Dear Alanoud,
Just breathe….
I know there are moments when you look at your health journey and ask, “Why me?” and that is a valid question. You’ve faced challenges that many might never fully understand—four major surgeries, countless battles, and a journey that demands more from you than anyone could expect. I know your life is put on hold at the moment. Yet, despite it all, you have chosen to persevere. Just continue breathing.
I want you to know how deeply I admire your strength even though sometimes I don’t believe in you. Life has tested you in ways that could have left anyone feeling defeated, but you’ve shown resilience in the face of it all. You’ve continued to fight, not because it’s easy, but because you have a strength within you that refuses to give up. With every challenge, you’re proving to yourself and the world just how much you can endure.
You’ve looked at this battle, with all its pain and struggle, and said, “I’m thankful because it’s making me stronger.” That perspective—the ability to find growth in adversity—is a gift, and I know how long it took to have this mindset. It’s a reflection of your courage, your wisdom, and your belief in something greater: the possibility of becoming even more powerful and grounded because of what you’ve endured.
With each scar and each struggle remember this: you are not defined by the hardships you’ve faced but by how you’ve chosen to face them—with grace, determination, and an open heart. Your journey is uniquely yours, and it is shaping you into someone even more extraordinary than you already are.
Keep going, Alanoud. Keep asking, keep growing, and keep fighting. I know we have a long way to go. You are more powerful than you know, and this battle is shaping you into the strongest version of yourself.
Proud of you,
Alanoud

Three hundred sixty-five days. I’d gone without being with my mother.
She stood at the top of the stairs waiting—for her only daughter to come home to her.
My tears embraced her as her arms wrapped around me.
Heart over heart.
Finally, I thought, breathe.
I like to hold on to that memory.
Twenty days. I had with my mother that summer. It hadn’t mattered much to me at the time.
The days.
I’d always known there would be more. Until there wasn’t.
I hope one day it brings comfort.
Now. It just burns.
All I can do is remember.

My chest rises and falls in rapid bursts, the oxygen I force inside slicing my lungs like waves shattering against a fractured cliff. Thank you for breathing. Thank you.

Four months. Tears knot in my throat as I struggle to find comfort within these four walls untouched by the tips of fresh acrylics.

Soggy pillow sheets. Wet cheeks. Cracked lips.
I trek through a forest of clothes dirty and clean. They form mountains in the dark corners of the room. There is nowhere for me to go, no comfort to run to and still I move.
And, I thank you for moving. Thank you.

Water sways from the horizon, pushing and pulling at the shore. Seasalt swirls through my snot-filled nostrils. But, my nose begs for the smells of herbs, oil and incense, of expensive perfume, occasionally bought and always worn. It begs so much it bleeds.
And, I thank you for smelling. Thank you.

Salt carves unforeseen paths down my cheeks, crashing against chattering teeth. Metal swirls red from aching gums, crying lips, begging nostrils, and screaming cuticles. I imagine that it’s my mother’s homemade spaghetti I taste, not the blood from my own fingers. I imagine my burning gums are from all the spice I begged she add to every meal, pain we once welcomed with shared laughter.
And, I thank you for tasting. Thank you.

The waves race against one another to reach the shore. They calm as they near the edges of my feet, wrapping my rough skin in a kind embrace like that of kisses from a new mom onto her baby’s feet, unscarred. The rush of moments once lived flow from one ear and out the other. Murmured chatter of old phrases, jokes, and music shared pass through the winds of time, bouncing around the inside of my mind unwillingly.
Still, I thank you for listening. Thank you.

Five days. I left my mother for five days. She hugged me when I left. We’d made plans for the holidays. Five days.

The landscape is blurred by the bubbling in my eyes. The color drains from the skyline as I am forced to welcome the night in. Trees bend at the beckon of the passing breeze. Leaves flutter like that of a butterfly’s wings. The individual black curls that wrap around my face shine in the glowing moon, just like my mother’s once had.
Even more so, I thank you for seeing.

