It’s not a secret that healing is not linear.
It is, actually, a bunch of scattered dots.
Upon connecting them, I should see meaning.
But the picture is still not clear at all.

All I see are reasons proving I was never enough.
The things I learned to forsake because I always got a “no”.
Pleads that now seem simple—not a big ask anymore.
Maybe the problem was I didn’t deserve love.

At least, that is what I was brought to believe,
Through the silence of my unanswered questions.
It’ll take a while to unpack the weight of all these years—
The jokes at my expense, and the hurtful comparisons.

At times, I felt fine in my heart; then, I’d feel devastated.
I would smile, then end up crying at a corner café.
Complaining to my friends became a commonplace.
I learned to disassociate as a means for self-defense.

My ego was fragile and I was reminded to tread lightly,
Since, from war, I did not emerge victorious.
Even in the clearest skies, rain is still likely.
Those words were a mantra for this humble warrior.

Underestimating the passage of time would be unfair.
Some scars are still visible, but at least they no longer bleed.
I was always ill-prepared for life’s deadly game—
In the aftermath of choosing me I felt too weak.

Today, I am no longer overburdened by intrusive thoughts.
I am thankful to the old me for making me who I am now—
So brave inside, yet so soft still to the outside world.
I have grown a little cynical, but perhaps this, too, is healing somehow.

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 Unsealers,

I have never struggled to give thanks to others.
Whether it’s the barista, the waitress, or gratitude for my brothers.
But thanking myself doesn’t roll off the tongue.
Perhaps because it’s hard for me to see clearly
the good lying among
The ways that I see I can improve and grow better.
But thanks to this prompt, and the writing of this letter,

I’ll take the chance to practice more gratitude for me…

With the caveat that this person that you see,
The one that I describe in the lines penned below
Did nothing on his own, instead he was in tow,
To countless great people who showed him the way,
And most of all to his Maker who makes possible each day-
Who gives the gift of life, the ability to move boulders.
So, each thanks to myself comes with this disclaimer: I stand upon so many shoulders.

That means that each thank-you below is both mine and it’s theirs
After all, that’s the beauty of life, the way that it shares.

Dear Paul,

You have had plenty of opportunities to harden your heart. It would have been easy to wall up your heart when your brother came out to you, ending the conversation there. You could’ve shut the door on him, written him off as a “sinner,” but you didn’t. You could’ve shut the door on your parents for putting him into conversations that were conversion therapy adjacent, for making you sit in a church where you no longer felt safe, let alone comfortable. Instead, you saw them as people, trying their best to do what was right. You could’ve treated people who belonged to that faith you left behind as less than you, but you didn’t. You might have done a fair bit of smack talking in the abstract and behind their backs, but hey, you’re only human. Thank you for keeping doors open and maintaining connections rather than building walls.

You could have easily become a career focused man, worried about his role in the world. The dragons you would slay, the conquests you’d engage. Indeed, you did find a way to make a difference in the world, through touching the hearts and minds of thousands of students, but far more importantly, you kept your family and marriage at the center. You are a husband who seeks to be a better listener, a stronger safety and support, and one not too accustomed to see, cherish, and celebrate the gift of your wife’s company and presence. You are also the dad who knows what size of diapers and clothes to buy. The dad who could be with the girls for a weekend without a personal crisis. The pops who knows how pick-ups and drop-offs work. The father who guides and disciplines but also who cuddles and cares. Kissing boo boos while encouraging strength, grit, and get back upness. Thank you for making your family a priority and stepping into the role of husband and father with gusto and in a way that both honors and pushes back against traditional thoughts of what makes a man.

And that is perhaps the most important and last thing I’d like to thank you for. Thank you for living in the sometimes-scary uncertainty of what you call “the intersection.” Rather than picking a side, to be just one thing on any number of possible binaries (e.g. working man v. family man or Christian v. Ally of the LGBTQ+), you proudly advocate for a middle way of moderation. You are both a teacher and a student. You are both wholly unique and the same as everyone else. You are both a man of faith and a man of reason. You are wise enough to admit yourself to be a fool. You are wonderful just as you are, and you have room for improvement. You understand, appreciate, and celebrate the beauty of these and countless other paradoxes. You see that appreciating paradox is indeed the most beautiful and profound piece of life’s ultimate quest-finding peace. Thank you for living within paradox peacefully, for sharing its beauty with others, and for being comfortable in the discomfort of its meaningful evasion of meaning.

