At 25, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I was feeling as a 12-year-old anticipating her next birthday. Of course, there’s the excitement of entering that first year as an official teenager; that sense of “Wow, I’m going to be so much more mature and grown up!”. On the other hand, there’s also the angst that accompanies all those big, rapid changes: first period, puberty, high school. What else can life throw at you, right? My wish now that we’re 25 is that I could remind you to hold onto that sense of excitement and that sense of adventure, even if its only by the tips of your fingers.

At 12 you’re looking toward your birthday with this ever-mounting feeling of wonder at what’s to come when you finally reach that teenage status that seemed to take forever to come your way. You have no way of knowing that by the time you reach your second year as a teenager, that wonder and thrill you were feeling just months ago will have been dimmed until it’s all but nonexistent. Your innocence snuffed out like the flame of a candle that’s burned to nothing.

At 13 that thrill you felt still stands and grows ten-fold when you find the first boy to really look your way. You’ve never felt more special. After spending your middle school years feeling like you may never blossom into yourself, finally receiving that validation you so desperately craved feels like a miracle. I remember us thinking: “He’s so cute, and he’s older than me; I’m so mature!”, and I sincerely wish he was the shooting star we made him out to be. I wish I could tell you that you’re the shooting star. You’re a miracle! I wish I could grab you and hold you and tell you that you’re so wrong about yourself; you’re worth so much more than you’ve ever believed. I wish I could warn you that this boy you’re head-over-heels for is a fire extinguisher. Your 14th birthday is getting closer, you finally feel like you’re becoming a beautiful young woman, that flame inside you is still burning so blindingly bright, then it’s extinguished so quickly by this boy who believes the word ‘no’ is only a gentle suggestion.

At 14 that flame no longer exists; the excitement and wonder is gone. I know how hard you tried to forget. I know how hard you tried to be ok. I know how deeply you thought you buried your pain and all along it was right on the surface, but you couldn’t see that or maybe we wouldn’t let ourselves see it. I know you tried not to let that pain consume you and take every piece of you that made you feel unique and worthy. I also know now that it didn’t take every piece of you; that pain became another piece of your puzzle. I wish I could sit with you while you eat your favorite food, then hold your hand as it burns its way back up your throat. I wish I could whisper reassurances to you at night when you leave bruises in the moments when you can’t breathe. I wish I could tell you those cliché words you read a thousand times, ‘It will get better!’, are not just empty, overused words. I wish I could tell you that you’re still a miracle.

At 15 you’ve reached a new normal, and you call yourself healed. I wish I could give you a warning about the hurricane that’s about to blow into your life. This year, you meet a boy. I remember how we were thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, every way history could repeat itself. Spoiler alert: you fall for him anyways. I remember how high up our walls were, and I remember how terrifying it was when he started to tear them down. I wish I could tell you that you’re not stupid for letting him make you feel special, and that you never stopped deserving to feel that way. I wish I could tell you that this is a beginning.

At 16 you’re a junior this year, and you’ve reached another new normal, one where you’re actually healing. I know that boy is still making you feel every bit as special as when you first met him. I know how hard you’re working to recover that flame. You go girl! Remember that hurricane I mentioned, I wish I could tell you that it was only the storm of a new love after a deep wound. I’m sorry I can’t tell you that though because the happiness you feel with this boy, the butterflies that you’re not sure you deserve or believe, is only the eye of this storm. No, your hurricane comes in the form of two pink lines.
At 17 you’re still a junior in high school, and you’re a single, teenage mother. We really didn’t see that one coming. I’m sorry that healing our past trauma got moved to the bottom of our priority list. I’m sorry that you feel like a failure. I’m sorry that you feel like you will never be able to do right by this precious being you brought into the world. If there’s one thing I wish I could tell you about this part of our life, I wish I could tell you that you’re doing so much better than you realize.

At 18 we’re graduating high school. We made it! And guess what…a little one-year-old girl, with the most beautiful smile and big blue eyes, is in the audience watching her mom do something that so many people (including us) thought she couldn’t do. I see how hard you worked and everything you overcame to get here. I remember the midnight bottles and feeling like a zombie at 6am getting ready for school. I remember the diaper changes between studying and homework. I wish I could tell you that those two pink lines were the best kind of beginning. I wish I could tell you how proud I am of us!

