I saw your voice that sang softly within me. The one that screamed out in the silence of your struggles. Taking the liberty to wait in the silence and slowly grow. You were as small as I remember back then, As I grew, you saw firsthand all the struggles ahead of us. You were fearful, and I knew that. You spoke softly, crossing your arms, unable to speak your truth. The one that made you shine. Even when you took everything to heart, no matter how small or fragile. You wanted to strive, forced to lead your life in constraints of peer pressure. Yet as the mind became cloudy within the voices of the past. You yearned for growth, expanding it year by year. The moon rising and shaping you as that light in endless night. You stood tall with the knowledge of your mistakes turned into passion. Searching tirelessly for your truth, having to vent countless nights, the same problems repeatedly. Burying your head between your pillow, crying softly, wishing you could have done more. From the fear that you couldn’t get along with your peers or your family. Sharing parts of yourself to as many people that you could a hold of. Bearing the burden of rejection because you spoke with happiness and you wanted to spread that same feeling to those around you. Sharing that same burden just like your favorite comic book heroes did, because you wanted change. Slowly, you leaned on others to support you, building the foundations up. As time went on, that knowledge slowly revealed itself to yourself. That child within you still held your hand along the way, looking through the same lens as you did. A smile placed upon you, bringing you closer to theirs. That I was that hope I needed all along. I was lonely, yet your voice kept telling me to not give up, to adapt just like you always have. Shredding the mold of your past to pave the way towards your hope. That sometimes, you going to freak out and you will feel lost. But guess what you are that guide, because you always, knew didn’t you. That I didn’t lose, I was my hope, that I was made to challenge the narrative. You grew as your mind did, latching onto it bit by bit. Trusting the process and staying on course. Where a consistent narrative drove you to live a life of comfort, but your mind opened to new possibilities. Curiosity challenged doubt and failure fueled perseverance. Forging the bond of two souls to build harmony.

I close my eyes and in a moment I’m back- 11 years old, eyes bleary in the early morning hours, confusion on my face as I look around the living room. My grandma, my uncles, aunts and my dad, somber, tear-streaked. “Your mom…she died tonight.” The gut punch, the ice cold horror that washes over you in moments like this.

In the days to come, I was consumed. Not just by grief, but by regret. Remorse. Too young to comprehend it but wracked with the pain. You see, my mom had been sick for as long as I could remember. Multiple Sclerosis, MS, had her stumbling while I was in kindergarten. She got a cane when I was in 1st. By 5th grade she was wheelchair bound, and as 6th began the quadriplegia set in and she needed to be fed and showered. Her mind intact and alert, her body failing, and I was…furious. Watching the person you love most decline rapidly should make you empathetic, kind. Unless you’re a little girl terrified watching it happen, never fully understanding and not seeing where it was headed. All I knew was anger for the life I didn’t have…a mom to go spend time with. A mom to do my hair. A mom who could take me to the park. In my youth and naivete I saw only what I was losing, not what she was. So I argued. Like a teen girl, I argued. I was so angry with her for getting sick. For not fighting harder. And after she died? Angry at the world for taking her and at myself for not telling her I loved her. For not being patient. For not appreciating how much she loved me.

And for years, Mother’s Day was a fresh wound every year. Another reminder of the deep loss that losing a parent causes.

Then, one beautiful December day many years later, my newborn daughter was placed in my arms. And year after year that hole, that loss, fades, stitched together, healed by my own two children. Because I get to be theirs. I can’t be a daughter again, I can’t fix the anger and hurt and trauma I had as a child. But I get to be a mom. I get to love them as unrelentingly as my own mother did. I get to see glimpses of her in them, in the way my daughter reads insatiably to the clever way my son looks at the world. And in experiencing the all consuming love I have for my children, I forgive myself. I think to how my mom loved me, even through my hurt and disappointment and confusion during those years. And I choose to love myself again. To say I am enough…I am flawed, I am human, and I have made mistakes. But my mother’s love lives on through me, and now through my children. And, after so long, I am at peace.

