A letter to my insecurity,
Oh the many, which shall I choose? Should it be the excess weight that holds me back from wearing the things I’ve always wanted to wear? Does that have power over me? Sure, it has power over the clothes I choose to wear, but does it really hold that much weight? (Pun intended)
No, the thing you are most insecure about is your very existence on this planet. You feel as though you are a burden if you are not performing, helping, working, doing, being. That’s my biggest insecurity. That me being here is a burden to others if I am not actively being what someone needs me to be. So here is a letter to my insecurity, I hear you whispering to me at all hours of the day. You’re scared that one day you’ll no longer be able to be there for others and that some day you will be dependent on someone else. It’s no longer the abandonment wound that keeps you up at night. You’re no longer worried about who will be there or who won’t. You’ve lost everyone and everything at different times in your life. Losing people or things is no longer a worry. You’re worried that you will no longer be useful.That your mere existence will be a burden to others. But I want to tell you that being who you are and sharing the love and wisdom that you have obtained over the years is what makes you valuable. You must realize that you are loved for who you are and not what you can do. Even when all you have left is the air in your lungs, you will still be radiating love to those around you. Even if the only one there is a nurse in a state hospital. It’s okay to not be needed. You are not a burden. You are loved and needed for more than what you can physically do. You bring light and love to those around you. So be quiet, little one. You have no power over me. I will not waste anymore of my precious time here listening to you. I have too much love to give. Too many beautiful moments that you have already tainted with your lies.

Dear Insecurity,

I have spent a long time trying to understand you.

For years, I thought you were a flaw I needed to fix, a weakness I needed to overcome, or a shadow I needed to outrun. No matter where I went, you seemed to follow me. You appeared in mirrors, in photographs, in conversations I replayed long after they ended, and in opportunities I almost walked away from because I convinced myself I wasn’t good enough for them.

You were there every time I questioned my worth. You were there when I compared my journey to someone else’s. You were there when I shrank myself to fit into spaces that never deserved me in the first place.

The hardest part was that your voice sounded so much like my own.

You told me to stay quiet because no one wanted to hear what I had to say. You told me not to take risks because failure would hurt too much. You told me to make myself smaller, easier to accept, easier to overlook. You convinced me that being loved depended on being less of who I was.

And for a long time, I listened.

What I know now is that you were never the truth.

You were fear disguised as certainty. You were old wounds trying to protect themselves from being opened again. You were every rejection, every disappointment, every heartbreak, and every moment of self-doubt that I carried longer than I should have.

You built a home inside stories that were never meant to define me.

The story that I wasn’t enough.

The story that I had to earn my place.

The story that everyone else had something I was missing.

The story that I would never become the person I hoped to be.

I carried those stories for so long that I forgot they were stories at all.

But I am beginning to remember who I am without them.

I am learning that insecurity is not proof that I am broken. It is proof that I am human. It is proof that I have cared deeply, loved deeply, hoped deeply, and occasionally been hurt because of it.

There is nothing shameful about that.

I no longer need to pretend I am fearless. I no longer need to wait until every doubt disappears before I begin. I no longer need your permission to take up space in my own life.

I am going to write the words.

I am going to chase the dreams.

I am going to speak honestly, love openly, and become whoever I am meant to become.

Not because you are gone, but because you no longer get to decide what happens next.

You may still show up from time to time. I know healing is not a straight line, and growth rarely happens without resistance. There will be days when your voice feels louder than my own.

But even on those days, I will remember this:

You are not the author of my story.

You are not the keeper of my worth.

You are not the voice I am choosing to follow anymore.

The road ahead belongs to me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I trust myself enough to keep walking.

Sincerely,

The person you never managed to convince was unworthy

Anxiety,
I am miserable because of you
I constantly make plans but I’m unable to follow through
You make me feel like I am always alone
It’s weird because I dont feel safe unless I am alone
I see people in the store;they smile and try to talk to me
I want to talk to them but you hold me back and didn’t let me speak
You convince me th5 everyone is talking about me
Why does she look like that? Why does she act so weird?
You break me until im a shaking sweating mess
I cry to myself most every night
I lie to everyone around me
But this is the end,
No more tears
No more fear
You’ve taken enough from me
I refuse to be your puppet anymore
Im taking back my life
This is goodbye
Sincerely,
Stronger than ever