So now, at 25, I’m writing this letter to tell you everything I wish I would’ve known as a 12-year-old anticipating her next birthday. I would tell you to acknowledge your pain because you can’t change it; you can only work through it and grow. I would tell you to embrace your new normal because even though you miss the way you were, you’re still a miracle. I would tell you that you deserve to live beautifully and that, as far-fetched as it seems, you will find that flame again. Finally, I would love to tell you that your little girl is 8 years old now. She loves art, and she’s a cheerleader. This little blonde-haired, blue-eyed tornado of a girl is already the kindest, sweetest, most caring and considerate gift you could’ve ever received at a time when you desperately needed a miracle. So, as I’m sitting here in my bed (in our own apartment!) I’m finding it hard to wrap up this letter. How do I find the words to sum up everything that I wish I’d known when I was entering my teenage years? I guess I’ll end with this, there will be a time when you look towards your future, and you’re not so sure you’ll reach it, or if you even want to reach tomorrow anymore; when that time comes, I want you to know that there will also come a time when you get to hear ‘I love you mama’ in the sweetest little voice and know that your flame is now a raging fire.

Dear, Unsealers:

This is me in 2023, writing to myself at age 16.

I see the photo of him from December 2001, four months removed from a double leg surgery. In the background at his own birthday party. Clutching onto the walker to keep his balance. While trying to find a reason to smile.

I want to let him know, there will be plenty more days of joy in the years ahead. He will have the cast removed from his leg and be able to walk on his own two feet. And that moment will be one that he’ll treasure for the rest of his lifetime.

Once the brace comes off, the world will no longer be as off limits. With all the strength and courage returning, Europe will come calling. A trip every year for five straight years. He’ll keep on going as he keeps exploring the continent and writes about his experiences. The photos and videos taken will also convey what it was like to travel solo.

He’ll graduate from high school and college, with the diplomas on the wall to prove it. Along with the poster from his book, “A Poetic Journey, Staying At Home” on the wall of his bedroom when his writing and poetry begin to take shape.

It might not look like it at 16, but there will still be plenty of life to be lived. And your story of resilience will go on to inspire other people to see beyond their limitations.

Dear Teenage Self,

You have a view of the Brooklyn Bridge. Yes, you can only see a little part of it. Yes, you have to go to the corner of the window to see. But, yes, you have a view of the Brooklyn Bridge! You made it to New York City; you made it across the country.

College has been more up and down than that roller coaster you rode in Las Vegas on your 15th birthday, but it has been the best years of your life. Unlike yourself now, you can finally talk to boys without getting red in the face, and unlike your fear of never making guy friends, now most of your friends are guys. You love them all. You have cried on their shoulders; they have cried on yours.

College you even has a boyfriend. He is nothing like how you expected. He is tall, rocks a beard, eyes prettier than emeralds, and not Christian. The letter you wrote to your future husband when you were about to go to college could not have been more wrong. You wrote that you knew nothing about your future husband except for the fact that he will love God. Fickle irony, God. This time though, I am grateful for it.

Your boyfriend treats you how God would want him too. He is beyond patient and makes you believe in love more and more each day. He is someone I never thought I would deserve.

Also, dear pubescent me, you may think you’re going through high school right now, but all the pubescent phases you’re supposed to have––dating, dealing with secret insecurities, drinking, parties, etc––you are going through now. You’re a late bloomer for the stereotypical adolescent horrors and ecstasies. But, don’t worry, all that studying and staying home you are doing right now––however excessive it is––pays off in the end.

Oh yeah, by the way, your dream of studying abroad in Spain, it’s happening this fall. Oh yeah, and your mom believes in love again. She’s happier than ever. Oh yeah, and your best friend––no surprise there––you are still soulmates with her. She’s still your north star.

Best of all, every birthday you no longer think well, at least I know it won’t say “whatever age I just passed” on my tombstone. I’m in control of my thoughts that once made me believe I wouldn’t let myself get to 19 or 20, but, here I am, 19, and about to turn 20 in a few weeks.

Teenage self, I want to say thank you for holding on. Thank you for reaching out to get help, thank you for putting yourself first when you didn’t even see yourself as worthy enough to be here, thank you for looking forward to your future self. I do not look down on you; rather, I am on my knees thanking you for walking even when your legs were numb and breathing even when you had to grab the air yourself and make it go down.

You made me who I am; I will make us proud.

Dear Rage,
I feel your scorn. Your angst. Your thirst for vengeance on those who harmed you, stole your youth, your innocence. A ravishing hunger to avenge injustice. All the times you grew up feeling like the other, less-than, lacking and without. The craving of normalcy and the lofty dreams of ‘if only’s’ still taunting you. Rage, you used to be meek. You used to be Fear. But you got tired of being quiet. So you seeped through my veins like searing molten reprisal. You got loud. “I deserve this anger and all who cross me will pay,” you whispered. You made me feel powerful. But, deep down, Rage, you were still just Fear. Fear and jealousy.
So, Jealousy, it’s your turn to take the stand for your crimes committed against young Emma.
Dear Jealousy, you greedy and inexhaustible glutton. Your craving and lust for what others had made Emma believe she was less-than. Unworthy. She played the victim because of you. She WAS the victim already, plenty of times, Jealousy! Ask Rage! She’ll tell you. But you perpetuated that state of longing and lack and lingering pessimism in young Emma. You kept her weak and insecure. Unfulfilled in her own skin and blood. Comparison is the thief of joy, Jealousy. And you her Robin Hood. Jealousy, you are at Emma’s core from the beginning of her consciousness, watching her parents flail around in financial disarray craving the stability your friends had at home. But you really took flight when you teamed up with Rage during Emma’s teen pregnancy. Didn’t you.

