As I drive the trees wrap around my view
Of the winding road
I’ve been dropped in a kaleidoscope
Trapping me in this peaceful, natural oasis
The sun shines through the leaves
Shading the variety of colors into a hundred more
And placing a delicate warmth upon my skin
While crisp air twirls my hair mischievously
And the houses sprinkled into the long stretches of fields
Greet me with future ideals
And the bright blue sky sneaks a peek at me
In curiosity

I am not sure where I will go
But this is why I do
This moment
Reminds me to live
Reminds me to breathe
Simple beautiful things

The colors from the day take their leave
And the stars hide behind the clouds
The darkness turns the trees into silhouettes
Painted onto the sky
The air is cold and damp
A tender wind whispers in my ear
As the street lamp’s lights dance on the water
A walk with the group
No one really together
But no one really alone

The night simply is what it always has been
But it’s like each facet of its inherent nature
Was made to be admired by me
And how lucky to be me
I slow my pace
And watch them from behind
How lucky to be me

I am not sure where I will go
But this is why I do
This moment
Reminds me to live
Reminds me to breathe
Simple beautiful things

Amongst the others
One holds my attention
My eyes always chasing him
In every room we’re in
As his voices crashes into my ears
I am reminded
Not only my mind
But my entire body
I can not hide behind
The roles I’ve played to pleased
I am whole to him
He lets everything I am rest in his arms

Hours pass by like a sparse wind on a summer day
There is a sense of pride
When I foster his childlike laughter
And earn the soft serious honesty
But I feel the minutes begin to slip away
And I focus my gaze towards the ground
Allowing my hair to cover my glossy eyes
My hearts sprints off from the anticipation
Of our always fleeting time
Making my voice taste insincere and bitter
He instructs me to face him
And though my mind hesitates
My body has already begun to listen

He flashes the most particular smile
I’ve studied his many faces
This one is rare
One truly made for me
One of comfort and reassurance
It’s not candid, nor forced
But purposeful and true
It’s a hundred words in one silent action
It’s a hundred miles of distance wiped away in one close movement
I wish my eyes could take pictures
To capture this face
For it to never fade,
Never change
Forever stay still in my memory
But the only stillness is under the weight
Of another goodbye

Every natural instinct would have me run
Feel the wind wash away the numbing pain
But with you
I must fight
I must let my tears burn my face
I must let my hands stab me in the back
To pull you closer
I must conquer the following fear of loss
For this feverish feeling of love
He is-
Our friendship-
These feelings only mustered by him-
The thoughts that only his hand can hold-

I am not sure where I will go
But this is why I do
This moment, every moment we share
Reminds me to live
Reminds me to breathe
Because I can only hope to be
What you are to me
By just existing
My simple beautiful thing

Dear reader,

It was July in Orlando, Florida. The summer was at a peak, and my family was spending the day as it’s meant to be spent during this wonderfully torrid time of year–in water. Give me a reason to leave my vacation responder on to go floating off in an aquamarine pool somewhere, and we have ourselves the making of a great day. You see, we would be splashing around in one of Orlando’s premier water parks, Volcano Bay. I’d been anticipating this trip for a while now, and it was finally here.

We packed our belongings, crowded into the car, and made our way to the park. After missing an exit, finally finding the entrance, parking, getting on a bus, and navigating past check-ins, we were finally in.

Shortly after entering, if you walk a little ways forward and then look to the center of the park, you’ll see the steaming volcano that towers high above all the attractions. It houses the most formidable slide in the park–the Ko’okiri Body Plunge. This 70-degree,125-foot drop sends you into a fall that is wildly uncomfortable, yet at the same time, equally thrilling. I’d conquered it the year before by my lonesome, but this time, I had company in my two brothers. We used our wristbands to reserve our spots in the digital line and spent the day exploring the many adventures of the park.

My family and I had a blast rushing through the rapid river in our life jackets, winding through bright-colored slides in our water tubes, and tasting the delectable delights that the Whakawaiwai Eats offered us in pizza, hot dogs, and my personal favorite, jerk shrimp mac and cheese. I spent the day glancing at my band that gave an hours-long countdown, until the alert finally told me it was time to march up the volcano.