Dear Jester,
You were never a joke, you were never harmless,
you were never the playful voice I once mistook you for.
You were the architect of my fear:
You crawled into my mind when I was too young to understand what you were.
You rewired my nervous system before I even knew I had one.
You taught me to scan every room, every face, every silence for danger.
You taught me to brace for disappointment before anyone had the chance to disappoint me.
You made me believe I was the problem, always.
You twisted every moment into proof that I was the reason things felt tense, the reason people pulled away, the reason I didn’t belong.
You made me analyze every breath, every pause, every shift in tone until I found a way to blame myself.
You turned me into the fall guy for emotions that weren’t mine.
You made me responsible for discomfort I didn’t create.
You convinced me that if someone was upset, it had to be my fault.
You made me believe I was the villain in rooms where I was barely even present.
And the worst part? You sounded like me. You used my voice to break me. You told me I was too much. Then you told me I wasn’t enough.
Then you told me I was both at the same time.
You kept me small, you kept me apologizing, you kept me shrinking myself to fit into spaces that were never meant to hold me.
You weren’t protecting me; you were conditioning me. You fed on my fear, you fed on my silence. You fed on every moment I doubted my worth.
But I see you now: clearly, fully, without the distortion you used to hide behind.
I see the way you were born from old wounds, old chaos, old moments where I learned that love could disappear without warning.
I see how you grew in the cracks of my childhood, how you mistook vigilance for safety, how you convinced me that self‑blame was the only way to stay in control.
But I am not that child anymore. And you are not my protector.
You are my captor.
So this is where you die.
Not with violence, not with rage. But with truth; the kind that severs your power at the root.
I am not the reason people are uncomfortable.
I am not the reason things fall apart.
I am not the villain you trained me to believe I was.
I am done carrying your voice like a second spine. I am done letting you hijack my instincts.
I am done letting you narrate my worth.
I am incinerating you; the lies,the distortions,
the self‑blame, the hypervigilance, the belief that I am always the problem.
You don’t get to speak anymore, you don’t get to twist my thoughts, you don’t get to live in my mind like you own it.
I belong to myself now.
And you?
You are finished, you are ash. I have burned you to the ground, because I became the fire hell bent on incinerating you, and you no longer exist.

To my insecurity,

I see you. Not in that creepy, looking over your shoulder way, but in the way that means I know you more deeply than you perhaps want to be known. I know what it is to be afraid of being seen, especially by people that you may never meet. I know what it is to be seen beyond your capacity to hold. I know what it is to be seen in ways that make you squirm in your seat and leave you weak at the knees because of how vulnerable it makes you feel.

I know, because even when I want to be able to say that I am not you, you are part of me.

Even now, with fifteen years in my chosen profession under my belt. Even now, with a published novel on the shelves. Even now, I know what it is to be so afraid of being hurt that putting yourself out there feels impossible because doing so means being seen in ways that terrify you by people that you may never know.

But that’s the magic of it all: you will probably never know the people that would judge you. The people that would see your work and question the truth of it. You may never know those people, and that means that their opinions need not change you. If they care enough to reach out to you, to seek to change you, that is their bravery. That is their confidence and trial by storm. And when you hear their words, you may take them or not; indeed, you need never take criticism from someone you would not take advice from. The people that would change you, would judge you, only have power over your actions if you let them.

I’m not saying that you don’t get to feel your feelings when people reach out to you with intent. You are. Indeed, those feelings are what can guide you as you decide whether to incorporate those intentions into your actions and whether those intentions need carry any weight. Listen to the feelings, then listen to the facts, because together, they can paint a picture of the world that is truer than the one that you saw before. Or, no. Not truer. Broader. Because truth comes in many forms, sometimes different for each one of us. And truth need not be the highest goal. It certainly isn’t mine.

What’s my highest goal? Kindness. Care and support of others. Love, yes, but love that lets the one we love be their favorite self, not the version of themselves that we met them as. Because we all grow. We all grow and change and if we are to be together, we must grow and change together. We must choose one another. We must always turn toward one another rather than away, because turning away takes us away, and turning toward brings us together.