Twenty one years. I lived on the foundation of my mother’s love. Seven months. I waited to see her. Twenty-seven days. I had not known pain.

I know pain.
I know when the salt stings, when the waves roar, the heart cries and the brain burns as unsaid words, unforgotten failures, missed moments—three hundred sixty-five days—fight to escape and there is no mother to call you home, no mother to wake you, no mother to love you, no mother to move you, no mother to know you, no mother to listen to you, no mother to calm you, and no mother to warm you.
I know.
And I thank you.
I thank you.
All I can do is breathe.
All you can do is breathe.
So, I thank you for breathing, through the stabbing in your chest.
For moving, against the pressure of an unrelenting pain.
For tasting, though there are flavors that will never touch the tip of your tongue again.
For smelling, the smoke of fires you stop yourself from sparking.
For listening, when there are no words to heal you.
For seeing, when you don’t recognize the reflecting brown eyes.
For feeling, when it is easier to succumb.
Thank you.
Thank you for staying.
In a life that is at its most impossible.
Thank you for staying.
In a place that you would not be blamed for fleeing.
Thank you for staying.
In this moment.
With all the suffering it brings.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you for loving. Me. Even when the love seems as though it will not go anywhere. It will not change anything. You still do.
Amber.
If I haven’t said it enough.
Thank you for breathing.

OUR STORY ISN’T OVER YET

You made it…you’re still in one piece and alive so you did it. Your whole life you have only had two fears. The fear of dying and the fear of losing a child. Strangely enough you always worried that “losing” them meant death but never in your wildest dreams did you think losing them while they were still alive was even an option.
Then it happened, you got yourself out of an abusive relationship never thinking that someone would be so vengeful, so hateful, so spiteful, cruel and malicious that they would turn your own sons against you with horrendous lies. The same sons that you devoted your entire life to. People would say your whole face would light up when you spoke about them. You truly without any second to think would have given your life for any of them and to this day still would in spite of the fact that your heart is broken into a million different piece. How could this have possibly happened and how did you survive your worst fear coming true? I still marvel that you are alive after the thoughts that I know went through your mind on a regular basis.
There are days that I don’t even know how you functioned. Crying non stop as soon as you closed the door to the outside world I thought for sure would either break you or you would simply run out of tears. You lacked so much sleep, going to bed sick to your stomach and waking up the exact same way when you did actually fall asleep.
You walked out the door and the world never knew what was actually going on because you smiled and only you knew what hid behind that smile. Therapy, researching, support groups, reading books and reading more books until the words blurred with the tears and you couldn’t read anymore.
I don’t know how or when but all of a sudden you had the strength that I didn’t know was possible to go on. It was like you just picked yourself up one day and “put on your big girl panties” and knew the only way to survive was to not let that “evil” take over your life.
I always knew you were a strong woman but I honestly was not sure this time you would recover from this. You would never ever take anything away from anyone who has lost a child to death…that is a pain you/I cannot possibly fathom but losing a child who is still alive and the grandchildren that have come from them is a totally different pain that has no closure. Watching your grandchildren from a distance, having mutual friends that cannot understand how or why this is even happening sending you pictures of them cannot be explained unless you are actually going through it so I know the pain you are in on a daily basis.
I am so very grateful that you have the strength that you have shown. Honestly I have never been more proud of you than these last couple of years. You have come to terms with the fact that you can’t control how evil and nasty other people are but you can control how you let it destroy you. You have learned that grandparent alienation is actually a global epidemic. It doesn’t lessen the pain but you now know you are not alone in this horrible nightmare.
You still know that someday you will see them again because you have always been the type of person that never loses hope (although I know it gets harder and harder in this world) and also never gives up. So from me to me I love you and I love the strength that you have given to us. We are alive and we now can conquer anything that comes our way because we have survived one of our two biggest fears and our story isn’t over yet!