We ran pretty much the entire way up the unending flights of steps. After getting a little workout in that left me breathless at the top, I was just grateful to be there, dear reader–heavy breathing, hair frizzing and all.

As I moved closer to the front of the line and watched others nervously climb into the shuttle to launch into a multi-story descent, I became nervous. And when my brothers and I were finally next, my stomach was fluttering uncontrollably with butterflies. I thought about turning back, but in the midst of this anxiousness, I also couldn’t help but be excited.

When it was finally my turn, I stepped up to climb into the shuttle, stood with my feet criss-crossed in front of one another and my arms in a similar position, Black Panther style. I could see the people in the wave pool below me who were smaller now. The height was higher than it looked from the bottom, and even though I was a long way from the beginning of those steps when I first climbed up, I kind of wanted to go back to them.

But instead, I closed my eyes and yelled a “Whoo! Come on!” while waiting to drop. I heard the sound of drums from somewhere inside the shuttle, and as they increased in speed to build anticipation, my heart was pumping. I leaned further back against the slide and the stream of downward rushing water as I waited for the drop door to open underneath me in what felt like an eternity. Suddenly I felt the ground give way, and then I dropped.

The fall felt as terrible as you can imagine and came to an end just as it grew too intense. I felt myself plateau and the butterflies disappear, and in a matter of seconds, the feeling of the pool water rushing to my feet at the end of the slide told me it was over. It was done. I could enjoy the rest of my day.

I opened my eyes to the sight of crystal teal water glittering in the sunshine, and saw my family waiting for me and cheering me on. After brushing myself off from the adrenaline and exclaiming how crazy the ride down was, I joined them. Not long after, I saw my little brother come down the slide after me, then my older brother after that. It felt good to cheer them both on.

The feeling I had was unmatched for the rest of the trip. My favorite memory of 2024 wasn’t just conquering a slide I was afraid of, but doing it with people I love. Because it was great passing the finish line myself the year before, but even greater to see my brothers cross it with me this time around.

Turns out reaching new heights, or in this case, new depths, is that much sweeter with company.

Always learning,
Danielle

An Arduous Climb to Heavyn
by nirve carmell

To The Unsealed Community:

so
a poem about the time
i posed
on top of my world
with a giant chicken:
community
a joint within
a brick within a brick
granting sanctuary
to the uninspired
the poet
molded into the earth
of their bed.

this year i embarrassed myself a lot. i took on a job as an apprentice art installer and mason at a museum. there i dealt with folx who reminded me of all my insecurities, because they looked and acted like the people who perpetuated them originally. sifting thru my heart, i realized the ways i was stoking these flames and made it my commitment to let go.
this is the longest i’ve held a job since i broke down from mental and physical illness two years ago. i’ve been in a nasty feedback loop with depression and type 1 diabetes for a decade now. i navigated the choice of transcending perceived danger and feeling the effort of that arduous climb to heavyn

by inviting in community

brick by brick.

i had many days where i wanted to give up and didn’t
and many days where i could give in
to the ebbs and flows
of recovery
and only by the grace
of my team
of knowing i could
fail over and over again
and still come home
did i enchant myself
into tru belief.

so
the chicken.

towards the end of my program’s run, we went to the National Gallery of Art in D.C.
on the roof
in the sun
i posed
exposed before the universe
and my crew
with no defense
but my two fingers
angled into
projected peace.

but better still
was it to stand
in the back
with my eyes closed
knowing exactly who
was around me.

as the year grows old
i give thanks
for the memories
that i had an active role in creating
that i may be lucky enough
to feel again
as they flicker
thru my mind’s eye
on my way out.

From: nirve carmell

Dear Unsealers…

I spent over 100 hours studying material I wasn’t interested in, to earn a job I knew wouldn’t be fulfilling. I began 2024 certified in life, health, property, and casualty insurance. I took the job because it was acceptable, it paid better, and it seemed like it would be less toxic than the five other jobs I had quit over the last eight years.

I was wrong.