I saw an Instagram reel the other day—and, yes, I know how it sounds, but go with me here—that implied that choice without the chance to change your mind encourages the brain to be happier with the choice. I don’t know if I believe that or not, but it made me think about choice. About the options and opportunities that come from choice. And it made me wonder: what happens when we choose to change and then lean into that choice? What happens when we choose to adjust and then lean into that choice? What happens when we choose to grow and then lean into that choice? I can’t necessarily do a study to test that, but I can trust in this: choice only truly matters when we stick to it until it doesn’t serve us any longer. And yet, choices are made every day. No. We make choices every day. And in making those choices, we shape our world, as best we can.

So, to my insecurity, I have this to say: we make choices every day. The two of us, together. And I know that you have spent our time together doing your best to protect me from the unknown. But, my dear insecurity, the unknown is where we find ourselves. Where we find our growth edges. Where we find the truths that we would never find otherwise. The truths that help us become our favorite version of ourselves.

So while I thank you for your time and love and support, my insecurity, I also am ready to make choices with other factors in mind. Growth. Trust. Confidence. I will never stop listening to you entirely, but you will no longer be the only thought in my mind when I make my choices. Because, for as much as you have spent our time together trying to keep me safe, listening to you alone has also kept me small. I am ready to grow and change and find myself in all the ways I haven’t let myself up until now. I won’t say goodbye to you, I will never completely let you go, but I also will not let you drive my life the way I have up until now.

Thank you, insecurity, for keeping me safe, but now it’s time for me to fly.

With gratitude,

Insecurities

When I feel free, I’m safe from insecurities, and I have an unbelievably high self-esteem. However, it’s difficult for me to fully express my essence, such as the peaceful beauty of my soul, my natural gifts, and the essential lights within my emotions, which I set forth, creating an aura and peaceful thoughts on this subject.

There is a nuisance that has hindered my life—an influence that’s embedded in most of humanity. This nuisance can hurt the core of one’s emotions. For example, there has been a persistent voice of bullying for some time now. In my ear I hear, it has been set forth as a malevolent force. As the world changes, this fire grows stronger. People everywhere are influenced and affected by this malevolent influence. It time to change this influence.

One of my insecuritys that delivers on an occasions, embarrassing moments that hinder my intent for the joyous, has left a scar. I have a overbite, not too cute, right? Although my eyes are hazy, a tad bit attractive. The passion to smile make my heart feel good, having a over bite, not so much.

somewhere out there, someone has been bullying others and knocking them down, making fun of their flaw. When I run into a beautiful lady, and want to get her attention, with small talk, that scared thought pops up, “my overbite.” Anxiety approaches, and I must let it run its course, followed by panic attacks. At once all is stacked up upon me. The other defects if mine, which stems from my insecurities. Plus, I have partials; ( fake teeth) first thoughts, embarrassment has taken away my courage, killing the moment. I want to cry at these moments. I would like a bell for a companion, I do know my worth. There goes that voice, bullying me with mean words that ridicule.

I have an amazing mind, and my fantasies are fueled by the image of kissing, hugging and, holding hands. Haven’t been happy for a long whiIe. I never seem to get the girl. I lose faith in my ability to meet, face, or chat. Even when I feel attracted to a woman’s charisma, these feelings can overwhelm me, and disrupt the course of enjoyment. Cause and effect by insecurities.

On top of all that, I have a rare disorder that has my mental state beyond the strange mind, a state of obscure illness. The world and all that has catastrophically failed me, all has taken advantage of me. Hurting me beyond insecurities, to the point of destroying my self-esteem. I then falling into a deep depression, lonely and, lost.

How do I deal with this? Usually, it takes consistent counseling. But I tend to self-medicate; numbing the pain, often causes more pain. Isolating myself, being the hermit takes me away from the world, which makes it hard to afford health insurance. Deleting my support. Especially when life has beaten me down to the point, like a scared dog. All intertwined by my insecurity. This leads me to a turning point where my insecurities make it nearly impossible to be around people. The vibrations of a normal person tend to harm my existence, on a higher level, surpassing theirs. The cause-and-effect on my mental and physical health is harmful. These complexities trigger a domino effect, that can be really overwhelming, day after day My mind boggles, anxiety approaches, how can this be possible? It’s hard to believe. But it’s all true that insecurities can destroy you.

I don’t seek anyone’s approval. I stay humble as possible. I am seeking my self-righteousness and intelligence, revealing the truth of how badly and dangerously insecure people can become. discipline is in order, to over come this finite that has been crossed.