Thank you, for holding on for so many years. Suffering… and not letting it show; Head in the clouds, as they drenched you with tears, Shivering with nowhere to go.
Thank you, for all of the laughs when you wanted to cry, Thank you for all of the living when you wanted to die; Through all of your falls and all of your climbs, for being yourself although you were odd.
Thanks for swallowing pride, all those nights you were hungry, staying to yourself all those days you were lonely; Giving your last when you had nothing to give and always giving back all the times that you did!!!
For just being awesome when you felt you were not, spreading the love when your loved ones forgot; Thank you for not drinking till we were no more, walking away from addiction and shutting the door.
“THANK ME?”
I would ask, Because if I remember this right, YOU were there with me, in the cold in the heat of the night.
Your the reason that I hoped, the reason I write, the reason I am whole, the reason I smile.
THANK YOU for never leaving like EVERYBODY, THANK YOU FATHER GOD, THANK YOU JESUS CHRIST. THANK YOU

In my reflection is:
A story of resiliency,
The secure embrace of gratitude,
A symbol of hope.

In my eyes, I see:
Scars that have faded,
An eager, childlike whimsy,
The anticipation of the future.

On my face are:
Lessons learned,
A sigh of relief,
A loving promise to myself.

I lift my hand.
The woman looking back at me
Does the same.
We touch.

“Thank you.”

A Little Thanks in a Big Way

Little did I know,
While standing so tall,
I wasn’t truly doing
Much growing at all.

A mask tied so tight,
Even I couldn’t see—
My entire existence,
Was I living as me?

Doing my best
In the worst kinds of ways,
Tripping through life
In a self-doubting haze.

Always honest and kind,
But maybe too much.
Giving away all my
Love, time, and trust.

I spent my life chasing,
But led it with fear.
Hoping to catch what,
Year after year?

I’d jump both feet in,
Give it all that I’ve got,
But jump both feet out,
When it started to get hot.

Then I’d lay myself down
To provide a dry spot—
Not for me, but for others,
My own needs soon forgot.

A house neat and tidy,
But don’t look under the rug—
That’s where I swept all,
When it started to tug.

The grief, pain, and heartbreak,
A lump you could see,
Under a rug that
Essentially, represents me.

Never facing my fears,
My doubts, or my struggles.
Never knowing one day,
It would all over-bubble.

Holding tight onto things
That weren’t meant to be held,
I dropped the one thing
And I watched as it fell.

Most important to grip
With a bubbling pot,
Pausing to be grateful
For all that I’ve got.

When all hope was lost,
I took a second to see,
The power of pausing,
And being grateful for me.

For the feet that keep moving
Day after day.
Rarely stopping to rest,
Yet never complain.

For the heart that beats on
When love’s ripped away,
For the love that it felt,
No matter the stay.

Thank you to this body,
That carried my child,
To say he’s my world,
Is putting it mild.

Thank you for the empathy
I feel in my soul,
Without it I don’t think
I’d ever feel whole.

Thank you for the courage
That’s taken over the fear.
I’ll now stand and face it,
And I won’t shed a tear.

I’m thankful for my thoughts,
So deep and bold,
Living life in a box
must surely get old.

Thank you for putting in
All your hard work,
When I better myself
I live with the perks.

For my hands that can hold
So many things—
My child, my paintbrush,
And family rings.

They never cease to amaze
What they’re capable of,
Building my dreams—
A true gift from above.

I’m grateful for my mind
That powers it all,
That tells me to rise
With each stumble and fall.

A mind so creative,
Yet chaotic inside,
Thank you for the crazy
Ideas that reside.

Thank you for your talents,
Though ignored far too long.
Now we’ve embrace them,
They keep growing strong.

When I start to feel sad,
And life feels upside-down,
I know the act of gratitude,
Can be truly profound.

So Thank you to my eyes,
That finally came to see,
The main thing in my way,
Has been me not loving me.

I started truly thanking me,
Once or twice a day.
As I kept on doing this,
My sadness began to fade.