I not quite sure how to say this became a very voracious feeling
Stuck in strong waters that pushed away just to spiral downward
Into a hard rock bay , i return to my sense becoming excited
Then deranged thinking the feeling lead my heart astray
The rush contain explosive energy overcame and scared me
So i shut myself off by crafting a key only true eyes could see
It popped when i win it storms in when i lose paying true prices
Through late dues after all its better become a jester to out play
All the kings fools. Out of all things that me sick Within the core
It has to be the ability not to do more as a whole aiming stars high
In the sky but denied each time by these so called winners its
Flashes back and forth in my head seeing great champion quitter
Society as a whole lays multiple taste then the dish became bitter
Then Legends becoming quitters the Lazy man drinking from the
World cup and taking his trophy wife out to dinner Cant believe
From what i was told through out the young and old Legends will
Deliver . I look Through this feeling with many mentals clues hold
Thy breath in positivity and out Toxicity two more times hold
My frustration gain in touch of dividing lines between the fallen
And great Divine .But things come and go as i understood with time why am
I complaining that there are no more greats in this time when i been sheltered
And put myself in the waters to make this my time ,okay then im ready to grind starting
To practice my poems into different styles of Rhymes. The time was nigh constant adrenalin
Created endless rhymes calling my name this was my time to step up on the mic
Spoke like a baby my first words were like .. (heavy breath) whispers in my head
Spoke in silent dread had all delivery but mine was a shutter fell to my knees pieces
Of the mind became clutter panic in the first 10 seconds to release a word only
To forget the next my God i sound so Absurd! I walked off faced formed into a fake smile
While telling myself that performance was vile with no true style
Defeated and self beaten i was ready to go caught a lyft back home
Thinking about my performance i question every thing i brought this
Loud soul so itself in house to become dormant in rain and harsh weather
Friends ask how i was doing i be like whatever until my friend notice something
While were together he read my words to that of an sad open letter
Looking towards (whatcha under the weather for?) i told him i dont have
The drive no more with a form he looks over raising eye brows he said( tell me
what happen and i’ll listen) Telled him i blew it at the spoken word competition
( You can let that define who you are) I respond that i wanted to rock To Gain applause
(And i get you wanted all but while that’s the image you there was one flaw)
What could it possibly be he smirked just to say (first practice makes perfect thats true in order to be you must believe and achieve ) Thought about the quote i can no longer deny my fearless
Turned into flames in my eyes and told him i gave up too soon thanks for this talk as we
Im going back to this competition and shootdown the competition with a BANG!
Okay take i know what got to do stay ground keep it cool took one breath to
Keep my cool then alright mic’s om me im to flow.
Im came to start this revolution open your third eye
To oversight mental hurdles and mental confusion
Peel off the infectious wall see the mold now unfold
Understand my people these dreams are crafted by the bold
I believe in my deeds will outlive me showcase through the
Screen i will never abandoned my creed to entertain those
Plebs of there constant greed breaking chains for free
Walking into mindsets step onto a mission echo’s in my head
I crafted a pathfinder written in a straight path description
I now realize my emotion fruition i discovered
All of this is my Ambition

Dear sweet little one
My sweet little one crying in the shower so no one can see your tears to avoid their fake concern. Holding yourself as silent sobs rattle your bones. Wondering what it’s all for. The cursing you barely understand. The pain for things is out of your control. The silent prayers to anyone who would listen. For your journey to end before you wake.
My dear little one life is impossibly hard for you right now And Completely and totally unfair to you. The things you are going through no child should ever go through. You have seen first-hand horror that most adults would avoid their bowels with just the telling of it.
So with all you have gone through and will go through. There is still strength in you to see the sun every day and the Glorious Moon every night. Some days will be harder than others, and some days will fill you with so much joy you will weep. Your life is worth living for them all the bad days and the good days. So please, little one, keep your head up high, chin to the sky, shoulders back, and know that your life is an adventure, one that is packed full of chaos and love, sorrows and joy, amazing hellos, and mournful goodbyes.
You are brave you are smart you’re amazing in every way you are also selfish and stubborn and a big pain in people’s butts this is all Who You Are The Good The Bad and The Ugly and you know what that is perfectly fine you don’t have to be beautiful and you don’t have to be ugly you don’t have to be anything other than who you are I love you little one a sweet little me The Lost Child. Who has been forgotten by people who are supposed to love you right now. Alone in that shower crying her heart out, I remember you, and I love you, my little past self. You’re so much stronger than you think you are, and in the future, you will be loved. We’ll find people who love us Just the Way We Are.
Lots of love
Your future self

