For the you who saw worth only in the reflection of others’ eyes,

a fractured mirror reflecting back distorted expectations,

a performance played for an audience that never applauded,

a constant striving for a love that felt conditional, a love withdrawn

Finding yourself stranded on the barren shore of self-doubt.

I remember the whispers, the incessant, gnawing doubts

that burrowed beneath your skin,

insidious tendrils of insecurity choking the nascent blooms of hope.

Not good enough, they hissed, a chorus of condemnation,

Not worthy of love, of kindness, of belonging.

You are a burden, a nuisance.

The venom of self-hatred,

corroded your spirit, 

etching deep fissures in your self-esteem.

You saw flaws where others saw strength,

deficiencies where others saw potential,

a landscape of imperfections magnified under the harsh glare of self-criticism.

You were a prisoner in the fortress of your own mind,

the warden, the judge, the jury, and the executioner,

all rolled into one merciless entity.

You believed, with a chilling certainty, everyone you loved would leave,

affection was a fleeting mirage, a cruel trick of the light,

destined to vanish, leaving you abandoned in the aftermath.

You built walls of self-protection, brick by painful brick,

mortared with fear and reinforced with the conviction that vulnerability was weakness,

an invitation to abandonment, a guarantee of heartbreak.

The frantic scrambling to hold on to love, the desperate pleas,

the constant vigilance, anticipating the inevitable departure,

the exhaustion of fighting for a place in the hearts of those who seemed

determined to push you away.

The crushing realization that the battle was always one-sided,

you were the only soldier on the battlefield,

wielding a broken sword against an army of indifference.

The bitter truth that no one seemed willing to fight for you,

champion your cause, declare your worth,

stand in the breach and defend your right to exist,

to say, “You are enough. You matter. You are loved.”

The agonizing question that echoed in the silence of your soul:

Why am I not worth fighting for?

The crushing weight of feeling disposable, insignificant,

a transient presence in the lives of others, easily replaced, readily forgotten.

The sting of being used, manipulated, exploited,

a tool to be wielded, a vessel to be emptied,

discarded once the desired outcome was achieved.

The hollow echo of empty promises, the charade of affection,

the cold realization that you were nothing more than a means to an end,

a stepping stone on someone else’s path to happiness,

your own well-being sacrificed at the altar of their self-interest.

The theft of childhood, innocence shattered,

trust betrayed by the very hands that should have nurtured and protected.

The world turned upside down, boundaries blurred,

the safe haven transformed into a battleground,

where love was a weapon and vulnerability a fatal flaw.

Your father, the architect of so much pain,

the source of so much fear,

the sculptor of your deepest insecurities.

His actions, words, very presence,

a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy,

a relentless assault on your self-esteem,

leaving you fractured, struggling to piece yourself back together.

The silence imposed, voice suppressed,

the truth buried deep beneath layers of shame and guilt.

Being invisible, unheard, unseen,

haunting the edges of your own life.

The anger simmering beneath the surface,

a volcano waiting to erupt,

a righteous rage that threatened to consume you.

But you survived. You endured. You persevered.

Against all odds, against all expectations,

you clawed your way out of the darkness,

emerging scarred but also stronger, more resilient,

more determined than ever to reclaim your voice,

to reclaim your life.

The silence ends now. Your voice will be heard.

The truth will be spoken, loud and clear,

unapologetically, unequivocally.

Boundaries will be drawn, lines will be defined,

The walls will be rebuilt, but this time, they will protect, not imprison.

Stand up for yourself, for the girl you were,

for the woman you are becoming,

for anyone who has ever been silenced, abused, or marginalized.

Be the advocate, the defender, the champion,

the voice for the voiceless, the light in the darkness,

the safe haven for those who have nowhere else to turn.

Be the person you prayed for when you were a child,

the protector, the comforter, the unwavering source of love and support.

You will heal your own wounds by helping others heal theirs,

transforming your pain into purpose, your suffering into strength.

You are enough. You are worthy. You are loved.

Not because of what you do, but because of who you are.

You are a survivor, a warrior, a beacon of hope.

You are the author of your own story now,

and the ending will be one of triumph, of healing, of liberation.

This is your promise, your declaration, your unwavering truth.

You are, were, and always will be enough.