Now my everday routine,
Each morning when I wake,
Is to take a quiet moment,
To Breath and to give thanks.

Through gratitude and kindness,
I’ve found the love I need,
To live this life authentically,
To live this life as me.

I see you.
The way you push yourself to be better every day—that MEANS something.
I’m proud of you.
You work hard to improve the lives of those around you.
I forgive you.
For not performing as well as you wanted. For not reading minds. For not exceeding your expectations.
I adore you exactly as you are.
And I thank you.
Thank you for eating meals and taking your vitamins. Thank you for putting down the knife and calling a friend when you needed help. Thank you for going to work every day even when you’re tired. Thank you for doing the dishes and the laundry, even though you really hate it. Thank you for going to church to sharpen your spirit. Thank you for everything you do every single day to keep yourself alive. None of it is in vain. You are so valuable.

My dearest self,

Thank you. I don’t say that to you enough, but truly, thank you. It may be difficult to admit, but you’re one of the strongest people I know.

You have gone through things that no one should ever have to go through. Those things hardened you…but they also softened you. They made you who you were meant to be-a resilient, vibrant, passionate woman who does what feels right for her at every turn, and doesn’t allow others to dictate any part of her life. A woman who thinks and feels deeply, strives for beauty and authenticity, and gives what she can when she can. I’m proud of this woman. She belongs.

The thick layer of hardness that covers you and protects you goes down so deep it’s scraping your bones. Some perceive this as you being uncaring, rude, or standoffish. But you know yourself- you know that the true issue is that you care about everything too much. So much that it hurts you, often. And that hurt has accumulated over the years into this hardened exterior. You’re tough. You can handle yourself. You’re sturdy on your own two feet and you’re not scared to face whatever those feet lead you to.

Those who appreciate your exterior also recognize your interior. Squeezed beneath the bones into the very core of you is a distinct softness- a softness that helps you to understand things, helps you to help others, and helps you to be the very best version of yourself. This is the part of you that cares so deeply about things that you can physically feel it-a palpable ache radiating from your core.

The exterior protects and analyzes while the interior feels and guides. A perfectly balanced set. Together, they make you flexible. Pliable. Adaptable. Durable. You’re built to last, endure, survive, and thrive.

While you always survive, you don’t always thrive-at least, it doesn’t always seem like it. And that’s okay-that’s how life is set up for us. But truly, deep down, even when it doesn’t feel like you’re thriving, you are. Simply by persevering and pushing through the bullshit, you are thriving. Simply by allowing yourself to still be vulnerable when it matters, with the people who it matters with, despite the accumulated hurt, you’re thriving. You have created a life for yourself where it’s okay to just exist. To just be you. A life where you don’t always need to look over your shoulder. Where it’s okay to relax and live moment by moment. It took a long time to get to this life, but you did it. So again, for this beautiful life, thank you.
You must be exhausted; it’s okay to rest now. You’re going to be just fine.

Love,

A thank you note
I’m writing a thank you note to myself. I’ve been through a lot this year. So saying, “Thank You!” feels like an uplifting thing to do.

Dearest Danielle,

Prioritizing yourself has been your mission. Self-care has certianly kicked your butt. I never knew how hard it was to actually care for a human being, especially these girls, the girl you used to be and the one you’re becoming.

Remember that girl?

The girl who was afraid of her own shaddow. The girl who was as uncertain of the wind changing as sensing her own needs. She second guessed everything that she did. She worried constantly about the state of her relationship, as if it was the state of planet earth. She would wonder what was wrong with her for having these demons. The questions about the next right thing haunted her. They caused her to doubt whether her choices were good enough, whether she was good enough. Was she enough? Well, was she?

She was the girl who got stuck in the quicksand of her own mind. Getting sucked down into the abyss of sticky judgments and exaggerated retellings of the day’s events. Down there, she tried to calculate just how it was that everyone else seemed to do it all and so much more smoothly than her. How in the world did they not drown in furious scrolling, intense games, or anesthetize themselves with a screen just to take the edge off? She watched them float through the world without lead balloons to pull them back to reality. And she envied them. The people who could bob on the surface of their lives without getting trapped in the undercurrent.