I hated it. Each day brought me more anxiety because I knew this wasn’t where I was supposed to be. After thirteen years of hospitalizations, treatment facilities, and medications, the fog of mental illness lifted just enough for me to see that I was headed in the wrong direction. This clarity brought new challenges. In the past, I took jobs I thought I was supposed to, overworked myself, then wondered why I would get burnt out and quit without even putting my two weeks in. I didn’t want that life anymore.

I walked into my (very intimidating) boss’s office to tell her that after months of rigorous training, this wasn’t for me.

I couldn’t stand working for people who didn’t care about my well-being, who told me I was being too much or not enough, who treated me like I was replaceable yet simultaneously put so much responsibility on my shoulders. In my rebellion, I applied to become a server. I hadn’t regularly exercised in years and was not great at lifting heavy things as I have back problems, but it didn’t matter to me. I limped home after shifts, slipped into Epsom salt baths while I winced, used lidocaine patches, and ate ibuprofen like candy. This was a small price to pay for independence.

I got laid off very suddenly, with no prior discussions about my performance. Apparently hands-off management has its’ downside. I worked at another restaurant for a few months, and the same thing happened. Backed into a corner, I filed for unemployment.

I confessed to my Boomer parents (who were so excited that I got a “big girl job” at the insurance agency) that I wasn’t happy. I told them I wanted to write full-time. Mom asked, “What kind of writing?” with concern, pretending it was curiosity. She hates that I write autobiographical poetry, which is why she always says I would be “so good at fiction.” Dad says, “This may be cliché, but I do think Millennials don’t want to work as hard.” Apparently prefacing it with the fact that it sounds cliché was supposed to soften the blow.

I have always been the black sheep of the family, afraid to step out of line. Joined a sorority because Mom wanted me to. Married a man I didn’t want to, had a big wedding because it was the thing to do. Played house for a few years. Got as thin as possible. Postponed tattoos I wanted. I was always living life for someone else…for what someone else wanted me to be.

This year, I was willing to sit in the discomfort and embarrassment of not having my worth tied to my income or productivity. I went to multiple interviews and for once, I was honest. I wasn’t playing a part so they would pick me. I sat with the disgust of years of corporate abuse, systemic ableism, discrimination, and bullying I tolerated just to barely afford being alive. I turned multiple prospects down. At first, it was painful to say no. I over-apologized and gave long explanations. Trauma makes you feel like you owe everyone a piece of yourself; that you are not autonomous over your will and your body.

2024 was the year of “No.” I said no to shitty jobs that made me want to die. I said no to unhealthy family patterns of codependency and compliancy. I said no to situations and people that hurt me. I said no because it felt right. I said no, because I could. The discovering is in the declining. The moments of feeling uncomfortable, the pauses when you consider changing your mind. The grief over all the times you said yes when you felt backed into a corner. The exhaustion of self-sacrifice, the years lost to unconscious behaviors. The joy of learning to trust yourself.

There are days I become stuck in my mind, replaying stories of how lazy and worthless I am, how I am wasting time every minute that I am not job hunting or writing. I am slowly learning to combat these fictional tales that capitalism and hustle culture have drilled into me. Sometimes, I long for the days where I could compartmentalize better. I could go to work on autopilot, come home, get high, then do it all again. But those days have run out.

Thank God for that.

the body of the goddess

the silk tan skin
the gentle sweet kisses

slid them off
slid on me
tongue locks tongue tied tenderly

pulse in chest because
i can’t lose you
a silly excuse when she’s half naked.

slid off me
slid them on
carried to the door, laughter explodes

i love you

drive safe

Dear Unsealers,

My 2024 was a whirlwind of life events.

Losing friends, though keeping a few close.

Turning 40 years old while at the psych hospital.

Losing my favorite cat – my reason for living.

Getting denied for long-term disability pay a second time.

Continuously struggling to survive.

Finding a new reason to live.

It is so easy to lose sight of the good things in my life.

There is, however, one process I began this year that overshadowed this seemingly never-ending shitstorm –

Changing my identity.

I realized that I am nonbinary in 2022.

I discovered a new name for myself – Blue Sky – in 2023.

I started stepping into that identity in 2024.

I got a new haircut.

Adopted a new aesthetic.

