamed like a cathedral of creativity. My first task landed on my desk: develop a clean-label snack concept. I felt electric. This wasn’t just a job. It was my stage.

But you, Insecurity, whispered differently. Within a month, every lab report felt like a battlefield. Shelf-life trials failed. Consumer data contradicted my instincts. I couldn’t balance Irish palates with my own cultural intuition. You told me I didn’t belong. That I was too young, too foreign, too inexperienced. You made my hands shake before meetings and my throat close during presentations. I almost believed you. I nearly quit.

Then my family called. My parents’ voices—warm, steady, familiar—said, “You crossed an ocean for this dream. Don’t let a wave push you back.” A mentor in the company pulled me aside and said, “Every great product was once a failure that refused to give up.” My supervisor didn’t scold me for my mistakes. Instead, she handed me a coffee and said, “Tell me what you learned. Then tell me how you’ll pivot.”

And something inside me shifted.

So here’s my truth, Insecurity. You no longer get to define me. You made me doubt, but you also made me dig deeper than I ever have. You showed me that courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s the decision to act anyway. I reclaimed my power the moment I chose to stay. Now, this work placement isn’t a test I fear failing. It’s a launchpad. A transformation.

This role in new product development is rewriting my future. Every brainstorming session, every sensory evaluation, every late night refining recipes—it’s all teaching me that food marketing is where science meets soul. My goals are clear: by the end of this placement, I will have developed one viable product that tells a story—Irish ingredients, Chinese inspiration, and my own resilience. I will build relationships with suppliers and senior developers that last beyond this internship. I will walk out of these doors not as a student who survived, but as a professional who belongs.

More than that, this placement is building bridges. It’s connecting me to a network of innovators who see food as love made tangible. It’s showing me that my unique perspective—being Chinese, educated in Ireland, passionate about marketing—isn’t a weakness. It’s my superpower. This is where I learn to fail fast, iterate bravely, and lead with empathy.

To my family: your late-night video calls reminded me who I am. To the mentor who saw my tears and offered wisdom: you gave me a mirror to see my own strength. To my supervisor: your calm faith in my potential is a gift I’ll carry forever. And to my friends who sent memes and voice notes just to make me laugh: you kept my spirit light when the work felt heavy.

So, Insecurity, you can stay if you want. But you’ll sit in the back row now. I’m taking the stage. This placement isn’t just a line on my CV. It’s the chapter where I stop asking for permission and start creating my own recipe for success. Watch me.

With fire and gratitude,
Angel

You.

You’ve been with me longer than anyone else. Longer than any friend, any partner, any version of myself I’ve tried to grow into. You were there before I even understood what a body was. Before I knew what beauty meant. Before I knew what shame felt like.

You taught me shame.

You taught me to look at myself like I was something broken. Something wrong. Something that needed fixing before it could be loved. You made me memorize every flaw like scripture — the softness of my stomach, the curve of my hips, the marks life carved into my skin. You made me believe those things were evidence. Evidence that I wasn’t enough. Evidence that I had failed at being a woman in the one way the world never lets women fail.

You made me hate the mirror.

You made me stand there picking myself apart like I was a crime scene. You made me compare myself to bodies that weren’t mine, lives that weren’t mine, standards that were never meant for me. You made me feel like I had to apologize for taking up space. Like I had to earn the right to exist in this skin.

You made me believe that if I could just shrink enough, starve enough, hide enough, maybe then I’d be worthy. Maybe then I’d be allowed to feel beautiful. Maybe then I’d finally be enough for someone — anyone — including myself.

But here’s the part that hurts the most:

I trusted you.

I let you narrate my life. I let you decide what I wore, who I loved, how I walked into a room. I let you silence me. I let you convince me that my body was the enemy, when really, it was the only thing that ever stayed with me through everything I survived.

And God… I survived so much.

This body carried me through trauma that should’ve shattered me.
It held children.
It held grief.
It held secrets.
It held nights I didn’t think I’d make it through.
It held me when no one else did.

And still — you made me hate it.

You made me hate the very thing that kept me alive.

But I’m not letting you do that anymore.

I’m done letting you turn my skin into a battlefield. I’m done letting you weaponize my reflection. I’m done letting you convince me that my worth lives anywhere outside of me.

This body is not perfect.
It is not delicate.
It is not untouched.
It is not small.