Somehow through all of your efforts, dear Danielle, you’ve yanked this girl out of the hole she had dug for herself. You forced her to change not only by waking her up from the trance of crisis mode, but resetting her operational state.

How’d you do it? What is your secret?

I’m not altogether sure of the recipe that encapsulates all of the actions that I took to get me from where I was in the spring to where I sit now. I don’t know measurements, or the ammount of intention over action. But what I can do is give an ingredient list.

Self-Care Bootcamp for the Suicidal, Overly Anxious ADHD girl

1. Kindness. Gentleness. Ease.

For all of what you’re about to do, you are going to be so overly judgemental, furious at yourself, and doubting every single move you make. The cure is the anthesis of the poision. Treating yourself with gentleness, proceeding with a easy pace, and holding kindness for yourself in your heart.

Yeah, it’s tough. I didn’t say this was easy or that it would go down smoothly. Taking real good care ain’t either of those things.

2. Feed yourself.

Meaning you need to make full meals for yourself at least three times a day. (And for you, that means two snacks in between. And no coffee does NOT count). That includes taking the time to boil, bake, prepare, warm, or microwave your food.

Taking care means caring for the things you put in your body. And yes this takes time. Self-care is an investment you make in yourself, and that includes the resource of time, not just money.

3. Go on a walk.

This is fairly self-explanatory. But somehow the pathway from my apartment door becomes blocked by a domineering invisible force pulling me back to my comfy spot on
the couch.

Going outside takes reason, a spark, a force that pushes you from stillness into motion.

The cure of fresh air, sunlight, the shade of trees, birdsong, as well as people and pets along the way makes you feel like you are a part of the world. The real one, and not just the one in you tell yourself about in your endless self-narrating monologue.

4. Make time for friends

They will remind you of who you really are. The confident, silly, expressive soul that lay dormant for too long. Their words of encouragement, their solidarity, their company, and their spirit of congeniality smooths your ripples of doubt.

Remind yourself that they really do care about you. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, and it’s ok to ask for what you need, even if it’s just a reminder of how worthy you are of their friendship.

5. Time.

Nothing meaningful changes immediately. Here’s the biggest investment you will ever make in yourself. Moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years; every millisecond of one breath adds up like pennies in a piggy bank.

You empty yourself out for your job, your relationships, for your projects; now is time to refill and heal the wounds that the world inevitably causes. Whether that’s therapy, support groups, deep conversations with friends, journaling, saying “No”, saying “YES!”, singing, crying, punching something, having a conversation with someone who hurt you, setting a boundary, reminding yourself that you’re human and it’s ok to make mistakes, apologizing, asking for an apology, and intentionally not appologizing.

All of the above take the investment of time, practice, and prioritization. None of these are easy things, and there’s no one right path. Trusting that inner voice is key. Returning to your body long enough to know what it needs takes consistency.

6. Rest

Stop. All of it. Shut it down! Turn it off.

You don’t need to show up for the thing after you stopped for long enough to realize you’re tired and would rather stay home.
Just like the great Courtney Barnet sings, “You don’t have to go to the party.” Just because someone expects you to make an appearance, you’re the one you have to answer to in the morning. The expectations of others is an invisible cage. Just unlock that door and you’ll see how little sense staying in there makes.

I realize I’ve gotten this far in my letter without thanking myself. That’s what this is supposed to be; a letter of sincere gratitude.

What I am truly humbled by, besides doing those 6 things, is making one great act of forgiveness. I forgave myself. I have forgiven myself for the time that I took to heal.

And that is big. I felt so much relief when I reached that space where I could release the guilt, shame, and anger I held towards myself. All of that was self-imposed but nothing that I need to own.

I have released that lead balloon and now can rise a little higher.