Understanding me and learning how to approach me as part of a support system isn’t impossible. The complexity of my insecurity is insane. It’s like there’s a force out there trying to push us into this kind of insecurity to destroy us. To hinder one’s life with insecurities is bad, but the life of someone as rare as mine seems nearly impossible to treat. I have seen how beautiful my essence can flourish across this world. It feels as if I’ve been stripped of that. What do I think? How do I handle these battles right now? With intelligence—because a smart mind is not only key to defiance but also to success—to reclaim power, which lies in the minds of great thinkers, not in the hands of bullies or in the hurt caused by rejection from beauty.

The world as we know it changes every day. We should have the drive have to change with it, but having knowledge and focusing on the better things in life keeps us afloat. Learning to appreciate our flaws and understanding that we are not perfect is important. We should not judge a book by its cover, but read it to understand what’s inside. The content of those who gives us hope and inspires, the strength to overcome our insecurities, is the one we should keep close. The one that doesn’t judge, but accepts and loves.

Our insecurities make us stronger; they make us unique. Being different makes sense in our own ways. Some may frown upon our differences, while others may be interested. We are not all the same; we can be analogous, but we have no right to pass judgment, but rather to accept and look past our insecurities, with a kind heart and loving soul, making this world a better place for everyone. We need to learn to let go of the flaws, because they caused the created the effects are our insecurities. No one’s perfect, but we can be in our own little ways.

To My Insecurity:

Funny how the being the black sheep in my own family has produced such tenacity throughout my journey. Being one of seven siblings with two sisters and four brothers, comparison to all of them was inevitable and constant. Because of my not being slim, smart, and ambitious like the rest, somehow, they deemed me as “less than”. But guess what? Those days are over because I’m my own person and I’m killing it as such, if I do say so myself.

I’ve embraced being a plus size girl who favors bright colored outfits and bold makeup looks; why not express my cheerful persona in style? My loving husband is also a big fan of my thick and curvy frame, which helps remind me that I’m beautiful just the way I am. I don’t need to apologize for the way I fill out my clothing because it’s my unique body shape that belongs to me and no one else. I will own and love it forever.

Maybe I wasn’t the best academically as I was pulling Cs in my non-honor classes resulting in my last-minute acceptance to a four-year university; I still made it and I achieved that degree. I even went back to school to retrieve another degree and certificate to see for myself how far I can go. Again, nothing like using other people’s doubt to fuel my grit. Now I am a career mama who has a professional job by day, and a family to take care of by night. I have the best of both worlds.

Finally, it’s evident that my ambition isn’t cookie cutter or conventional by any means. My priorities do not involve climbing the corporate ranks or overflowing in money, but rather, to be at peace with the decisions I make. I want to live with no regrets, meaning that I need to be conscious of every word I say and every action I take, because at the end the day, I want to be able to face myself without second guessing. I like sleep too much to ever want to lose any, so I aim to make good decisions by choosing Christ daily. My life needs to be one that was worth dying for as my Lord and Savior did just that for me. The least I can do is to carry out His teachings by living for Him.

As you can see, my insignificant insecurity, you are no longer welcome in my life. You were once a main character in my story, but now you now only make a guest appearance with limited screen time, if that. Thank you, though, for making me uncomfortable enough to act productively with my time.

Because of you, I know who I am and know who I am not – your time is up in my life and you may now make your way to the nearest exit. May you never find your way back to me.

With Love and Peace.

Dear Insecurity,

I know where you come from.

You arrived when I was small and the world did not feel safe. You clung to me like a second skin. Each time I tried to rise above my circumstances, you whispered self-doubt into my ear. Eventually, your words found their way into my soul. I wondered if my life would ever get any better.

You toyed with my emotions and fed me negative thoughts. I was starving for love, for attention, for anything that would make me feel seen. You knew this and turned it into a weapon. You made me think I needed you to survive.
Then, a miracle happened: adoption at six years old.

Most people would think that would have erased you. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
I always thought my adoption was too good to be true. You made me think it was only a matter of time before I went back to the hell I was born into. No matter how much love surrounded me, I kept waiting for it to disappear.
But my parents taught me differently.

Slowly, they helped me replace those negative thoughts with healthier ones. Over the years, your whispers grew quieter. The fear that my home would suddenly crumble no longer rang true to me. Yet, you found new ways to linger.