Became more true to myself.

In August, I petitioned the Superior Court of California to have my name and gender identifier changed.

In November, I legally became Blue N Sky and nonbinary.

I get to change my birth certificate.

And now I realize that I have always been Blue Sky.

My parents gave me my previous name.

Society gave me my previous identity.

I broke out of societal expectations of me.

I feel more authentic.

Living closer to my values.

Blue Sky is a beautiful extension of my creativity.

Blue Sky is a reminder that no matter how stormy my life gets –

Blue skies are always on the horizon.

And now I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Still far away.

But the glimmer is blue.

The glimmer is me.

Robin,

I know you don’t hear it often, but I want to thank you for returning to your passion for writing, decades after your last creative piece. With encouragement from your writer friends, writing workshops, and positive feedback, you found your groove and your purpose. You are creating with empathy, sharing your words with isolated seniors and searching for other opportunities to use your words to help others feel seen and heard. But sometimes you take too much on and put pressure on yourself to create. So I wrote this poem for us.

I want to caress
My hand on your face
Rest your head
My touch is your pillow
Comforting

You have a lot on your mind
Place them in my palm
For now
And I’ll toss them into the ocean
For now

Serene slumber is what you need
A pause and quiet thoughts to ease
I’ll watch over you while you’re sleeping
And keep you safe

Thank you again for finding a place for your words that hopefully make a difference in the world for the better. Keep going, but remember to take time for yourself too. I love you.

With Appreciation,

Dear Loleita,
It has taken me a long time to write this letter, but I would be remised if I didn’t do it now. I know that you are shy when it comes to displays of affections or gratitude, and that you are not particularly fond of self-praise or boasting about your achievements. But I want to personally thank you for not letting the words/phrase “You can’t do it” stop you from becoming the person who you are.
I remember one of the first times you were told “You can’t do it” was when you wanted to go down a slide at a park that you and your sisters passed every day on the way home from elementary school. The slide had a plank missing from the platform and to get to the slide, one had to jump over the missing plank. Your sisters told you, “You can’t do it, you’re too small”; but did you listen? No. You climbed the ladder, stepped on the first plank on the platform, took a deep breath, and jumped over the missing plank. You made it over the missing plank and over the slide. You fell to the ground, falling and landing on your right arm, which was later found to be broken. Not only could you do it, you over excelled. The cast on your arm was proof that you could do it. The cast and broken bone would be the first of many “awards or trophy symbolisms” that would document, acknowledge, and recognize your accomplishments that you, in fact, could do it – whatever it was.
Another “award or trophy symbolism” that signaled that you could do it, that you added to your collection, was stitches. They were “awarded” when you, your sisters, and your cousins were playing baseball in the house because it was raining outside. Even though athleticism wasn’t one of your strong attributes, you didn’t let that deter you from participating in the game. When it was your turn at bat, you confidently took the bat and stood determinately on the makeshift mound regardless of all the booing and heckling and cries of “You can’t do it”. The ball was thrown, you took a deep breath and swung. To your, and everyone else’s amazement, you hit the ball. You rounded the pillow bases while the other team scrambled to get the ball. You made it to first, second, and third base. But on the way to home plate, you had to slide to make it. You made it, but in doing so, you slid into an end table causing a gash under your right eye that required 11 stitches.

The broken bones and stitches “award or trophy symbolisms” soon turned to plastic as you grew older. When signing up for a musical instrument in junior high school, all the supposedly “girly” instruments were suggested to you, such as the flute or the clarinet. One of your best guy friends, who played the drums, told you, “You can’t play the drums, the drums are only for guys.” Right then and there, you took a deep breath, and you signed up to play the drums. You had to start at the bottom and work your way up. You played the bass drum, which was bigger than you were, joined the marching band, and carried and played the heavy bass drum for miles through the streets of your hometown. This proved that you, a girl, could in fact “do it” and play the drums. This led to being promoted to playing the snare drum – the holy grail of drums. You were also “awarded” your nickname, “Ladybug”. Ladybugs are believed to represent adaptability, positive change, resilience and metamorphosis. Ladybug signed up for band competitions and made it to the State Championships where she finished and received a second-place plastic trophy.
Eventually, the plastic trophies turned into paper: diplomas, certifications, awards, and notifications; from graduating from high school and university, to earning certifications and awards specializing in your career field, and to getting notified that you had beat cancer.
Now, I have come to the realization that the “award or trophy symbolisms” that documented, acknowledged, and recognized your accomplishments aren’t the tangible things such as the actual physical plastic trophies, paper awards, or even the visible scars from wounds, surgeries, or stitches. Instead, it is the self-assurance that you had deep with inside yourself that propelled you to accomplish sometimes the impossible or sometimes what was needed. You did not hold your breath waiting for someone else to do things for you. Instead, you breathed in the world and ignited the match that lit the determination “can do” fire from within.
As I take a deep breath, I say, “You CAN do it and thank you.”