So, the largest part of Emma’s teenage years, I address you:
Dear Pregnancy,
You are the defining role of Emma’s teenage-dom. The star. The main character. Her teenaged legacy. I would argue to say, most teenager girls’ dreams aren’t to be secretly 5 months pregnant on their 16th birthday- but who’s to say! Pregnancy went hand in hand beautifully with Rage and Jealousy. A sour and lingering flavor of an insecurity sandwich that Emma feasted on for years to come. Pregnancy took over her identity and all she was seen as while waddling through her very lowly populated, all-girls Catholic school halls. Pregnancy was met with some flittery and naive school girl pets and “awww’s” and naivety. Equally was Pregnancy met with blank stares while the tight-lipped and bated-breathed onlooker was clearly calculating my age in their head while staring at the size of my clearly unwed belly.
Pregnancy was scary. And lonely. Isolation, longing, pain, disassociation, and fear all became close friends.
But, Teenage Emma, the absolute only way to the other side, is getting through the madness. I wish I could go back and get you into therapy sooner. I wish I could remove the hole that was left inside of you that you began to fill with substances and stupid boys. Your pain was real and great. Too great for your underdeveloped brain, heart, and body. But You are brave. People mean it when they tell you that. Let them. You are not alone. And you are so deeply loved.
See you on the other side, kid. You make it, I promise.
And your baby is beautiful.

Dear 15,

I won’t ask you how you’re doing, because I know you’re scared to think about it. Your pens keep running out because you talk circles in that purple notebook of yours. You can’t tell anyone else because you think you’re the problem. Every ounce of your energy goes towards fixing the things that are “wrong” with you.

I wish you knew that there wasn’t anything “wrong” with you. You are simply a human being that makes mistakes and experiences emotions. Just like the rest of them.

You don’t understand yet, but you will learn this is one of the most traumatic times of your life.

I still can’t believe how brave you were.

Every. Single. Time.

15 is awfully young to see that your boyfriend cut up his own arms 33 times and tell you it’s your fault.

15 is awfully young to watch him threaten suicide every time you try to deny him your body.

I can still hear the desperation in your voice. “Please put the scissors down.”
“Please put the pills away.”
“Please get that belt off of your neck, your face is turning blue.”

These things are terrifying at any age, actually.

This is not normal. This is not love, but manipulation. And it certainly isn’t your fault.

You’ve always been so self aware of the things you need to work on within yourself. I wish you could also be self aware of your best traits and own them. I wish you knew that you still don’t deserve this, no matter what your issues are. No one does.

You two don’t last forever. Freedom will hit you like a freight train, but the good news is you’re going to learn to love it.

All of the things you think are far out of reach are actually quite the opposite. You’re smarter and braver than you know. I bet you never thought you’d have your own crystal business. Don’t believe me? Take a look at the picture I attached. See how proud and happy you look? That’s us and we’re only moving up from here.

Know your worth and live your life for yourself. You have a chance at happiness and success. I’m on my way and I can’t wait to meet you there.

Keep moving forward.

-26

Dear Queer Religious Teenage Self,

You don’t remember this, but you once told Mom that you liked girls at a young age. The reason that you don’t remember realizing that you are queer at such a tender age is that your parents are pastor’s kids and Pentecostals. Their reaction to this information about you led to prayer and fasting. You learned that being gay, though you did not know the term for it then, was something to be ashamed of. To cope, to stay safe in your family and community, you repressed any hint of queerness. You became homophobic and transphobic with a religious zeal that only a self-hating closeted gay could possibly possess. You hurt your friends and yourself with this because you were fighting so hard to deny a critical part of yourself.

There was a lot of agony surrounding the delayed realization of the truth. Accepting ourselves and leading an honest life would result in the loss of your family and faith community. To retain those relationships, you would have to condemn yourself to a lifetime of lies and repression that could only have negative long-term effects on your mental health and well-being. Years went by as you examined every facet of these choices and all of the possible consequences. You begged God to heal you, to take away your homosexuality so that your family wouldn’t view you as an abomination. You prayed, fasted, cried, screamed, etc., but nothing worked. The religious trauma had you believing that you were unnatural, wrong, and perverse when your queerness is a beautiful, natural thing to be celebrated, not scorned and hidden.