To the Child of trauma who became herself once again,
What were you thinking? When you stood there in the dark hovering in a multitude of trauma and tears and only found the courage to hide? Where was the fire that once filled your soul to push the boundaries of life? I only have questions for that beaten down creature of endangered spirit. If only you could have seen then where you would be now. God’s timing is all powerful and the time to pray was never more essential that in those moments of despair and fear. FEAR, the one word that rebellious free spirit never knew before the narcissist took over every cell of your being. To let another steal the essence of a life is unfathomable. To let someone overwhelm you to the point of exhaustion in every sense of the word is beyond all reason. But you did that to yourself. You gave them the power to beat you down. You were battered by life and let that crack in your armor break. You are so much more than that feeling, that enigma. Life is only for a short span and then it is gone. The light was shining in the dark that you let burn out is still an ember. Stoking that fire and breaking free of the stranglehold was possible, long before you let it happen. Never lose sight of that fire again. Never let the negatives outweigh the positive in your heart. Take the lessons of the past and push them aside into the hard fought wisdom of today.

Dearest love, I know your heart has ached and you’ve weathered storms alone. I see the way you shine your light, even when no one else would know. I love the way you stay so soft, and the way you bloom like a rose. Those stormy nights have only watered something deep that grows. No longer should you hide away, no longer letting worries stay. I see the parts that have lain dormant, a whisper of the soul. I know your strength and feel the power that courses through your bones. It’s time to claim and accept the parts that once felt unknown. So embrace the joy, the blessings, and life that are a gift to you each day. Sink sweetly into the pocket of peace that comes when you let yourself play. Each moment you have a choice to feed that which you wish to grow, so tell me love, will you choose less or something else unknown? Even when things seem unclear, the choice of faith is there. Trusting in a path unknown, a higher path is sown. Let your wings spread, feel the sunshine, celebrate the space! Even when the clouds arrive, keep that beautiful smile on your face. The depths you have travelled to, many would remain. But you have seen the dark space and turned it into light. Your devotion to being whole will always be what’s right.

I am a man that has seen much change. I use to be a retail manager. Now, I’m a writer. A writer on the road. A published writer. My first book, waiting review on Amazon.

I’ve seen many changes in my life. I’ve reflected on my own writings and have grown from the man I use to be. I faced many obstacles in my life. In front of me, tiles laid by God. One tile a day. One tile a day is all it takes for the changes to have happened. God continue to open doors and bless me with the opportunity to keep writing.

Many things have come and gone and I’ve been able to overcome these obstacles in my life. I developed a love for poetry. That love has blessed me. Hands from God that flow words onto paper. Words and paper that people will want to read. I have my first published book coming to Amazon and a partnership with a traditional publishing company. God continue to open doors and bles me with the opportunity to continue working as a published author.

I have seen a rework of myself. I have become an author, and I have left the industry of retail. Many challenges and obstacles have come my way as a writer on the road. I have been able to overcome many of them. This life isn’t easy. Transitional living. God continue to open doors and bless me with the opportunity to have my work in people’s hands.

I am a proud author despite the difficulties and struggles that I have faced. I never thought I could achieve the goal of becoming a published author and I have. I never thought I would leave the industry of retail but I have. I am good enough to change who I was.

I’m on the road Another tile placed by God.
A tile placed
I’m living on low inside my life a tile placed
Under my feet
Enjoying the days another tile
placed
Enjoying the nights my love
For writing
Reading is here
Writing
Poetry
Life. Poetry. Life.

Dear the girl who stood at the threshold of every room, unsure whether to enter or vanish,

You learned early that some kinds of strength are heard before they’re seen. The sharp rhythm of high heels on cold tile announced her arrival like a warning. You measured love in decibels, not hugs or softness, but how loudly she moved through the world while you tried to keep your footsteps quiet. You thought her click-clacks were the sound of everything you weren’t: bold, certain, essential.

You kept asking: how can someone so close feel so far? How can someone speak of love and never be there to translate it? You searched for signs in her absence—an untouched lunch, a bruised silence at the table, the way she never asked what you wrote in your diary but always paid the school bill on time. You didn’t understand yet that love, too, is a language. And she spoke it in currencies you hadn’t yet learned to count.

You were praised for being quiet, for folding into corners, for not needing much. But when you were hurt and no one said his name, you learned that silence has a cost. You thought that shrinking yourself might protect you from the shame that wrapped around your skin like smoke. You mistook survival for erasure.