Thankfully,
Ladybug

Dear Blue,

I feel grateful that I am not in an attitude of gratitude all the time. Feeling gratitude for all of the horrific trauma that I have experienced does not make me stronger. Trauma actually makes me weaker.

By feeling my feelings exactly as they are, not how I wish I felt, I am making room for the discomfort and facilitating my healing from those traumatic memories.

Every day I choose to feel the challenging emotions, I get one day closer to gratitude that does not feel as if I am betraying my true feelings. One day at a time.

As I inch closer to a feeling of authentic gratitude, I release the deep breath that I did not realize consumed every molecule of my being.

I feel grateful for finally being able to breathe easily, even if for a moment, because I am one moment away from feeling gratitude for the ways I have coped over the years.

The dissociation kept me safe while I was experiencing the trauma. I feel grateful for this now-maladaptive coping skill because I am not plagued with so many gut-wrenching memories as I could have endured.

I miss the life I could have had if the trauma had not overtaken me against my will. I know I could have made a greater impact on the world.

I feel grateful that it is not too late for me to leave a footprint on the hearts of everyone I meet. I may feel weaker because of my trauma. That does not mean I have to be down for the count for the rest of my life.

While I may not feel grateful for a while, this break will allow me to process my emotions.

There are multiple paths to recovery, and none of them are straight. I choose the path that gives me many places to sit and rest.

There is no recovery without rest. I feel grateful that I can sit and rest without having to feel grateful all the time.

One of the best moments of
2024 for me, was that time
I decided to open Up
And be a Lil vulnerable.
Felt nervous but comfortable.
As we sat at a table eating lunch,
I let her read my
{Broken or Broke in} poem.
Opened me up more,
Pretty soon I started reading aloud.
Feeling high in the clouds,
The feeling was “unique”.
The way she sounds when she speaks
Had me expressing more
Freely & frequently.
I just wanted to hear that
Specific frequency.
So grateful for that moment
Of vulnerability.

Dear Beloved One,

Thank you for all you’ve done
To keep me here above the grave.
Even when sweet death you craved.
You proved stronger than they thought,
All who left you in a spot.
They gave up long ago,
But your heart they didn’t know.

Inside you burns a fire,
Always blazing as others tire.
It fights all the hellhounds
Trying to run you to the ground.
And when the light dims and wanes
You feed it with great pains.

The sorrow that grew inside your soul,
The depression that kept you in a hole
Were no match for your mighty spirit.
Brave you fought, ‘though you feared it.
Exhausted, you still stay awake
To vanquish the demons in your wake.

How hard you worked and toiled
To get your gears well oiled
For defense against each coming night,
To expose the ghosts in hidden sight.
So, you slipped back several times.
You’ve paid dues for all your crimes.

Let go of guilt nagging you.
You did all that you could do.
You saved yourself, but not them all.
Too quickly did some fall.
No one blames you for your survival.
We can only launch our own revival.

They may stay blind, but I see
Your fervent efforts and tenacity.
You’ve labored to the barest bones
To survive and find much brighter tones.
After every stumble, you rise anew.
For this, again, I thank you.