The feeling shattered me. I didn’t feel smart or talented, no matter the tremendous amount of encouragement others gave me. I knew I was living in a loving home with parents who cared deeply for me, and that eased some of my self-doubt, but not all of it.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized I no longer needed you.
Walking across the stage to receive my college diploma was one of the greatest achievements of my life. I had really done it. After everything I had been through, I had made it to that moment. I still remember hearing my dad whistle and cheer from the crowd. The pride on his face is something I will never forget.

That was the moment I saw you for what you truly were—not truth, but fear.
For years, you had convinced me I would never be enough. That no matter how hard I worked or how much I accomplished, I would always be the frightened little girl carrying the weight of a difficult beginning. Yet there I stood, diploma in hand, surrounded by people who loved me and believed in me.

You told me I couldn’t do it.

I did it anyway.

Since then, there have been many other moments. A year ago, I became a published writer, sharing my words with the world. I’ve built meaningful relationships. I survived losses that I once thought would destroy me. With every challenge, your voice grew a little quieter and my voice grew stronger.
I want you to know something.

Insecurity, you were never protecting me.

You told me that if I expected the worst, I wouldn’t feel disappointment. Your whispers told me that if I doubted myself first, no one else could hurt me. You told me I had to earn my worth.

But you were wrong.

My worth was never something I had to earn. It was always there.
So today, I am taking back what belongs to me—my voice, my confidence, and my future. You may still appear from time to time, whispering old lies and familiar fears, but you no longer get to decide who I am.

I know who I am now.

No longer the sum of my wounds. I am not defined by my past. I am not the fearful child you once held captive.
I am resilient and capable, worthy of love exactly as I am.
And for the first time, I no longer need your permission to shine.

Amy

Dear Insecurity,

I am so tired of you.

I’m tired of the way you creep in uninvited, as you belong here, like you’ve got a lease signed on my mind. Like a smug weight in my chest, you whisper half-truths as if they were facts, twisting my reflection into an unrecognizable image. You carry on as though you’re safeguarding me and doing me a favor, but truthfully, you’ve never defended me from anything. You have limited my progress.

You tell me I’m not enough. Not intelligent enough. Not worthy enough. Not strong enough. You repeat it so often that sometimes it sounds familiar, like something I’m supposed to agree with. But familiarity doesn’t make you right it just makes you loud. And I’m so damn tired of listening to you.

You show up in moments that matter. When I want to speak, you choke my voice. When I want to try, you paralyze my feet. When I gather the courage to step forward, you drag me back by the collar and remind me of every mistake I’ve ever made. Every awkward moment. Every failure. Every rejection. I’m being treated as if my failures are all that I am.

But here’s what makes me angry—you act like you’re me.

You borrow my voice. You dress yourself up in my thoughts. You pretend you’re the truth when really you’re just fear dressed in something more convincing. You want me to believe that without you, I’d fall apart, that I need you to stay grounded, to stay safe. But all you’ve ever done is shrink me. You’ve kept me small, made me second-guess everything, made me dim parts of myself that were never meant to be hidden.

And I let you. That’s the part that stings the most.

I let you talk over me. I let you sit at the head of the table in my own life. I gave you more authority than you ever deserved, and you took it without hesitation. You built yourself into my habits, into my reactions, into the spaces where confidence should have lived. You made me apologize for things that weren’t my fault. You made me hesitate when I should have soared.

But I’m not that version of me anymore.

This isn’t just any anger; it’s a fierce, awakening rage that propels me forward. I’m starting to see you clearly for what you are: not a protector, not a truth-teller, not a necessary part of me but a voice that learned how to survive by making me doubt myself.

Well, I’m done surviving like that.

You don’t get to control how I see myself anymore. You don’t get to narrate my life like you’re the authority on my worth. You don’t get to interrupt my joy, steal my confidence, or rewrite my identity. I am more than the lies you’ve fed me, more than the limits you’ve tried to impose on me.

Yes, I’ve stumbled. Yes, I’ve doubted. Yes, I’ve had moments where I believed every single word you said. But those moments don’t define me; you don’t define me. I am allowed to grow. I am allowed to change. I am allowed to become someone who doesn’t listen to you anymore.

And that scares you, doesn’t it?