Still, you noticed things others didn’t. The way someone’s silence held more warmth than their words. The way strangers cried freely in Hanoi, or how the women in Mai Chau wove stories into threads. You wanted to tell your own stories but didn’t trust your voice to be enough. So you listened. You watched. You built quiet sanctuaries where people could speak without fear of echo. And without realizing it, you were redrawing the shape of what it means to be strong.

For a long time, you saw her as a country you could never cross. She was firm where you were fluid, certain where you were questioning. But one day, she showed up to something you built—not with critique, but curiosity. And in her pause, you saw it: she had been watching, quietly proud, in a language of sacrifice and distance. Her love had never been absent. It had just been unfamiliar.

You once believed there were only two kinds of people: those who speak and those who listen. Those who fight and those who feel. But now you know: you are a borderland. You are both protest and prayer. Both wound and witness.

If I could reach you then, the girl trying to be loud enough to matter, I would whisper: you were never too soft. You were seismic. You just moved in a different register.

And that’s the version of strength that saved you.

With everything you didn’t yet know,

Dear House of Horrors,

You weren’t so terrible after all. Growing up mixed-race, in a community that doesn’t know how to perceive me, as one of seven children, knowing the pains of poverty, alcoholism, addiction, and seeing generational curses passed down first hand, your house of horrors provided a peculiar comfort to me. No child should have to witness what happens when murder plagues your family history, but I did. Through the yelling, the fights, the numerous police calls, and the sadness that plagued you, the house of horrors birthed something beautiful.

Mom and dad did the best they could, but distractions, taking care of my autistic and schizophrenic siblings, and my grandmother, who suffered dementia, chaos became known to me very early on. And I kept hearing the same things: blood is thicker than water, but when you grow up in the house of horrors of what is you, I’d rather be swimming in the coldest ocean than have to face what’s behind these doors. But still, you fed me, clothed me, allowed me space to pray, solace to write, to create, to become. And I left you for a time, out into the world to New York City, where I sought out to follow my dreams, only to find myself broke, broken, and on the run, back in your house of horrors, filled with even more pain and suffering than I knew before. A sadness wrapped me up like a familiar blanket, because generational curses don’t end, unless they end with you.

So here I am, forgotten. Not knowing who I am anymore. Feeling as though I am withering away and slowly losing the memory of the powerful angelic tongues my mother prayed over me from in her womb, and throughout my childhood. The gifts I was given from the great holy mystery, which I know to be God, as a writer, as a poet, and as a dreamer. I was trapped in your dark, haunted, house of horrors, living my true life Shameless, so desperately wanting to be a character in Cheaper by the Dozen, but feeling left behind.

But then, he broke me. Or so I thought. And as I spoke the words to Yemaya, “I call all parts of myself back to myself”, my tower moment cracked me open. My world crumbled, and yet something beautiful happened in your house of horrors. I could see again. And as I took my blind fold off, I heard, maybe for the first time, the voice of God.

As I reconnected with Mother Earth and poured my healing cries into her soil, I looked at myself in my phone and saw her. I saw my beautiful smile, which is more than skin deep, and saw myself again. Her, teenager her, laughing her. She danced in the house of horrors and broken home, laughed and sang, jumped, twirled, played, wondered, prayed, and wished.

And she wrote again. I wrote again. I wrote when it didn’t make sense, and I write now because I know that living in the house of horrors wasn’t because I was abandoned or broken, it was my testimony. And now, at 31, as I venture off into new waters, in my golden year, I thank you, house of horrors. Not only am I more than enough, but I also know I am me.

So now, when I look in the mirror, I smile at the reflection because I recognize her again. Hello again, beautiful girl, beautiful me, beautiful you.

Dear young Rose,

I know it’s difficult for you going to school every day when all of your friends have turned on you because the popular kids are mean to you. I know it is embarrassing when you’re the only one who has no one to play with at recess and you have to sit on the cold step by yourself waiting for it to be over. It was even worse that other day when that boy thought it would be funny to kick a ball at your head. I know it hurt your feelings when the entire grade planned that kickball game and excluded only you intentionally. Kids can be so cruel!

I know you cry yourself to sleep at night with anxiety over what the next day will bring and secretly wish that your life could end so you would not have to feel tortured anymore. The other kids’ behavior is not a reflection on you or anything you have done wrong. It’s a sign of their own insecurities, showing what terrible people they are for picking on someone who doesn’t defend themselves. You’re a really extraordinary person, and those kids can’t see it because you hide who you are from everyone. They don’t understand you because you are different and their minds are too simple to be open-minded, so they reject you. It’s not your fault.