I want to thank you from the bottom of this heart of ours. You have consistently found a way to keep it open to love and life, and that is no small thing. And now, in parting, I offer you a prayer for persistence in these and the yet to be seen endeavors.

May your heart stay ever open, no matter what’s brought to your door.
May you always strive to be and do more.
May you more often pause to give yourself praise, and
May God greatly bless you the rest of your days.

Sincerely,
Paul

Dearest dark me,
Thank you for every step you’ve put in when the clouds of your mind were grey & your heart so heavy you felt you could no longer stay.
Thank you for always noticing the same radio song and singing it to my soul when the voice inside was loud. Hold on for one more day.
Thank you for one more day to watch my loved ones grow.
One more day to become the me I am today.
To dream and build again.
To try 8 times til a win!
One more day to wake & be the joy for others.
One more to see the earths beautiful colors.
Thank you for one more day to enjoy myself again
To laugh and turn my face to the wind.
For you are the root to my sunshine state of mind,
Grey today but one more day the sun will shine.

Dear Me,

There are things we carry that are hard to name, memories that linger and pull at us, reminders of moments when we didn’t show up the way we wanted to. I know this pain deeply, the regret, the weight of not having always been the mom we dreamed of being. I know the ache of looking back and wishing we could have done things differently. And I know how hard it is to live with that kind of hurt.

Yet, even as I hold these regrets, I am starting to see the ways we have tried to do better. I’m beginning to understand that when I don’t show up for myself in a healthy, loving way, I can’t truly show up that way for her, either. To be the mom she deserves, I need to have compassion for myself first, to hold my own heart with kindness. And though it’s hard, I am learning that this self-compassion is how I’ll be able to love her in the way she deserves.

I want to thank you for having the courage to face this, for being willing to grow and to keep trying. I’m grateful for the way we keep moving forward, finding faith not just in who we want to be but in who we are right now. We’ve learned that self-love doesn’t come easily, not when there are shadows and things we wish we could change. But even in the darkest moments, we found reasons to keep going, to keep showing up.

Our daughter is a gift, a light that reminds us every day of what’s possible. And so, I’m choosing to hold space for all that we are, to see ourselves not only for what we didn’t do, but also for everything we’re still becoming. Thank you for the love you’re learning to give, for finding the faith to move forward. With every step toward self-love, I trust we’re becoming stronger, for ourselves and for her.

With compassion and faith,
Ourselves

A Letter to Myself:

Oftentimes, you become agitated with the shadow attached to yourself. Why do you walk that way? Carry yourself that way? Why do you choose to carry on with as many times as you’ve failed; with as many times as you’ve been let down, rejected and disappointed?

It has taken years of integrating your own shadow to truly love and shower gratitude upon yourself. It has taken years to appreciate your body and mind; to recognize your own strength and resilience. It has taken time to learn that your body is not something that should be abhorred and desecrated, but something that should be nourished, cherished and upheld.

You’ve witnessed far too much for anything to surprise you any longer, yet you still take the time to search for magic and romance among your mundane, daily tasks. You’ve bared your teeth and soul. Sometimes out of survival, sometimes out of desire.

After everything that has happened to you, you deserve to be spitting angry. You deserve to leave claw marks. You deserve your rage. But you chose instead to alchemize and speak softness into the world, to leave a mark of kindness rather than vindictiveness.

Crawling into the depths of oneself can be intimidating. You may not look into the mirror the same way afterwards. You may question everything you’ve known to be true. It may leave you reeling in the aftermath of grief, discovery, and the shedding of one’s skin.

You accomplished it all with grace.

You wake up every morning and choose yourself. You make the conscious decision to not allow your past to consume and define you. Instead, you choose to brew yourself a cup of coffee and speak lovingly into it. You choose to bestow only kind words upon yourself and allow the feelings to pass as they need to. You provide yourself the space and time that others won’t grant.

