Dear unforgettable,

You there. Hunched in the dark, chewing your fingers like regrets, hoping no one sees how hollow you feel. I know you. I wore you.
I bled through your eyes for years. The shadow of shame draped over you like revelations in scripture. Confessing not your sins but your lofty ambitions which will never see the light of day.

Let me tell you something that no applause ever could, or that your father would never say ever since those days where he abandoned you to live with another family. You were enough. Even when you lied. Even when you begged. Even when you waited for her to text back, like her attention was oxygen and you were underwater. Like you thought your father’s love was the unconditional truth that infidelity was your signal for love. You thought love would save you, didn’t you? That if you were beautiful enough, clever enough, talented enough— that they would see you, name you, complete you. You could feel Nirvana in whatever sense of the word that may mean.

But they were never your mirror.
And their validation was never your soul. I remember the nights you’d write something brilliant, then delete it, write it again only to lose it because the voice in your head—the one trained by rejection, not reason—told you no one would care. I remember when “artist” felt like a lie you wore to impress strangers who didn’t matter. Or who didn’t care for your expression of self in your artistry.

You thought pain was your muse.
You thought being broken made you deep.
You thought your sadness was a virtue. But listen, Your sadness was a cocoon, not a home. A cleansing to perfect your self soothing reality that expectations from others was your own self-esteem breaking from your universe.

You wanted proof you were real.
So you gave your body. You silenced your needs. You sacrificed yourself on altars that weren’t worthy of your talents.

But I’m here to say— You made it out. Not because someone saved you. But because you stopped waiting to be saved. Because one day, deep in that pit, you realized that no woman, no praise, no poem was going to hand you your worth.

You had to forge it. With trembling hands.
With no audience. With silence as your witness. You are not a reaction. You are not an echo fading into the abyss of society.You are not what they think of you, or what she didn’t say back. You are a creator.
A builder of worlds from ash. A voice that sings even when no one listens.

So now—stand up. Not because the world asked you to. Not because she finally texted back or your father came home. But because you are still here. And that is enough.

With love.
The You Who Remembers

Dear loading…

When did I feel like enough? I am trying to think of that time. I can not figure it out, because it does not exist. Everybody else is Enough. I see how great they are. Let’s make a list of who is enough.

Supermodel ✅
Teenagers not feeling significant✅
Senior feeling overlooking ✅
Women not feeling appreciated✅
Men working hard, trying their best✅
Me…Loading

I waiting to be completely loaded. When Enough is complete!

Signed,
Waiting for loading to complete

Maybe you were
Maybe you weren’t
Who’s to say?
Cause so were they

Feeling the same
Filled with shame,
Grief, disgust, unloved,
And all of the above

So who’s to say
When we’re all afraid

Dear Me,
(If I could write a letter to me… oh wait—you’re too young to know that Brad Paisley song. Never mind.)

Yes, you.
The girl who doesn’t think she looks good enough, sings well enough (even though, spoiler alert—you’ve got pipes), is too loud, too soft, too awkward, too everything.

This one’s for you.

Life’s gonna be hard.
And I don’t mean like algebra hard. I mean chewing-a-jawbreaker-while-stepping-on-a-Lego-in-the-dark kind of hard.
Like “how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?” hard—spoiler: you never find out because you will bite it.

You, my friend, are a mix between Bugs Bunny and a tea kettle. You’ll smile through absolute chaos, then suddenly pop your top, shriek “THIS IS NOT FAIR,” and stomp around like Yosemite Sam with steam coming out your ears—and honestly? That’s part of your charm.

You’ll feel like a lumpy chunk of coal, but guess what? Even lumpy coal turns into diamonds… eventually… after pressure, fire, and a few nervous breakdowns in the Taco Bell parking lot.

Your running? Still terrible. Truly. You run like a Galápagos turtle doing its taxes. But you do it anyway. And that counts for something.

In your 30s, girl—you start to thrive.
You go back to school (who knew brain cells could regenerate?), you write books, and you become a mom your daughter actually brags about. Yes, she’ll sass you. But she’ll also quote you like a tiny guru in sneakers.

And you know that voice you always worried was too loud?
Turns out, it’s exactly the right volume.
Because people need to hear it.
You’ll use that voice to speak up for grieving parents, for mothers with empty arms, for those wrestling with infertility and invisible grief. You’ll become a voice for the broken-hearted—and girl, you’ll carry it with grit and grace.

Now I won’t sugarcoat it:
You lose people you love.
You bury your son and your best friend in the same year.
You get fired for the first time in your life.
And yes, you do that “uphill both ways in the snow barefoot” thing… metaphorically… and occasionally literally because you forget to wear real shoes.

But you keep going.
You grieve. You break.
You rise like a dusty little phoenix with coffee breath and Walmart mascara. You wear your warrior scars with style.

And you don’t let it steal your joy.
You still laugh.
You still dance in the kitchen.
You still sing—not just loud and proud, but beautifully, boldly, and with purpose.

You’ll remember the warmth of the sun on your skin as you jumped on the trampoline, belting “Soak Up the Sun” like you were the headliner at your own backyard concert. (You were.)

So don’t rush it.
Let time do its weird little thing.
Let them laugh—because spoiler alert: they don’t matter anyway.

And you? You matter so, so much.
Even when you feel like you don’t.