Dear me, I all ways ask myself am i really good enough?
Am i really ? If I was why did i go through the pain the hurt the rejection?
why did it feel as if I was only seen by the monsters the creeps the beast under my bed and in my closet ?Now I am older now and I see what it was all for.
As I sit and pray knees on the floor . My head bowed in honor to my King My father my God in heaven .The one who has known me from the very beginning
it took me a while to understand that all along he had a special plan.
But here I am no longer a child ,no longer a teen living in the wild I am grown with children of my own with a purpose no one could ever foreseen or even known .in 100 days Africa will welcome me as if i have come home.
So to the little girl I once was ,i just want to give you one gigantic hug. For keeping on going when everything in you wanted to give up. For allowing us to forgive and let God and Letting GO .You are truly my inner hero.
So am I really something? Am I really gonna go ?Am i ready to take a leap of faith and let the past go ?Yes Mam I am And in closing I want to say thank you for never letting me go .cause now I ask am I really I ask are we ready to go?

Hey,

Who was that, the version of you back there? 

The one who wore provocative clothes to get a stare.

The one who would go out and never be home

The one who chased “love” because she hated being alone.

Who was that girl? 

I know I didn’t grow up with her.

The flashy clothes, the fake smile 

If they called you, I know you would have run a mile. 

She was the one who would hide her shame

And be the scapegoat and take everyone’s blame. 

Who are you now?

 Why do you feel so battered down? 

You allowed others to bring you so low to the ground

This version of you is someone I can’t stand to be around.

This false identity is keeping you bound 

The lies, the games

How is it not driving you insane?

You keep searching for “love” that keeps spinning you round.

All the while, your heart is screaming, but you tuned out the sound. 

So look in the mirror

Who do you see?

Because this insecure version is not the real me. 

I miss the real you. 

I want you to return 

But with each version of you, 

There is a lesson to be learned. 

Love, The Future Verison 

When I thought that I was not enough I rendered myself vulnerable. Vulnerable to the lies that felt like admiration, being that vanity was my strong suite. Being considered special beyond merit occupied my sensibility of logic. He love me, he loves me not, they love me, they love me not projected possibilities of a connection within my worth. My worth, what does that intel. At one point in my life, it required me to be a good girl and to just go with the flow. To allow myself to be love bombed with words of affirmation and acts of service, because how could you not love me after all of that, right. Pint up moments of confusion and self-doubt. Am I being punked, where is Ashton, consumes my filtered emotions. Emotions of overwhelmed perception of a bond beyond expectation while trying to enforce self-love. I earned the self-esteem that I, at one point, lacked. I also learned the power of self-love and self-validation and that I can end up being my own kryptonite. Although I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, I now know that I am enough.

Nothing is going to come easy for you, that’s how the world works for people like us that need to forge their own identity from the scrap metal everyone tossed away. Your life is going to be a series of doors slammed in your face again, and again, and again. It’s going to seem like nothing will come out of it, that each rejection, fight, and failure will amount to nothing. Until recently, that’s what I thought, too. But one day, you’re going to wake up and realize everything you never knew you needed was right in front of you all along. The hours you spent training for sports everyone said you could never play ignited a fire within you that surprised everyone. Where everyone saw certain failure, you carved your own path. When everyone told you to give up and walk away, you raised your chin higher and made a promise that you wouldn’t.
 The stubbornness that you inherited will one day out-weigh the anger that came with it. Eventually, the anger makes sense. You never really hated the world, you hated what the world wanted you to be. They called you stubborn, but you weren’t. They hoped the word would quelch your fire because they feared that your ambition, desire, and dedication would lead you down the path to the forges. They were afraid to watch you break free from their chains and melt them down to nothing.
 During your walk down the wooded trail down to the forge, people emerge from behind the trees. As they get closer, you realize their skin seemed to be slipping off, revealing limbs built from pipes and joints made of gears. At first, it frightens you. This isn’t how people are supposed to look. Why? You ask them, voice trembling. Just try it. Curious, you pick up a bolt off the ground and slide it over your finger. You look to your side and see that they’re watching you, their eyes reflecting the surprising smile spread across your face. The rush of euphoria is addictive. Together, you scour the woods for any loose pieces: rusty mufflers, spoons, road signs, keys, and cans. You lay it all out in front of you and divide the spoils. He needs three spoons and a wrench; she needs the coat rack and a tin can. They give you what remains and help you rebuild your body.
 Sometimes people walk down that path and stare; others call you unnatural and freaks of nature. They’ll tell you what you’re doing is wrong and try to take back rubbish that was destined to be yours, but you hold on tight to each hard-found treasure. You get kicked around and watch as your pieces fall apart and scatter broken across the ground, but you help each other up, wipe off the dust, and start your forage again.
As you solder together the skeleton and fill its veins with molten iron, you realize that someone’s been watching you, taking notes. Half made of metal, half loose-fitting skin, he comes up to you with a notebook clutched to his chest and a pen shaking in his hand and asks how you knew what to do. I don’t know, you’ll tell him. Still, he nods and pulls out his pen and scribbles down something you’ll never read. As you finish your modifications and find your way in this newly fashioned body, your cautious steps become a powerful stride and you get to become the man you wished to be, and the voice in your head finally begins to settle down. Not entirely, but enough to know that you’re doing something right.
The kid runs with you, asking questions and following your lead without hesitation. You make a few wrong turns and land in a position you wish you hadn’t, but he doesn’t fault you, nor do the people that have the most to lose. That’s the part that matters. Even when the door slams in your face and the kid looks over at you, uncertainty clear in his eyes, you put your shoulder to the door and push. You look to the side and, one by one, you see everyone take their positions next to you, bones and metal alike.
You were never destined to be alone, kiddo, you simply haven’t found your people yet. Once you find them (because I can assure that you will), quicken your stride and get ready for the ride, that’s where your story really begins. The world is still scary and you’re often lost and confused, but that’s ok. Behind you stands a mass of people, each brought to you by luck, ready to dig through the ruins to help you salvage more parts from the wreck.
With love,
Max