I tuck myself into bed each night knowing that I have done what I could with what I have. I clutch my pillow knowing that I love myself in ways that others cannot, or choose not to. I bury myself beneath blankets in the dark with the truth that I’ve chased my dreams. Sometimes the dreams are so close that I can caress them, other times they are state lines and galaxies away. I fall asleep knowing myself.

And sometimes I think that’s more than enough to be thankful for.

Love,

Samantha

I learned that pain turns into shame and shame turns into secrets,
So I found my purpose to turn my pain into poetry
By feeling all of my feelings because on the other side of them is freedom, hope, and healing.
The freedom to express vulnerability with every breath I take
because the grace of God reminds me that I’m priceless and the apple of God’s eye.

This kinky, curly-headed brown skin
Adorned in the richness of my Nigerian roots unfurls the saying, “Naija no dey carry last.”
With every strand of my hair has a story to be told
lies in my DNA with wisdom, to carry light in the midst of darkness.
So you see, I’m freer than I’ve ever been to paint not some but all the colors of me
like blue that whispers peace, like the calm waters and the skies.
Red to represent my love, passion, and fearless spirit that shines so bright.
Purple to remind me that I’m kin to His royal blood that runs through my veins,
And gold to represent the beautifully broken pottery that was nursed back to life,
looking more exquisite than ever before.

I heard that without revelation, there is no transformation,
Like the transformation that has eyes glued to the mirror, looking past me, at the past me.
Since I discovered that the best art comes by embracing the pain,
So it’s why I write these poems to prove that my trauma didn’t bury me; it planted me to thrive,
Like a tree planted by the rivers of living water, which captures not some but all of the beauty of my brokenness.
Since I learned that pain, just like secrets, can only control you if you hold them within.

We’ve come so far I hope you’re proud. I finally am. I’m writing to say you can let me go. I wondered why I was so sad, angry, and mad all the time. I realized I was allowing you to keep my defenses up, from what we’ve been through. I know you’re protecting me but now I need to protect you. It’s time for me to return to my happy, child-like self, my dreams, my goals, my hopes, and all the things little girls think of. The things you were robbed of. It’s time for big Ashley to protect you now. So I’m writing to tell you, you can let me go. We were not helpless, we were not lonely, people do like us, we do have real friends, we do have genuine love, and I can protect us now. So Dear little Ashley, you are now free. We’re finally happy and we’re healed. We love life. We live life. We’re as strong as can be. It’s time to let me go. It’s time to be free. It’s time to get together and be authentically me.

Dear Self,

Here, we meet again. Here we meet where you are in such a different place mentally,physically, & spiritually than you were even a year ago. 2024 was the year where your ability to be a writer and photographer was tested the most! You overcame so much self doubt that you are mor confident going into the next chapter of your life. You faced changes that were good and changes that were not as good, but you came out on the other side.Thank goodness for those changes! You have learned that instead of looking at the world as a series of mistakes you have made, you were reminded by your “chosen sister” that you are just having lessons! Her love and support have made you into a better person simply because she sees what at times you do not see, yet. I stress the word “yet.” The weight that lifted off your shoulders of carrying the weight of what you were programmed to see as mistakes with the penalty of punishments is no longer apart of your mindset. You have detoxed that mentality out of your system and You have actively changed your mindset. The woman you were eight years ago was insecure, sad, & desperate to get out of a toxic marriage that did not align with your future. You were scared to leave. You were even more terrified to shake up the life you knew. The abusive dynamics you had become accustomed to believe you deserved to survive are now just whispers of your former life! You are no longer the woman who thinks you deserve to be punished and this is just how it is for you. Now, when you look back at how scared you were back then another challenge to embrace who you are growing into comes to a head, again. You have another life choice to make and the previous one of ending an abusive-toxic marriage gave you the skills you need in order to make this decision. This challenge seems a little less scary. You have learned what you will not tolerate for your life. You have learned to embrace what you do in fact want for you. Now, you are more confident in yourself that you have the skills to pick yourself up and start a new business endeavor to move forward with and the best part is that you are not fearful. You are elated! Life is a series of lessons learned or lessons revisited. Kid, this time not only do you know what to do. You know how you’re going to do this and move along while moving forward to your most successful chapter yet! Only you can hold yourself back and why would you ever want to be held back ever again? This is another choice in order to move forward on your own terms and the lessons you have learned are what will make your life moving forward even better than you can ever imagine! After all, life is a series of lessons not mistakes! Now, go get ‘em!