Sincerely,

You and me

Ninety nine bottles of torture on the fall
I pick one up
Pass another round

Again darkness rides
I twinkle, glow n shine

Delicate soul, fragile heart
Shattered bones, creating art

Chewed up, spat out
Bread crumbs
I find my way about

For no one knows the ache that resides
A beautiful cover as assigned

Sealed with wishes
Thank you for your stitches

The torture of ninety nine bottles
Hello Role Model
Kisses

The first thing you should know, Jasmine, is that you are so full of love and light that the waters of your love threaten to drown you in its depths. You spend your days treading the waves constantly, just barely keeping your head above the surface. Ebbing. Flowing. Searching for a vessel to pour yourself into and lighten your load.

You should know that your power lives here. In the billowing floods of tears at the prospect of your greatest fear: abandonment.

It will take a grueling 10 years of isolation for this to change, but it is in this isolation that you’ll excite yourself in other ways, through a discovery of a world that exists beyond the local AMC theatre or the rollerink you’re never invited to.

The shelter you created for yourself out of fictional worlds, boyband lore, and a brief obsession with John Hughes films– is only temporary. The ache to be known and understood will return, as it always does. You will hate this part of yourself, but it will fester and grow nonetheless.

The feeling will persist even once we reach high school and are granted the popularity we craved for so long after the years of rejection. You will succeed in most things, and it will create a new fear in you. A fear of losing it all one day. A fear of disappointing the people you love. A fear of being known as anything besides this new, carefully crafted persona.

You should know that throughout all of this, the universe has been watching you blossom, beaming down at its beautiful flower child as you shed your petals and grew them anew season after season.

One day you’ll call out to the universe for a lesson to help you understand why the fear won’t go away.

And in answer, the universe sent us a man so beautiful and broken it knew we would never be able to resist the call to action. The urge to lick his wounds and patch his ego back together so that he could be the man we dreamed of. We poured ourselves into him and over him to be his champion in the war he’d waged against himself. We stepped out from behind our crooked shield, swimming head to toe in oversized rusted armor and brandished the all too heavy sword of our love upwards at the heavens to prove ourselves.

Because our devotion to the sick, the weak, the needy, has always overshadowed our devotion to ourselves. As if our worth couldn’t exist alone. Because we believed that deep down, the secret to a perfect world, was that everyone should simply exist in service of those who need it most. And the universe, all knowing as it is, knew that the only way I’d give up this belief in self sacrifice was if it taught me what the best and the worst of humanity can look like in the lesson that was Him.

There was a time where He would have destroyed us. Where we would have been so desperate for Him to see the pain He’d inflicted that we would have abandoned our self image in pursuit of revenge. Painted our face until we no longer hated the watery eyes staring back at us in the mirror. Starved ourselves skinny and stripped ourselves bare to expose this stranger’s body to the men we’d never risk exposing our heart to again. We’d reign terror and spit venom until the memory of Him came creeping back in. Then we’d crawl back to him on bruised knees and beg for salvation.

But, luckily, this was not the first time the Universe has tried to teach us this particular lesson. We failed the first time, to choose ourselves. Because you are me and I am you and I was so desperate to protect you from my loneliness, I looked the devil in his eyes and pleaded with him, as his hands tightened around my neck until my vision dulled, to love me. Please love me.

We were strong this time, Jasmine. We turned to the sky and asked the stars what to do about Him and they answered us, as they always do. The wind came down and dried our tears and whistled in our ear to simply let go and trust in them. And we did.

And despite it all we still love in spite of the love we never felt. We smile at strangers, and text people photos of rainbows we see outside, and tell the people we love that we love them every single time we feel it. There are still trials and tribulations and tears and sorrow. But when I talk to the universe, it talks back to me. And we will never be alone again.

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.

Thank you for not giving up on us. I’m so glad you kept growing and going. Despite heartbreaks and headaches, you left it all behind and started fresh to provide a better life for yourself and your children. What the enemy meant for your destruction; you were able to construct into something good. Although it’s been a long, rocky road, we’ve persevered, and now we can finally exhale.

You’ve turned obstacles into stepping stones and transformed pain into purpose. You found strength in moments when giving up seemed like the easier path; instead, you continued to press forward. And for that, I thank you.