“You should be a model!” everyone told you. “I’d pay good money for a tan like that!

Yet, all you saw were the scars, tangles, and dust from walking barefoot along the railroad tracks. As I travel along my timelines, I see your long, dark hair and deep eyes muddled with confusion.  I see your soul standing in the rotted corner of a partially abandoned trailer playing tug of war with your current reality and your soul truth. 

Wondering why strangers tell you such praises while your parents remind you that you’ll never grow up to be anything. Their words are like a whip. I know the bitterness that rises in your chest when your dad tells you, “You better find a man with money. That’s your only hope.”

Your bitterness is your inner voice disguised, for it knows that your hope is within yourself. Listen to that voice.

I know that shame drenches you when you have to be dropped off at home or when you can’t afford school events. Your victories are invisible. When you get honor roll, your mom says, “Yeah, you must have cheated.” 

When you’re invited to the party, your dad says, “Ah, they just felt sorry for the po’ kid.” 

I see you in those moments, barely hanging on, in a whirlwind of insults and disappointment bouncing off every corner until it seems like a never-ending echo of projected failures. Molding your mind. Creating your future.  A future that makes sense to them. 

I am writing to tell you to listen to the voice within that rejects these daggers of assumptions. It is justified. It is a savior. I, the version of you that has come this far, am with you now. Therefore, you know that nothing else matters. I take your hand, and the clatter stops. You feel me. You look at me with understanding eyes as I tell you the truth.

“This is not your fault. This is not your future.

The world needs everything that you are building, so keep going.

You are going to make yourself proud. 

It all works out better than you could ever imagine.”

With this letter, you see all the amazing things waiting for you. 

The safety.

The empowerment.

The adventures. Oh, so many adventures. 

The impact.

The love.

And it is all thanks to you realizing that you were meant for more. 

I sign off in peace and gratitude, knowing you received this gift. Thank you for everything that you will do. Thank you for finding inspiration in nature and for dreaming big, for it has served me in adult life. 

You now know that you belong where you are for a purpose. You are the free and resilient kid you were destined to be. No more fear. No more proving. Just being. Because now you know that being your authentic self will always be more than enough. 

Dear Younger Me,

I see you — the girl with silent tears behind the smile, the one searching for love in all the wrong places because you were taught to survive before you ever learned how to be loved. I know how heavy the weight was. You carried the ache of abandonment, the chaos of addiction, and the scars of a childhood stolen by circumstance.

You thought you weren’t enough — not because you were flawed, but because life told you lies and wrapped them in the voices of the people who were supposed to protect you. You were told to be quiet when your heart was screaming, to be strong when you were breaking, and to hustle for a worth that was already yours.