Because the louder I become, the quieter you get. The more I trust myself, the less space you have to exist. Every step I take forward without your permission chips away at you. Every time I choose courage over comfort, belief over doubt, I take something back that you stole.

So here’s what’s going to happen.

You’re still going to show up I know that. You’re stubborn like that. You’ll try to slip into my thoughts when I’m vulnerable, try to convince me that nothing has really changed. But this time, I won’t welcome you. I won’t sit down and listen. I won’t let you masquerade as truth.

I’ll call you out.

I’ll name you for what you are: insecurity, not intuition. Fear, not fact. A habit, not a destiny.

And I’ll keep moving, anyway.

Because I deserve a life that isn’t dictated by doubt. I deserve to exist without constantly questioning if I belong. I deserve to take up space, to be loud, to be imperfect, to be real. I deserve to look at myself and not immediately search for flaws.

You told me I had to earn that. You were wrong.

I was always worthy of it, even when I believed you, even when I let you win.

So, no, you will not disappear overnight. I know better than that. But you’re not in control anymore. You don’t get to decide my worth, my direction, or my voice.

I do.

And for the first time, I actually believe that.

So stay if you must, but understand this: you’re not the main character here, and you never were.

I am.

Sincerely, 


The version of me that’s finally learning to fight back

Dear Leroy, what ARE YOU DOING, after the loss of your mom you feel in the way and worthless, you Aren’t, Now is when you find out who your friends and family are, you don’t need to call someone everyday and tell them what happened ( tell a empty chair) You will Never stop missing your mom, trust me there’s signs All around that she is there for you, And she is Rooting you on, Your brother isn’t a bad guy they are taking things hard, just pray for them, HOLD YOUR HEAD HIGH, and finish what you started, YOU’RE DOING GREAT, don’t worry and EVERYDAY you tell yourself I’M DOING GREAT, and don’t forget every night to THANK GOD Ph4:13 I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

Dear Insecurity,

For a long time, you sounded like truth.

You told me that my value came from movement. From doing more, achieving more, pushing harder, carrying more than I should. You convinced me that slowing down was failure and that needing help was weakness.

I listened.

I ran myself into the ground trying to earn a sense of worth that should have belonged to me all along.

Then my life changed.

Suddenly, my body had limits I couldn’t outwork, outsmart, or ignore. The things that once came naturally required effort. The future I imagined for myself became uncertain. And that was when your voice became the loudest.

You told me I was becoming less.

Less capable.

Less useful.

Less impressive.

Less worthy of being loved.

You whispered that if I could no longer move through life the way I once had, then I no longer knew who I was.

What I didn’t realize then was that you were afraid.

Because the moment everything slowed down, I finally had the chance to see you clearly.

You were never protecting me.

You were exhausting me.

You kept me chasing impossible standards and calling it ambition. You convinced me that self-criticism was discipline. You made me believe that my worth was something that had to be earned every day instead of something I already possessed.

But here is what I know now:

A person’s value is not measured by productivity.

Strength is not the absence of struggle.

And a life does not lose meaning because it takes an unexpected turn.

The hardest thing I have ever done was stop measuring myself by what I could accomplish and start valuing myself for who I am.

You don’t get to tell me that my limitations make me less.

You don’t get to define my future.

You don’t get to decide whether I am enough.

Because despite everything that changed, I am still here.

I am still curious.

I am still hopeful.

I am still growing.

And maybe most importantly, I am still worthy.

Not because I proved it to anyone.

Not because I earned it.

Simply because I am.

So thank you for the lesson.

Thank you for showing me the difference between fear and truth.

You spent years trying to convince me that my power came from never stopping.

Now I know my power comes from continuing forward anyway.

Without you.

Sincerely,

Hello Insecurity,

You met me young.
Before I knew mirrors could become weapons,
before silence became the language
I used to survive rooms
that never tried to understand me.

You sat beside me
through acne and awkwardness,
through glasses that framed eyes
too observant for my age,
through jokes about my height
like shrinking myself would make others comfortable.

They called me names
before they ever called me kind.
Laughed at my lips
before the world decided they were beautiful.
Mistook my quietness for weakness
because they never learned
that storms can live inside still water.

I became careful.
Careful with my voice.
Careful with my softness.
Careful not to seem “too much”
while secretly wondering
why my presence alone
always felt like enough
to bother people.