For every tear you’ve shed, every time you scraped together coins to make ends meet, and every moment of self-doubt after adults abused your trust you crafted something beautiful out of those hard moments. The way you’ve chosen to show up, despite it all, amazes me. You embraced healing even when it felt uncomfortable, and in doing so, you’ve become a beacon of light for others.

So, here’s to you for keeping your heart open when it wanted to close, for showing love when it would have been easier to hate, and for never letting anyone or anything define your worth. You’ve built a life full of purpose, intention, and grace. You didn’t just survive you thrived.

And there’s so much more ahead. Keep trusting yourself, because you’ve got this.

Love you, girl!

Hugs and kisses,

Your inner child

Never would I say I was bad, but mischievousness could get in the way.
A scrambled brain teenager; put me in a skillet
I was burning out of control.
Fifteen years old and I was ready to go, not to a dance; not to school,
or a planned activity.
You see I wanted to end it all for me.
What was on my mind that day?
In that apartment I sat silently – by myself.
My thoughts overwhelming, refusing to leave me alone.
I walked into the bathroom looked into the mirror, and only
saw disappointment – a young girl’s failure
Who could I make proud, who would believe in me?
Hands shaking, lips quivering I opened the cabinet door.
I saw pills, and pills galore
This is the end; I can’t take much more.
Life at that time was mean; I no longer wanted to be seen.
Yet, I was only fifteen
What was on my mind that day?
I vaguely, remember; only that my stomach was so sore.
Please stop pushing, push me no more!
God didn’t take me
Life tried to break me, confusion had me twisted as a pretzel
and imagining my family would be better off without me.
I knew that they loved me.
Whatever the reason I wasn’t standing on solid ground
I was trapped in a mudslide I was going down.
The confidence, the strength and the power you see today
it comes from that fifteen-year-old teenager who almost gave life away.

Dear young girl,

Life has undoubtedly presented you with profound challenges that have shaped your journey in unimaginable ways. I know you’ve grappled with your very existence, questioning why you felt different in a world that often celebrates conformity. Every stare from strangers must have felt like a spotlight on your pain, yet those individuals never bothered to ask what lay beneath the surface. You are the girl who wondered, “Would someone ever love me?” The truth is, your chronic illness has placed a heavy burden on your thoughts, body, and spirit, making it difficult to envision a brighter future.

It’s easy to default to feelings of isolation when you are reminded daily of your limitations. The gear – the braces and walking devices – became a constant reminder of your struggles, distancing you from the carefree essence of childhood. Simple joys, like bike rides and splashes in the pool, were overshadowed by the fear of breaking your fragile bones. Anger brewed within you, amplified by the lack of love and support you felt. You faced more hospital visits than playground outings, and behind your smile lay a profound sadness.

You have carried an invisible weight, living each day with unvoiced pain and silently battling feelings of loss and disconnection. Your chronic illness became an unwelcome companion, intruding on your body and robbing you of the chance to experience a typical childhood. Society placed labels on you, defining you as someone who wouldn’t succeed, someone who needed to hide her scars rather than showcasing them as a badge of resilience.

But I urge you to look at the woman you are today! You emerged victorious from those dark moments, and your strength has transformed you into a remarkable individual. You triumphed over what many labeled as insurmountable obstacles. You graduated, and in doing so, you shed the identity of a broken child. No longer do you confine yourself to the shadows; you found your freedom, reclaiming your identity as a whole person.

Now, you are a flourishing woman who has embraced love, motherhood, and your voice. The paths once untraveled have opened up to you, granting you the possibility to dream and believe in the beauty of life. Your scars no longer serve as symbols of defeat; they weave together a narrative that inspires others who face similar adversities. You crafted a story that reveals hope—a beacon for the next young girl who might think that her struggles define her existence.

You are proof that a chronic illness may alter the journey, but it does not dictate the destination. Your journey has become a testimony that speaks volumes in the face of doubt and discouragement. Through resilience and determination, you have showcased that the human spirit can soar, unfettered by limitations.

As you continue to move forward, let your journey resonate with those who feel lost in their battles. You have become an unforgettable voice echoing resilience, showing other young girls that there is light at the end of the tunnel. For you are not merely surviving; you are triumphantly living.