But let me tell you something, beloved: you were always enough. Even in the mess. Even in the mistakes. Even in the moments you thought God had forgotten your name — He was there, weeping with you, waiting for you to see yourself through His eyes.

You weren’t dirty — you were desperate for connection. You weren’t broken beyond repair — you were bruised but chosen. Every choice you made, every tear you cried, every cell in your body was reaching for identity, for healing, for something real.

And you found it.

Look at us now. You’re not just surviving — you’re leading. You’re healing others with the same hands that once trembled in fear. You’re a mother, a student, a director, a woman of God — not because you figured it all out, but because you surrendered what you couldn’t carry anymore.

I forgive you for the times you didn’t know better. I thank you for the fire that wouldn’t go out. And I honor you — because you walked through hell and didn’t come out smelling like smoke.

From this side of grace, I want you to know:
You were enough then.
You are more than enough now.
And you’ll never have to question that again.

Love,
Your Redeemed Self
Alicia (Queen) Williams

⸻

If you’d like, I can format this as a printable letter or even add visuals or scripture to go with it. You’re walking proof of God’s restoring power, and this letter is just one more way to speak life into the pieces of your journey.

Dear Inner Child,

I know you watch the people you care about from behind a lens,
longing to be part of the picture, longing to fit in.

You pick yourself apart like a flawed work of art.
You wonder why all puzzle pieces seem to fit,
except for the piece that is your heart.

You find yourself questioning your worth,
fighting illusions in your head.
Instead of giving yourself the love you deserve,
you ask what’s wrong with you instead.

You give your all just to feel small,
and no matter how hard you try,
you just can’t seem to shake the sense
that something’s wrong with you inside.

So you take the hurt and the pain,
and you think that’s just how it’s meant to be all along.

But I’m here to tell you, my sweet child,
the truth is that you’re wrong.

In a chaotic garden, you are a rare specimen, you see.
You’re not meant to bloom just anywhere,
but you’re safe here, right with me.

And although it hurts so much right now,
please know you’re a beautiful, thriving seed.

The growth will come
when you realize you simply don’t belong amongst the weeds.

With all my love,
Me

God sent an arrow from His quiver (stomach) to save me from being away from Him, because of God’s Loyal Lovingkindness for the ages. He raised a storm within my stubborn nephesh (soul). Why do I say this? When I was younger, my sister was dating a guy who was a Mormon. She wanted Dad, Mom, her, and me to get baptized. Mom said no. My dad, my sister, and I were baptized as Mormons. It felt like after I did, they didn’t want anything to do with me. At least this is my memory of it. It hardened my heart. I turned from God for a while.

I had a friend who kept after me to go to church. I kept saying no most firmly. One day, they happened to come over to our house. We were in the kitchen. They said, “You need to come to church.” I was tired of them asking me, and I said,” If you will leave me alone, I will go to church with you one time, then stop asking me.” I did use a bad word within that statement. However, I do not want to use bad words in my story—the result of their persistence in encouraging me to go to church. I finally broke down and went. The arrow that God sent me from his quiver pierced the hardened nephesh. Lo and behold, I kept going.

In 1985, I was in a youth group. The pastor gave us the assignment to write in a journal and ask Him for a prayer for what we wanted. We were to see how long it took God to answer our prayers. I prayed to God, “AM I WORTHY to be part of His family?” It took about a month for God to answer my prayer. God answered me in a dream.

My dream went like this: I was outside on our front lawn with my mother, father, aunt, and uncle. As we were talking, I looked up and saw this grey thing floating down from the sky. It landed on a neighbor’s roof. The grey thing turned and looked at me. It was death. I started praying, and suddenly, I was sitting at the table with Jesus in our house. I asked, “Am I worthy to be part of your family?’ His reply was, “Yes, join the others.” As we were chatting, I looked out the living room windows. I saw two golden lions shimmering in the driveway, and they jumped down the street.
Later in my dream, we were in a garden of beautiful flowers and people wearing white robes. I asked, “Where is Jesus?” They pointed over to him. I walked over to him and tugged on his white garment, and he looked at me. “I asked Him,” Am I worthy?” He said, “Join the others.” From that dream, I knew that I would always be part of his family. He will always be with me. Later that year, the Pastor baptized me, and now I use this dream to tell others of God’s love and how I am part of His family. It took a long time for me not to tear up as I told my testimony.