But even then—
there was something in me
that refused to fully break.

A small voice that whispered:
You are not hard to love.
You are not invisible.
You are simply uncommon.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe my humbleness carried a light
people could not explain.
Maybe my softness felt powerful
because it never begged to be seen.
Maybe I was always meant
to stand out quietly.

So now, Goodbye insecurity
I do not hate you,
You protected the younger version of me
when she did not know how to protect herself.

But I cannot carry you forever.

Not when I have spent years
becoming the woman
little me needed to see.

Not when my voice deserves air.
Not when my laughter fills rooms
I once tried to disappear inside of.

I was never “too quiet.”
I was observing.
I was learning.
I was surviving.

And beneath every doubt
there has always been a girl
who knew—
even in her lowest moments—
that she was more than enough.

I see you now with softer eyes.
You arrived quietly,
teaching me to hold on tightly
to love, to comfort, to closeness,
afraid that distance meant losing.

For a long time,
I believed sacrifice was proof of love—
staying awake through restless nights,
ignoring my hunger, my body, my peace,
just to feel needed, wanted, chosen.

But love was never meant
to cost me my health,
my dreams,
or the gentle rhythm of my own life.

Today, I choose differently.
I choose rest without guilt.
I choose mornings filled with light,
warm meals made with care,
movement that strengthens my body,
and quiet hours devoted to learning and growth.

I am learning that
someone else’s way of loving
does not define my worth.
Desire does not always speak loudly,
and love can exist differently
than the way I imagined it.

I no longer want fear
to guide my nights.
Instead, I will create boundaries
that protect my peace
while still leaving room for kindness,
understanding, and compassion.

When confusion rises,
I will not abandon myself.
I will breathe,
return to my center,
and remember that I deserve
sleep, nourishment, clarity, and calm.

I am allowed to care for myself deeply.
I am allowed to rest.
I am allowed to choose balance.

And in choosing myself with tenderness,
I take back my power—
not through anger,
but through quiet healing.

Imagine yourself in second or third grade, and you have discovered that toadstools are poisonous, and anything that might have been near those toadstools became contaminated. That is when I started panicking that I could get poisoned. I could not touch things like stuffed animals and books. Hand sanitizer was not much of a thing. However, if I touched something that was contaminated, I would scrunch my hand into a fist until I could get to soap.
I don’t remember when I became ok with some germs. Even today I do have some subsets like germs. But OCD has upped the game. I have all these issues with order and organization.
The next incidents happened when I was in high school/college. I had some fear about object placement. It only got worse when I graduated from college and started a job. Suddenly, things around me changed. Everything had to be organized in a certain placement. Things as simple as brushing my teeth had an order.
I got formally diagnosed with OCD. OCD does not define me. I still have OCD with compulsion. I may struggle, but I am also open to helping people going through/wonder with it too. OCD is not an adjective and does not define me!

To my lifelong insecurity,

In my mind, you have always been my invisible shadow. Now, that’s a statement of perfect irony.

You remind me of my perceived imperfection at every glance in the mirror, in every dressing room, with every photograph (no matter the angle), every crowded restaurant, or any crowded room for that matter. My overweight body gliding through the crowds, the lines, and through life. The stares, the whispers, and the looks of shame on others. Some, may be real. Some, a figment of my imagination as I navigate every pound in public. You constantly remind me that I’m not everyone’s
definition of beauty. If by surprise I am, they’re too afraid to embrace me publicly.

My overweight, lumpy, cellulite, stretch marked body, complete with rolls. I try and carry you with grace but the shame often has me stumbling through life.
From childhood to adulthood, I allowed you to be louder than my own voice. I believed my worth was measured by a number on a scale. That my complete existence was that number, not my kindness, not my creativeness, not my humor, but a number.

You convince me to shrink myself, hide my arms, my thighs, my chin, and my stomach. You had me believe these were parts of me I should be ashamed of. From failed diet to failed diet, including, at times, starvation. Diets I had put myself on as a child to the numerous diets as an adult.
In adolescence, you were a constant reminder that I couldn’t possibly be beautiful. When I was a child, before bed, I would often pray to wake up “skinny”. As I grew into my body, I felt even more awkward. I felt unacceptable.You constantly had me apologizing for the body that had carried me through heartbreak, trauma, stress, and motherhood.
Today, I would like you to know, my enemy is not my body.
My body is my vessel. My body is my home.
Every stretch mark is a sign that I am living.
These hips and stomach helped carry two beautiful lives into this world.
These arms hold and hug all the people that I love.
This perfectly rounded face has laughed, cried, and smiled, even when life was hard enough to
break me, but I survived. I survived within this body.