Thank you, Danielle, for taking care of yourself. It has made the joy I’ve felt these last weeks possible.

Here’s to moving onwards and upwards.

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,

Thank you for walking away
The marriage was dead
Just four years wed, so
Thank you for walking away

The heartache immense
The vows a pretense, so
Thank you for walking away

Just one year in
He chose to betray, so
Thank you for walking away

Something just wasn’t right
I felt foul play, so
Thank you for walking away

Confrontation conversation
The word of the day was downplay, so
Thank you for walking away

The dream awoke
the truth bespoke, so
Thank you for walking away

He disagreed, I tried to plead
trying to leave he blocked the doorway, so
Thank you for walking away

Surprise overtook, when leaving forsook
Thursday my last day, so
thank you for walking away

Life has been complicated ,complex and a Joy.
It seems like death has always been part of my journey
I only knew one of my grandparents. My Mom’s Dad died the year I was born.
My Dads parents were already deceased.
It was a good childhood until my Dad died in 1968, three days after Christmas.
As Langston Hughes said as a family we kept “climbin…”
Mom was our Angel she kept us “climbin”, growing ,showing love and compassion.
Through juvenile delinquency, drug addiction, single motherhood ,financial crisis and anxieties.
Mom use to always say when times are hard remember your pass victories.
Times when you didn’t know how you would make it but you did!
Life lifed and I’m still present, standing and struggling because of Grace and Mercy!
I have faith and confidence in the assignment that’s still unfolding.
Looking forward to living in Retirement & what 2025 will bring.

Amen.

These last few years have taken a toll on you mentally and physically, but I am proud you didn’t give up on yourself like others did. Even though you questioned your sanity at times, you prevailed and paved a path through mucker and mud. Even in the darkest hour of contemplating your life, a voice said no – you need not do this; you need to take care of yourself, and I will guide you. Your voice was silenced for a moment, your pen stopped writing, and songs no longer came to you, but somehow, you found it all again. Through the tears, the heartache, and the pain, you managed to press through and reinvent yourself. You discovered that you were stronger than you ever knew. You learned that one person’s rejection of you is another’s prize and value. You learned that you are not alone if you open your mouth and share. Because others are struggling too, I like that you declared this summer the summer of “me” to get your mental and physical self back. You lost 15 lbs, finally went to therapy, and found that being selfish about you is okay.

Dear Younger Me,

Yes, it is me, or you, the older model. I know this is weird and has a “Back to the Future” vibe, but it is me, older me, or you. I have been pondering lately, for a few years, about the past, my journey, and how I got here. I look back and see how I grew, stumbled, got up, and not only survived but thrived my way through. While my life may not seem spectacular it has been a journey worthy of appreciation and thanks. That’s why I am writing this, to tell you Thank you!

Thank you younger me for not giving up when life threw you unexpected chaos and trials. Thank you for learning to evolve as life changed for you, you changed, and you helped others change. Thanks for never stopping to look for answers even when there seemed to be none. Thank you for keeping the faith, for building on the rock, for believing God had you and never left you alone, He didn’t, and He still carries you.

Thank you for not settling for the abuse, for the obstacles that appeared to be insurmountable. Thanks for not ever buying into the idea that you “could not” and fought to be and do. Thank you for being strong enough, and for fighting to make things right. And especially Thank you for not lowering to the level others play from.

Thank you for listening to your grandfathers, grandmothers, and Mom and Dad. Thank you for holding on to their advice, stories, and the faith they helped you to build. The morality and the inspiration that those who raised you shared with you helped build you. You may not understand it yet, but you will. You grew up in the best time, maybe the last of the best times. Savor the time you have, things change later. You will be okay, just enjoy the journey.