This back-and-forth cycle of rejection and acceptance of self leads you to some dark places, but eventually, you make it out. You’ll leave Christianity, you’ll go through the painful process of orphaning yourself by going no-contact with the majority of your biological family, but you also gain a chosen family.

Teenage self, you may struggle now and in the future, but with time you will be able to make decisions that honor who you are and bring you closer to who you want to be. The journey is in no way easy, but it is wholly worth it. Stay strong, be brave; you’ve got this!

To My Younger Self,

Everyone tells you time will heal all wounds.
They tell you that you won’t feel this way forever.
That the future holds more happiness than you can imagine.
They tell you to look to the next day and move on from the pain you feel now.
That everything gets better.

Instead, lean into your pain. Learn to cope. Learn to deal with it rather than shove it down and hiding it away. Learn that smiling through the pain isn’t always the answer.

Pain doesn’t leave you. The memories of what you’ve been through don’t go away. It doesn’t get better just because you’re older. In order for you to heal, you need to feel everything. You need to deal with your pain head on.

If you had, maybe you’d be stronger now.
If you learned that it’s okay to grieve, you’d know how to deal with the heartbreak.
If you had allowed yourself to feel back then, maybe you would have never accepted the treatment you took now.

Stop living for the future.
Stop hoping for better days.
Stop ignoring the pain.
Stop burying everything away.

Instead, live in your present.
Take the joy alongside the pain.
Find beauty in the every day.
Know you are more than the terrible, tragic things that happened to you.
Find your worth.
Don’t ever let someone make you feel less.

Love life, even in the midst of pain.

You can’t control what happens to you, but you can control how you react.
You can choose to heal so you aren’t triggered.
You can learn to love without being afraid of abandonment. And maybe you would have learned to let go when something no longer suited you.
You’ll understand that timing doesn’t need to be rushed, it’s not a race, and making it happen faster doesn’t make it last longer.

In the future, you’ll still experience heartbreak.
You’ll sit in your own silence and pain.
You’ll beg for a love that doesn’t return.
You’ll feel emptier than you ever imagined possible.

But you’ll also understand that YOU are MAGIC.
You have always had it in you.
Your confidence will soar for the first time.
You’ll finally learn how to heal and how to let go.

Time won’t heal your wounds, it’ll just soften the blow. It’ll make them a soft dull noise in the background instead of a blaring siren. Scars, pain, grief, they never truly go away, you just learn how to live with them and take the lessons they were teaching you.

You learn to be kind to a world that was never kind to you.

Be strong.

Dear younger me,

As I sit here and reflect upon the years that have passed, I am filled with a surge of emotions and a desire to reach out to you. There is so much I want to share with you, but above all, I want you to know that you are worth of moment in this lifetime. Yes, you, with all your flaws, insecurities, and doubts. You are worthy of love, respect, and happiness, and being the ish!

I know there are days when you look in the mirror and struggle to see your own worth. You compare yourself to others, measuring yourself against impossible standards. But let me tell you, my dear younger self, worthiness is not defined by appearance, achievements, or external validation. Your worth lies within your very being, in the unique and beautiful essence that makes you who you are.

You have dreams, passions, and aspirations that sometimes feel too grand to be within your reach. But let me assure you, you are capable, you are deserving, and you are enough. Embrace your talents, nurture your skills, and pursue your goals with unwavering determination. Do not let the voice of doubt drown out the whispers of your dreams. You have the power to make them a reality.

As you navigate the intricate tapestry of life, my teenage self, hold your head high and embrace your worth. You have a voice that deserves to be heard, ideas that deserve to be shared, and a presence that has the power to make a difference. You are worthy of happiness, success, and all the beautiful things life has to offer.

So as I conclude this letter I applaud that you walk forward with confidence, knowing that you are capable of any and everything beyond measure. Embrace the journey ahead, believe in yourself, and never let anyone or anything dim your light. You are deserving, you are valuable, and you are absolutely, unquestionably worthy.

With love and unwavering belief,

Your Older Self

Hush teenage Ashley please don’t cry if only you knew what your future looked like. I understand you feel lonely and unloved too but trust and believe that God has big plans for you. The emotional trials and tribulations that has constantly let you down is a required prerequisite to prove you are worthy for the crown. Sleepless nights and uncontrolled tears were the evidence of your frustration when no one was near. Later you will find out you were never alone, and God heard your secret prayers when you thought no one was home. To whom much is given certainly much is required so accept your circumstances as a badge of honor. The pain that you endure is meant to push you to your purpose and the anointing that’s on your life is strong enough to make hell nervous. So, in spite of the opposition that you have to face the blessings that lies ahead is your game winning check mate. So trust the process and no longer ask WHY YOU but ask WHO ARE YOU that your childhood had to be misty blue.