Dear unsealers,
This is the story of a shattered soul that was shaped into one of the strongest soldiers. We all hit rock bottom at some point in our life but very few of us hit rock bottom so many times that it becomes your comfort zone. At one point I literally felt like I had become God’s biggest challenge. I completely had faith that he could fix me and eventually he would but even God himself wasn’t sure how. My journey has been a lot of things but easy is not one of them. Little did I know that it was all to make me and not break me but that was hard to see at the time. I remember feeling like the universe was literally against me and the only purpose I had was to not have a purpose. There were several times that I honestly came very close to giving up but with the help of the Lord I did not throw in the towel completely. To be honest I still battle every day even up to this point but I’ll keep on fighting because I have faith that God has a plan for me and it is working perfectly. That is a very short summary of my story. Trust me there is a lot more to it but that’s my story with 800 words or less. Thank you

I see you sitting there on the deck hugging your knees, a blanket around your shoulders. I see you chain smoking, your mascara running down your face in a river of tears, your hands shaking and your headaches.
The police have left, your parents have left, you are home from the hospital. He’s in jail, at least for the night. Alone on the deck, your babies are asleep in their beds. You wonder how much this will affect them. Will they remember? They are so young; what will you tell them? As you bury your head in your hands, I can see your too-thin body shaking with fear, with anxiety, doubts swirling around in your mind like so many black clouds. As with so many nights before, you will not sleep tonight.
I am sitting beside you, even though you can’t feel me or see me. My arms are around you and I am whispering strength and love into your ear. Please know that you didn’t bring abuse on yourself. The cruel words and bruises you carefully cover with makeup are the work of someone who has deep wounds himself. Your husband who speaks love out of the same mouth that calls you vile names, whose hands hold you tenderly and then viciously strike you, tossing your body like a rag doll is responsible. You both bear scars from childhood trauma, from parents who love you in their best yet broken way. Forgive them; you all have a long way to go before this chapter is over.
Tomorrow you will go to file a restraining order; he will be served with papers before he is released. You will go to court, the order will be granted, and you will not look at him again for a year. Take a deep breath; you will find the courage to get through this. People will watch you, not knowing how to help. Their generation was one that kept this kind of thing secret. Your friends will offer prayers on your behalf, but not one will speak the supportive words you long to hear, nor will they offer a safe place to rest. Please don’t take this as not loving you, they do.
The two of you will divorce and raise your children together in a loving and supportive way. Your children will know the love of a bonus mom; she’s amazing. You will have no regrets, many experiences, and understand that healing is a lifelong journey.
Dry your tears, get some rest. Allow yourself to have a happy life; know that you are not only good enough, but you are also amazing.

Dear Me from 4 years ago,

I know you weren’t thinking about winning the election. You weren’t a good enough candidate, and you had no experience. At least that’s how you saw the race. And your political party had not held a seat on the township board for years; correction, make that decades. In fact, they normally did not even run candidates for those township positions. Yes, I can see why you didn’t think enough of yourself to unseat an incumbent from the board.

Getting on the ballot was easier than you thought. You had the support from members of a local women’s group who helped get the 250 signatures you needed. But you knew getting your name on a ballot and winning a race against incumbents are two very different things. In your mind, you cast yourself as the underdog, and perhaps you were.

You ordered campaign literature and yard signs. Facebook posts and ads explained your views and positions. That was the simple part of the campaign. You wondered if you were good enough to hold your own at the candidate’s public forum. It was a good sign when opponents started agreeing with some of your talking points by the end of the forum.

Your confidence was growing until you tried to get an endorsement from a US House member. She told you in no uncertain terms that you were not running a serious enough campaign. Sorry, but she wouldn’t endorse you. I know that hurt, but it also steeled your resolve. You were no longer just running against some incumbent township board candidates, but you were running against the opinion of a sitting US Congresswoman who didn’t think your campaign effort was enough. You responded by working harder and smarter.

Sadly, it turned out that your campaign actually wasn’t good enough to get the most votes. You were not even close. You didn’t finish in second either. So close to third, but you fell short. Fortunately, four members serve on the board, and you finished comfortably fourth in the voting. Welcome to an elected office.

Here we are four years later, and you are now me, starting my second term in office on the township board after receiving the most votes of all candidates in the election two months ago. Discussions have begun about running for a county board position in 2028. Do I have enough in me to win? I think I just might this time.

Regards,
Me from today