With Love,
Sarah

Dedicated to my chosen sister, Karen

Dear Ashley,

Today, I want to take a moment to honor and thank you—a person whose journey is a testament to strength, compassion, and resilience. You’ve not only weathered storms that could have easily drowned a weaker soul, but you’ve transformed those experiences into a beacon of light for others. This letter is my way of recognizing the heart, dedication, and unyielding passion you’ve poured into your work, your family, and yourself.

You began life with challenges that could have defined you differently. From abandonment as a baby to experiencing the pain of loss and fear as a child, you’ve carried burdens many wouldn’t understand. And yet, instead of letting those hardships harden your heart, you chose to open it wider. Instead of succumbing to bitterness, you embraced empathy. You’ve become someone who not only dreams of a brighter future for others but actively works to create it.

As an Early Head Start worker, you’ve shown up every day to nurture, guide, and inspire children during some of the most formative years of their lives. Your work has been more than a job—it’s been a calling. You’ve taken your personal understanding of struggle and turned it into a wellspring of compassion, providing a safe, loving space for children to grow. You’ve helped them navigate the complexities of early childhood, showing patience when they struggled, celebrating their milestones, and encouraging their independence.

Think of the moments that may have seemed small to others but were monumental for those children—the quiet reassurance you gave to a nervous child on their first day, the joy in their eyes when they finally mastered a skill you taught them, the times you wiped away tears and replaced them with smiles. You’ve done more than teach them ABCs and 123s; you’ve shown them what it means to be cared for, to be seen, and to be valued. That is a gift that stays with someone for a lifetime.

But your impact doesn’t stop with the children. You’ve touched the lives of families, many of whom are facing struggles you know all too well. Through your understanding and empathy, you’ve become a source of hope and guidance for parents who may feel lost or overwhelmed. You’ve extended your hand to help them find the tools and strength to build a better future for their children. You’ve shared your light, even on days when your own path felt dark.

As much as you’ve poured into others, the love and care you give your own children is extraordinary. Your daughter sees in you a role model—a woman who, even through challenges, prioritizes love, growth, and creativity. She is a reflection of your dedication and strength, and her joy and curiosity are testaments to the safe, nurturing environment you’ve built for her.

And your son—what an incredible journey the two of you have had together. From the very start, you’ve been his rock, his comfort, and his guide. He’s watched you navigate life’s challenges with grace and determination, learning from your example how to be resilient, kind, and strong. Through your love and unwavering support, you’ve shown him what it means to stand tall even when life feels heavy. The bond you share with him is unshakable, and it will continue to grow as he builds on the foundation of love and strength you’ve provided.

Both of your children remind you daily of the beauty and purpose in your life. In them, you see your legacy—a reflection of all the hard work, faith, and love you’ve poured into your family. They inspire you to keep going, just as you inspire them with your courage and unwavering determination.

Beyond your work and family, you’ve taken your story—your pain, your triumphs, and your faith—and turned it into a platform to help others. Through your blog, your testimony, and your creative projects, you are reaching people who need to hear your voice. You’re reminding them that they are not alone, that there is hope even in the hardest of times. That takes courage, vulnerability, and an unshakable belief in the power of connection.

You’ve given so much to others, but I want to remind you of the importance of giving to yourself as well. Take pride in the legacy you’re building—one of compassion, perseverance, and love. Recognize that it’s okay to pause, to breathe, to celebrate how far you’ve come. You are deserving of rest, joy, and the same care you’ve extended to others.

As you continue your journey, remember that your work matters. Every moment of encouragement you give, every life you touch, ripples out into the world in ways you may never fully see. The children you’ve nurtured will carry your kindness with them as they grow. The families you’ve supported will be stronger because of your guidance. Your own children will stand as living proof of your strength and love. And the people who hear your story will find courage in their own lives because of your example.

Thank you for never giving up, for continuing to believe in the goodness of others even when life gave you reasons not to, and for finding beauty in the midst of brokenness. Thank you for being a light in the lives of so many, including your son, your daughter, and yourself. You are proof that even in the face of adversity, resilience and love can triumph.

With deep gratitude and admiration,
Your Inner Voice