It is mine.

It is the record of everything I’ve lived through — every heartbreak, every birth, every night I clawed my way back from the edge, every moment I chose to stay when leaving would’ve been easier.

You don’t get to shame that anymore.

You don’t get to shrink me.
You don’t get to silence me.
You don’t get to make me feel unworthy in the one place I should feel safest — inside myself.

I’m reclaiming my body.
Not because it suddenly changed, but because I finally see the truth:

You were never protecting me.
You were punishing me for surviving.

And I’m done being punished for that.

You can whisper if you want.
You can linger in the corners of my mind.
But you don’t get to run the show anymore.

This body is not your battleground.
It’s my home.
And I’m finally choosing to live in it — fully, loudly, unapologetically.

You, no you. Yes, you. I’ve dealt with you long enough. I want to live my l life, be at peace and thrive but you won’t let me. I keep telling myself what I’m not, what I can’t be and where I’m never going to be able to go – because of you. I’m sick of it. You keep taking from my life. The fact that I keep listening to you over and over again is disheartening. It sickens me.

My feelings aren’t real. My doubts aren’t real. You’ve taken over my life for far too long and I can’t keep living like this. You, that voice that tells me I’m nothing. No, I am somebody. I have purpose. I have value. I will not live my life closed in. Fear, insecurity, doubt, please leave me alone. I won’t let you suffocate me any longer.

I want to live.
I will live.
I have to live.
I’ve said this a million times and I’ll keep saying it until you understand. Stop bothering me. Get out of my head. I will be who and what I’m supposed to be.

Whether you like it or not.

Dear insecurity,

I am writing you this letter because I finally understand where you came from.
You weren’t born in me, you were created by everything I didn’t have when I was young.
I didn’t grow up with security, guidance or the kind of knowledge that teaches a child who they are and what they deserve. So you filled the empty spaces, you became the voice that shaped my choices, my silence and my fear.

You told me I wasn’t enough
You told me I was unworthy
You told me I was always one mistake away from losing everything I had.

And sadly, I believed you, not because you were right, but because I didn’t know better.
I didn’t have the safety or the support that built confidence, it was just the opposite.
I didn’t have anyone teaching me how to trust myself, protect myself, or love myself.

So I made mistakes not out of weakness, but out of lack.
lack of security.
lack of knowledge.
lack of someone showing me what I deserved or needed to know.

You grew in places where love should have
been.
You grew in the moments where I needed protection, and it wasn’t there.
You grew in the silence where the truth should have lived.

But here’s what you never expected:
I grew too
I grew through the storms that should have broken me.
I grew through heartbreak, betrayal, and loneliness.
I grew through years of carrying weight that wasn’t mine.

And somehow in all that pain, I found myself.

Now I see you clearly, Insecurity.
You were a survival response, not my identity.
You were a shadow, not the truth.
You were a wound, not a weakness.

So let me be clear:

You don’t get two define me anymore
You don’t get to speak louder than my healing.
You don’t get to twist my reflection or silence my voice.
You don’t get to hurt me the way you once did.

I am secure now, not because life got easier,
but because I got wiser.
I know myself.
I know my worth.
I know what I deserve.
And I know your time is over.

You can stay in the past where you were created. I am walking forward, whole, grounded, and finally free.

Amen

I know it may not seem like it to you, but I love you like a sister. I respect your needs and the reasons for your existence.

What we were forced to endure in early to mid-childhood, almost no one has properly understood.

I appreciate you teaching me many valuable lessons about being cautious.
To not jump into things before assessing the risks. To be mindful of everyone’s vibe and to be sure of their actual intent before proceeding to be friends or more with them.

Because of this, you will always have a place with me, and you will always be here as long as I am.

But you are not reliable, and I cannot let you be the Queen of my mental roost anymore. Why?

Because you have caused me to hold myself back to the point of not being able to build the life that I know that I am meant to have.

Because of you, I have missed countless opportunities in life. And even, regrettably, gone against my own values in a major way a few times.

Because of you, I have not been able to see life with clarity. I have been playing it too safe for far too long. And you have kept me from accepting myself as I am.

I have spent so long running from my pain with you that it has started to cost me my health. And if there is one thing that I cannot afford to give up, it’s my health.

You may have taught me some great lessons. But I just can’t continue going through my life doubting myself and doubting everything about life.