I am older now than I ever imagined being, you never really think about age the way it comes. Some days I sit and wonder how I got this old, and how and when the time slipped by. I would love to tell you that I am older and wiser, but I feel like I am older and more learned. Ahhhh… the things you will learn, the epiphanies, and sudden realizations will be sprinkled throughout life as you grow. At this stage of our life, I often feel at times as if I have lived too long, life has become surreal at times. But your foundation is strong. Thank you for that, for believing, for trying, for giving yourself grace and mercy.

I just wanted to say Thank you for it all. You will feel as if you can’t go on, but you will not falter in the end. You will keep going, you will hear your Daddy in your head and heart… “You can’t stop, you have to keep moving and work through it,” is sage advice for sure. You will see the wisdom in things as you pass through life, it may not seem like it but you will. Life at his stage is still full of surprises and realizations that come with a need to evolve, accept, and find the path forward again. But you younger me, you built a foundation on the rock, you evolved through life fearlessly it seemed. I know there were so many times when fear and anxiety tried to steal your power, your ability, and your drive. Thank you for never giving up. I don’t want to spoil things for you, just know that whatever comes, you will survive it.

Again, thank you younger me, You are amazing… Keep going.
There is so much ahead of you, I look back and smile more often than not now. It all works out, so far anyway, just keep going…

Older Me/You

Dear Me,
Today, I pause in the stillness of my existence to pen a letter not to the world, not to its chaos, its demands, or its endless expectations, but to you. To the one who has carried me through every triumph and trial, every joy and sorrow—myself.
Thank you for every breath you’ve taken when life felt suffocating. For each moment you chose to inhale hope and exhale despair. You have been my anchor in the storm, standing firm when the waves of doubt and fear threatened to sweep us away. You are the lighthouse guiding me back to shores I forgot existed, reminding me that home is not a place, but the most sacred temple within.
Thank you for your resilience, that quiet, unyielding strength that whispers, “Keep going.” For the way, you’ve stitched together broken pieces of our heart, over and over, with threads of courage and self-compassion even when our hands shook with weakness. You have faced the darkest of nights, knowing that the dawn would come—even when you couldn’t see its light.
Thank you for choosing growth over comfort, even when it hurt. For diving into the depths of your soul to unearth truths buried beneath pain and shame. You’ve embraced the messy, the imperfect, and the flawed parts of yourself, not as weaknesses, but as reminders of your humanity.
Thank you for the love you’ve given, to yourself and others. For the way you’ve learned to hold your own hand when no one else could. For the nights you cradled yourself in arms of forgiveness, rocking gently in the rhythm of grace. For the boundaries you’ve set, the “no” that meant protecting your peace, and the “yes” that opened the doors to possibilities you once thought impossible.
Thank you for every risk you’ve taken, for every dream you’ve dared to dream aloud. For every time you’ve leaped, not knowing if the net would appear, trusting that your wings would learn to fly on the way down. You are a testament to bravery—bold, unapologetic, and relentless.
Thank you for the softness you’ve allowed yourself to feel. For crying when the world told you to be strong. For laughing even when the weight of the day felt like too much. For seeing beauty in the ordinary, in a sunrise, a song, a small act of kindness. You have taught me that life is a mosaic of these tender moments, and they are worth cherishing.
Thank you for forgiving yourself—for the mistakes, the missteps, the times you didn’t know better. You have shown me that perfection is a myth and that every stumble is a lesson, every fall a chance to rise anew.
Thank you for believing in yourself when others doubted you. For holding onto the vision of who you are becoming, even when the road is unclear. You are the architect of a future that shines brighter because you dared to lay the foundation today.
Most of all, thank you for choosing to love me—the real, unfiltered me. In a world that tries to shape us into what it wants, you have fought to remain authentic, to honor your truth, and to celebrate your essence.
You are my hero, my safe space, my greatest companion. Together, we have survived, thrived, and become a story worth telling. And while the journey ahead may still hold challenges, I know now that with you by my side, there is nothing we cannot face.
So here’s to you, to us—to the warrior, the dreamer, the healer, the creator. I love you. I am proud of you. I am grateful for you.
With infinite admiration,
Me