So, hold your head high and continue to pave the way for others. Your story is a reminder: the fight against adversity is a powerful declaration of existence and triumph. Be proud of the woman you’ve become; you are a force to be reckoned with!

Anxious girl, there is calmness in your chaos.
As I breathe deeply today, I now know that depression cannot slay us.

Though it may feel like an eternity, that clench in your chest is only temporary- it does not change the fact that you are a visionary.

And, no matter how difficult the moment may seem, learning to simply be is learning to set yourself free.

I know that others may have told you that what you feel is not that deep, but the depth of your soul is the ground beneath your feet.

You were never crazy for feeling emotions-
In truth, you were amazing for being so open.

May you feel empowered to be bold and unique. And, may you release the fear of the old to find your peace.

Somewhere on the path, I realized that it all starts in our mind, and taking it one day at a time I felt it unwind until it began to align.

Peace was always within us from the beginning and it is everlasting- an endless well of serenity to keep us steady while the world is passing.

When we breathe deep and release fear we become unshakeable. And, trusting in ourselves builds a bond that is unbreakable.

The past is over and the future is still unknown but in the present, you are right where you belong. May you rest deeply in trust that you are on your journey home.

Being excited about this challenge, I was going to go all out and try to find an inspirational quote and write a generic hook about how I experienced adversity which, in turn, developed me into the person I am now. But hey, how this unfolds has already been predetermined in my eyes. All that to the side, before I share, I want to draw attention to how important it is to not only love who you are regardless but also know you are enough. Period. Point blank. This is a lesson that I had to unfortunately repeat time and time again until it hit me like a truck, and the memo finally planted the concept in my mind. The importance of having self-worth was something I struggled with, because in today’s world, a component of engaging with people has become ‘what can you—as a man or woman—do for them, and can you continue to keep doing it without displaying signs of vulnerability?’ Now, that can be a whole other topic for another day, so let me stay on point.

Hey, I don’t know who you are, and you don’t really know me—not fully. But I want to say while I have your attention, even if it’s just for this moment—thank you. Thank you for listening. This letter is for you, and it’s also for me. It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come and a chance to recognize every step it took to get here, even the ones that hurt. Taking time to look back in retrospect, my subconscious or true self, without getting too deep, always tried to seep out during certain moments of my childhood where it took people by surprise or I was given a label.

As a child, this gave me the feeling that I had to hide this part of myself to be accepted by not only peers but family. It was like I had to trade a chunk of who I was at that time just to feel worthy. Worthy of what? To be honest, I don’t even recall how I felt at that current state, but I know how worthless I felt at that time. Back then, especially in the early 2010’s, that component was actually what made me whole. That’s where the silent war began, because how can you love yourself? How could I feel worthy when I’m consistently shrinking to conform to other people’s perceptions of who I am? So I created a fortress constructed from accolades, fables, titles, nonsensical claims, and a distorted representation of what I was trying to proclaim. But whenever it was time for battle or even a war, I had to stand my ground, prove myself, show I knew how to walk and talk. And I cracked instantly. Though another attribute I possess is the capacity to think and act quickly. This allowed me to win countless wars against those who tried to test my fortress, and I wouldn’t let them destroy what I created. Despite that, I wasn’t ready for the test I put myself through.

There was a day that fortress crumbled. The mending scars of war had come to their last leg, and eventually, that fortress was broken. My ego couldn’t bear witness to what happened. It was like I was stripped naked for all to see, but most importantly, for myself to finally see. To see that beneath all those layers, I was someone I couldn’t truly stand to be. I saw all the pretenses, and it was like looking at a stranger. All that effort, all that armor—and still, I wasn’t enough. The fortress wasn’t worth it, nor were the battles I fought or the sacrifices I made to keep it intact. Now, I don’t have many words left before it exceeds 800, so I’ll give you the short version. It took that moment for me to realize that I had no sense of self-worth, and it took a season, metaphorically speaking, for me to build self-esteem after almost two decades of living. Being transparent, I’m still strengthening the foundation of my new fortress. However, I know that the foundation, as it was supposed to be, is constructed from knowing that I’m enough simply by existing. I’m me, and that’s all it takes