My body is my armor.

I survived because I’m more than just a number on a scale. I’m more than the objects that my behind knocks off any surfaces. I’m more than every lumpy roll you can see outlined through my clothing. I’m more than the power of any mirror. I’m more than any impossible beauty standard. Instead of the criticism you command upon myself in a mirror, I choose to show myself compassion instead. I’ve carried these rolls throughout my lifetime and now I choose to beautifully frost them and share them with the world.

Perfection was never my power. Resilience is my super power. I’m taking it back. I will no longer shrink myself. My body is my body and was given to me for a reason. My maker knew I would make this body beautiful. Only I could know how to carry myself and walk with grace and beauty within this body.

So, my dear insecurity, you will cripple me no longer.
Every moment you decide to return-
In every mirror, every crowded room, with every societal beauty standard, I will scream loudly within me and remind you that I have survived things far more heavier than my weight.
I know my worth and I’ve learned to love every roll, every stretch mark, and my big beautiful belly.

Sincerely,

To the voice inside me
that has spent years convincing me
I should be grateful for crumbs

I know where you came from.

You were built from every door that closed softly.
Every goodbye that sounded like
“you were almost enough.”
Every time I loved harder
just to make sure I wouldn’t be left behind.

You taught me to expect disappointment
before I ever let myself expect love.
To ruin good things in my mind
before they could ruin me first.
To call myself difficult, emotional, needy
before anyone else had the chance to.

You made me believe
that I had to earn my place in people’s lives.
That if someone loved me kindly,
deeply, safely
it was only a matter of time
before they realized I wasn’t worth the effort.

And God,
I believed you.

I believed I was too broken
to be loved gently.
Too complicated to be chosen fully.
Too damaged to deserve softness
without fear attached to it.

I spent years aching for things
I secretly thought belonged to everyone but me.

A safe home.
A love that stayed.
A family that felt certain.
Peace.
Rest.
The ability to stop apologizing
for taking up space.

But something is changing in me now.

Slowly.
Painfully.
Beautifully.

I am starting to see myself
through the eyes of the people who love me right.
Through the eyes of my daughter
who reaches for me like I am safety itself.
Through the version of me
that survived every unbearable thing
that tried to destroy her.

And I realize
someone so easy to love
should not have spent this long
believing she was hard to keep.

So this is me taking my power back.

Not loudly.
Not perfectly.
But honestly.

I will no longer beg for belonging
in places that make me question my worth.

I will no longer mistake survival
for who I am.

I am not the abandonment I endured.
I am not the silence I was given.
I am not every person
who failed to hold me carefully.

I am a woman rebuilding herself
from the grief of never feeling enough.

And despite everything
I am still soft.
Still loving.
Still here.

That alone feels miraculous.

So to my insecurity:
you may have kept me alive once,
but you do not get to define me anymore.

I am learning, finally
that good things are not things I have to earn through suffering.

I was worthy of them
the entire time.

 To my insecurity:

 How is a child supposed to blossom into a sunflower when an adult prunes them like a weed? Rich soil, water, and sun cannot be the only parts of a flower’s successful journey. As many say, you must speak kindly to flowers to help them grow.

 I remember a particular weed from my childhood: self-doubt. Others not only criticized me but also compared me. Listening to self- doubt whisper in my ears.

This sunflower is taller.

That sunflower is stronger.

This sunflower has a brighter personality. 

Until the whispers grew thorns in my mind. 

But how can you compare sunflowers to one another? A mammoth sunflower is no less than a firecracker sunflower. A flower that hasn’t blossomed yet isn’t ugly; it’s just becoming. How then can an adult prune a child and expect them to grow fully? 

I am not a weed. I am a sunflower. Self-doubt, you may not whisper your ugly lies to me.

You never do anything right.

You’re a failure.

You’re behind in life.

I replace your lies with truth.

My mistakes helped me to grow.

I do my best with the knowledge I have.

I am right where I need to be in life.

Self-doubt, you no longer control me.