I am 40 now and have started to feel my mortality. I can’t keep holding myself back now.

You are not the ruler of my mental roost, I am.

And I need to be living that from now until the day that it is my turn to die.

Dear Insecurity,

I know you well.

You appear whenever I give more than I receive. You show up after another unanswered text, another one-sided friendship, or another relationship where I poured from a cup no one thought to refill. You sit quietly in my mind and ask the same question: “Why do you keep caring so much?”

You tell me that I care too much, love too hard, and make myself too available. You tell me that if I were stronger, I would stop caring. If I were smarter, I would stop giving. If I were wiser, I would become cold.

For a long time, I believed you.

I wished my heart were different. I wished I could say “no” without feeling guilty. I wished I could walk away from people without replaying every conversation in my head. I wished I could match people’s effort instead of always being the one checking in, showing up, remembering, forgiving, and understanding.

Most of all, I wished being myself did not hurt so much.

I’ve spent years wondering why I seemed to care more than the people around me. I watched friendships become one-sided. I made excuses for people who disappeared when I needed them. I gave grace over and over again, hoping that one day someone would choose me the way I always seemed to choose them.

But today, I need you to hear this:

My kindness was never the problem.

My compassion was never the problem.

My willingness to love was never the problem.

The problem was believing that everyone deserved unlimited access to a heart I worked so hard to keep soft.

I kept handing out pieces of myself, hoping someone would return the same care. I confused over-giving with love, self-sacrifice with loyalty, and being needed with being valued. When I felt drained, disappointed, or forgotten, I blamed myself for expecting too much.

Not anymore.

I am taking my power back—not by becoming cold, bitter, or selfish, but by learning that caring for myself is just as important as caring for everyone else.

I am learning that “no” is a complete sentence.

I am learning that every invitation does not require my presence, every problem does not require my rescue, and every relationship does not deserve unlimited access to me.

I am learning to pause before giving, to ask myself whether I am pouring from abundance or from obligation. I am learning that boundaries are not punishments; they are acts of self-respect.

Most importantly, I am learning that love should never require me to abandon myself.

I no longer need everyone to understand me, choose me, or stay. I no longer need to exhaust myself trying to earn a place in people’s lives. The people who truly value me will not require me to prove my worth over and over again.

I will continue to love deeply. I will continue to care. I will continue to show up for the people who matter to me.

But I will also show up for myself.

My tenderness is not a weakness. It is evidence of everything I have survived without allowing hardship to harden me. Despite every disappointment, every broken promise, and every time my heart was not handled with the same care it gave, it still chooses kindness.

That is not something I need to fix.

That is something I need to protect.

So thank you, Insecurity.

Thank you for revealing the places where I still needed healing. Thank you for showing me where my boundaries were missing. Thank you for reminding me that self-worth cannot be measured by how much I give away.

But you no longer get the final word.

From this day forward, I will not shrink my heart to avoid disappointment. I will simply be more careful about who I entrust it to.

That is how I reclaim my power.

Sincerely,

Me

June 3, 2026

Dear Seventeen-Year-Old Demica and Insecurities

Hello,
Now, I have more information about new coping skills that could’ve helped you at seventeen. You became this way because of fear. Well, the rape, too, but fear was the root issue. I know that now. Listen, your high school English teacher was right about you! You do write well. You became an author of a book; you earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in human services and administration. Before becoming an entrepreneur, you landed a huge corporate position that led you to travel and train others. You’ve trained nationally twice!
Dee, you are smart enough. Yes, it takes you longer to understand it, unlike those it may come natural to, but you get it! The first coping skill is to breathe. Next, tell your brain to tell your mind you’re okay. Finally, believe. Eventually, you learned that the hardest things in your life will pass over and many times push you into the next great thing. You learn there are cycles to life. Laugh when laughter presents opportunity, cry whenever you need to! Think hard and work easily, love your family, help your neighbors and friends, volunteer in your community, pray, and hold on to your faith.
While I used so many coping skills over the years, these three were the core ones. Insecurity, you still raise your head in my life from time to time. However, I’m no longer afraid of you. I use your brief visit as a reminder to realign and refocus. I will forever take a stand against you. You’ve robbed me of precious youth. So, now I know that I’m enough, I’m wanted, and I’m secured. Thank you for allowing me this moment to express my true gratitude for how far I have come.