With love,
The girl who still can’t run,
but finally knows her voice was her superpower all along.
– M.

Dear 20-year-old me,

So, you flunked out of college
And lost your one true love.
You think you’re lazy, dumb, despicable –
Another useless maggot of our society –
A cancerous tumor bulging up,
Pressing upon our dying Mother Earth.

I know you’re sadly stuck
In the ultimate, existential catch 22.
Claim death,
And stab a dagger in your parents’ hearts.
Keep breathing,
And burden them all as you suffer.

Hold my hand and listen close
As I tell you of another way.
I will show you a path to living.
You can shed your sickly skin.
What is held within you
Is brighter than the darkness
Blacking out your soul.

The trick is not to push harder,
But rather to ease into yourself,
Relax into all that scares you,
Recover what hides and haunts.
Only then can you dig out the dirt.
Take time to purge, so as to heal.

Be patient with the process.
Transformation is within your reach,
But the grabbing is slow and arduous.
Like the alien-nymph buried in the mud,
You will one day emerge anew
With wondrous wings to take flight.

Oh, the lands you will discover!
Your adventures are only beginning.
Every part will piece you together.
Each experience, food for your growth.
You may think you’re outrunning the beast,
But really, you’re steering your wild heart.

Someday you’ll be the touchstone,
The teacher, the leader, the inspiration
For those you’re yet to meet,
But who will find their own way through you.
Your butterfly effect will ripple forth,
Brightening the worlds of many beings.

So, please, my dear former self,
Don’t discard or disregard who you are.
There’s more to us than you know.
You’re a dragonfly in waiting,
Temporarily buried in the muck,
Simply preparing for life in the sun.

So you’re still puttin’ yourself through it aren’t you? Despite all you’ve learned!?! You’ve done the work, you’ve taken the steps, you’ve grown so, so much it’s remarkable! So WHY Must you continue to entertain relationships that contain so much deceit and disrespect? Do you actually think you’re not worth the same respect, compassion, understanding, and forgiveness you give them!?!

You are so relentless at rooting yourself in love. Love for other people and love for yourself. It’s beautiful! By the way, learning to love yourself is your biggest, most bestest accomplishment by far, little lady! You make sure you let people know it’s the key life, mmmk!!

Anyway, just think of all the time and effort that went into healing your “inner child” and doing your “shadow work” and learning mindfulness and keeping an “attitude of gratitude” and meditating and doing “self-care”…ooof! Remember how selfish you felt at first for simply setting aside an hour for yourself? You stuck with it though.

How about the time you googled? “How to forgive someone who isn’t sorry?” You remember that? You didn’t even want to forgive yet, but you knew you had to in order to get those thoughts to stop going round and round in your head. It worked too, didn’t it? It took some time, but eventually, the anger and resentment were gone. Forgiveness!… another key to life! How many keys you got now, anyway?

Guurrrl! The fact that you did all this work on your own using the Internet is a whole other level of fantastic! There’s just a few more pieces to the puzzle. A few more moves on the board, if you will. You know what you have to do and I know it’s hard but enough’s enough.

You feel it every time you’re around any of them. You feel you disrespecting yourself. Keep quiet, keep the peace. Shrink down, maybe they’ll stop singling you out. Tell them what they want to hear, maybe they’ll stop hating you. Explain yourself, maybe they’ll understand you better. Prove yourself, maybe they’ll accept you more.

NO! Not anymore, lady, it’s time! You deserve the same dignity and respect that you give. Especially from those who use the words “I love you”.

Trust me, you’re worth it!

I see you sitting there on the deck hugging your knees, a blanket around your shoulders. I see you chain smoking, your mascara running down your face in a river of tears, your hands shaking and your headaches.
The police have left, your parents have left, you are home from the hospital. He’s in jail, at least for the night. Alone on the deck, your babies are asleep in their beds. You wonder how much this will affect them. Will they remember? They are so young; what will you tell them? As you bury your head in your hands, I can see your too-thin body shaking with fear, with anxiety, doubts swirling around in your mind like so many black clouds. As with so many nights before, you will not sleep tonight.
I am sitting beside you, even though you can’t feel me or see me. My arms are around you and I am whispering strength and love into your ear. Please know that you didn’t bring abuse on yourself. The cruel words and bruises you carefully cover with makeup are the work of someone who has deep wounds himself. Your husband who speaks love out of the same mouth that calls you vile names, whose hands hold you tenderly and then viciously strike you, tossing your body like a rag doll is responsible. You both bear scars from childhood trauma, from parents who love you in their best yet broken way. Forgive them; you all have a long way to go before this chapter is over.
Tomorrow you will go to file a restraining order; he will be served with papers before he is released. You will go to court, the order will be granted, and you will not look at him again for a year. Take a deep breath; you will find the courage to get through this. People will watch you, not knowing how to help. Their generation was one that kept this kind of thing secret. Your friends will offer prayers on your behalf, but not one will speak the supportive words you long to hear, nor will they offer a safe place to rest. Please don’t take this as not loving you, they do.
The two of you will divorce and raise your children together in a loving and supportive way. Your children will know the love of a bonus mom; she’s amazing. You will have no regrets, many experiences, and understand that healing is a lifelong journey.
Dry your tears, get some rest. Allow yourself to have a happy life; know that you are not only good enough, but you are also amazing.