I used to talk a lot. I’d do anything to keep the conversation going, to not be alone. If there was a lull, I’d say things like, “really?” or “wow” or “oh,” on and on. A filler. That’s all it was. Filler words had a hidden meaning to them; they begged, on hands and knees, and said, “Keep talking to me I can’t lose you I’d talk my throat dry if it meant you always had something to respond to.”
I’m not scared to lose anyone anymore. I’m only scared of letting the wrong ones in.
People come and people go. If I am the ocean, then I have to be mindful of what floats my way; everything either adds to my ecosystem or tries to destroy it.
It is not so terrifying to be alone, after all, because peace is more important than all else.
To be respected, you must not let anyone disrespect you again, because at the end of the day, the only one you’ll have to answer to is yourself.
To define what exactly it means to be worthy of respect is tricky. You could mention achievements or accolades, popularity, goals attained, money earned, but even that is worthless if you don’t have heart.
Who did you love and why?
Were you brave enough to bare your soul?
Did you protect the innocent or did you step on the good guys as a means to an end?
Did you fight?
Are you still fighting?
Fighting to live, to seek justice, to prosper, to be free?
I deserve the utmost respect because I am a survivor. Because I chose life. Because I will never stop fighting. Because I refuse to just be “alive.” Because I will become life.

Dear Ideal Rachel,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing this to you in a tough time. It is October 29, 2023. It is a cold, sunny Sunday. The whole weekend I have been upset; I do not know why. I think it is because I am in a perpetual state of loneliness that I cannot seem to escape. In my ideal world I would not feel this pain, this loneliness, this urge to scream and yell at everyone that has ever wronged me, but without this urge and pain, I would not be alive.

My ideal self is someone who has improved. Someone who has gotten better every day. I hope that I am ideal in the future. I hope that everyday makes you smile, I hope you are happy and proud of your life, proud of me.

I do not know why life is this hard and I wish you could write back to me and tell me what is going to happen or tell me what to do with my life, or at least tell me if anything I am doing will pay off. I know you cannot, and it hurts to know that there is a possibility that I will end up sad and alone, living a miserable life. On the other hand, it inspires me that every day is a new chance. I have hundreds of days left to love, to live, to get better.

Someday, I hope to be in your shoes right now and write a letter to my even more ideal self. Maybe your ideal self is someone completely different, and I love to think about that. I also would love to be that person. I hope that you are living by yourself, something I have dreamed of for years. Hopefully, we will still have a cat, preferably the one I have now. I want to stay in Washington, we have always lived here, everything we have ever loved is here.

Usually, people send these letters to get advice, or to ask for something. I am sending this to you to let you know that I am struggling. The world seems to hate me, and it often is kicking me down. I often break down crying because I do not know where I am, what to do, or wonder why people cannot love me the way I love them. It is heartbreaking to live like this. Even so, I have never felt so alive. I have never been this content in my life. Something about crying, realizing my mistake and what I can do to fix it, and moving on, is so rewarding. Hard days or not, I am proud of me. I am proud of me for not ending my life two years ago. I am proud that I saved myself. I am proud to be alive for you. I am proud to be alive for me.

Have a wonderful life, I will see you.

Best wishes,

For most of my life I have smothered myself beneath the ideals of others.
These expectations pushed me into boxes where I did not fit, but I tried to contort and carve away at myself to appease the “rules.”
I thought if I broke them, I would be broken. They were unyielding, so I yielded my will to their commands.

And then one day I stretched out of my box. I worried what others would think, what would become of me, what of the people who were depending on me to be “the good girl” they knew?
But as I stretched, I discovered that parts of my heart were sore.. and some were so weak from lack of use. So much of myself had remained unseen and untested in my box, and do I decided to slowly explore.

I began to see that the ideals I’d chased–
Perfect job, perfect shape
Perfect family, perfect place–
Weren’t what I really wanted.
The fact was, I didn’t know what I really wanted!
But even still, letting go of them was so hard.
Allowing myself to change my expectations was met with a lot of internal resistance.
It was easier in my box, safer.
Don’t make a mess, don’t rock the boat.

But would I ever be happy living someone else’s life? Someone else’s idea of “perfect?”

Dear Me,
I hope you know that YOU are ideal. Right now. As you are.
You don’t have to measure up to anyone’s imaginary lines on the wall. Life isn’t about how tall you are, how skinny, how fat. Life isn’t about collecting diplomas or six figure incomes. Life isn’t about what your family looks like, how many rooms are in your house.

Take up the space you need to. Even when you want to shrink yourself down.
See your beauty, inside and out. Even when the world spins negative commentary on how you look.
Value the lessons you’ve learned, and the ones that will come. Even when conventional school might not be your route.
Know that you do not need another person to complete you. Hold on to the hope that you will find someone whole, who will see you as whole, too.

When I picture you, I don’t see specific features or physical parameters that I need to meet. Life hacks or goal markers that I have to achieve by certain deadlines. Instead I feel a sense, a reassurance that you are someone who has let go of the weight of measuring up. Someone who makes choices based on kindness and light and love, not for the applause of the world.. but of the people around you. The ones who know that you are worthy of love now, not after passing tests or checking off requirements.

There is no standard of perfection. You are perfection. Simply YOU.

Love, Me.

The plan…the
what..
should have. could have
been type of plan…

And here we sit—
as none of that
exists these days.

The plan..
That life
Those goals.
Who are we—
you—
me—
…now?

Kill it with kindness
they say.
But where has that
gotten me?

30 on 30
The Golden Year
or so I’m told—
Yet here we
stay—
sit—
stick—
…stuck?

T-
minus..who?
Tried.
Failed.
Had the comeback.
But now…
what?

Who sees you these days
more so nights—
sitting alone
on rocks—
in oceans—
under moons?

Keep it together…
they—
it—
those—
remind you.

Golden.

T-…
minus..who?
me?
you?
us?

30 on 30
1/3rd down
…or so they say.
Deep breaths—
in—
out.
Sit. Be.

30 on 30 was the
supposed to be.
So
We—
flip the script.

And now
we have a
new plan.

The now. The new. The plan. The story.
And the supposed-to-be
Of being.

Cause age is just a number
As so is the rest of life
and beings.

And nothing is
unless you
want it to be.

And nothing was.
unless you
need it to be—
too.

30 on 30 looks different
this time
around..yet a blessing in
that disguise.

Here I am—
watch
me
go.

Cheers to me.
..wish you well.
—xoxo A