I know how lonely you feel when you go days without saying a word to anyone, not even family, because you feel like no one cares. You’ve always had me right there with you the whole time, and I’ll always be there for you. It may not seem like it, but I am always right there with you, loving you and providing hope that things will someday be better. I am the one telling you that those kids are wrong about you and they don’t know what they are talking about. I’ll always be there for you.
You’re a person who deserves respect just like everyone else. Nothing you could do or say would warrant mistreatment of any kind. It doesn’t matter how old you are or what skills you have. You are brilliant and funny. You’re kind and generous to others. You are strong enough to get through the rough start you’ve had to your life so far, which just shows how impressive you are. It’s incredibly unfair that you weren’t raised to know that you are precious and are worthy of love and attention.
One day, things will change for you. You’ll get tired of the poor treatment from those who aren’t capable of loving you right and you’ll distance yourself from them. You’ll learn how to set better standards for the people you want in your life and take down the walls that keep you from being vulnerable and authentic with others and you’ll let people in to love you. You will focus on the things that bring you joy and peace. You’ll learn to love yourself and take better care of yourself. You will have many people in your life who appreciate you and all of your gifts. Because of everything you endure now, you will be a kinder more understanding person of other people’s pain and your empathy for others will have no limits. The world is a better place because you are in it and you should never forget that.

Mirror, mirror
Locked inside
So deep
What do you see
When you look at me
Your only clouded
With your own self-defeat
Judging with the hate
You built for your own face
The answers you seek
When your questioning
Everything
Will never be true
Until you
Discover the truth
Mirror, mirror
Find the key within
Lies and deceit
Keep you trapped
In a cage
You’re simply stuck
In your head
Mirror, mirror
Don’t you see
I’m not your enemy
You perceive me to be
Look Closely
Its merely
Your own reflection
You are seeing

Dear young Me,
If this letter were meant for a mere stranger, I would ask how you are and what has been happening in your life. But I know the answers to those questions; I still remember standing in your shoes and the prayers that stayed unanswered, or the days you spend tearing at your skin trying to stretch yourself open and peek inside to find any familiar goodness and light within yourself, hoping to rip it out to offer as a plea and use it to justify yourself to God and your family, that you were still the little girl they knew, full of bright, dopey smiles, loud singing, and never-ending chatter. And when your heart, which was unburdened before things went wrong, was bigger than your mind and rationality, it was willing to love, show kindness, and acceptance to those around you, even if they were a mere stranger brought into your life with a heart full of love and a mind of naive hope to connect with them .i remember how You clung to how those around you acted, dissecting their speech, their reactions, and even their smiles, trying to replicate them as your own. I remembered how you’d fear slipping up and revealing your true self—the quirky, messy, and sometimes gross interests that captivated you.how our mind would overflow with questions, leading us to express thoughts that didn’t make sense to others, and make them question whether we were just a person like them, or an alien wearing human skin who would one day dissect them to understand and find the answers to the questions that would plague their mind,

Years and Birthdays have passed, and now I’ve turned twenty-two, yes, you read that right we made it to our its funny how, lifes moves pretty fast believe it or not and the days of questioning every molecule that made us up as a person, seeing the bits of family members we could acknowledge and recognize within ourselves, and hating how we could see the destructive anger, the pain, and struggle we saw in those close to us and mourning how our future would end up and how it was inevitable if we were still so young and yet felt so much about the world and how it was shaping us and im sorry that i couldnt understand what was going on with us ut merely trying to blame everything on being merely childish with our sensitivity, Looking back, I wish i could tell you that all those times you felt like an outsider, like you weren’t enough just by being you—those feelings didn’t just disappear even. But eventually, we’ll discover people who resonate with us. You’ll notice those with quirky hairstyles that clash most beautifully, or the girl next to you who immerses herself in a book about an unusual topic, diligently marking her favorite passages. You’ll meet the wonderfully weird friends who fit into your life like puzzle pieces, all questioning the norms, thinking outside the box of ‘normalcy.’ These are the people you’ll come to recognize yourself in, and they will transform your world. The movies, books and films that will resonate a little too deeply and youll find a connection to people youe never met but know so many more other people are voicing how they feel how they view the world and the people around them in the most ground breaking ways, where one may see as a film created to unerve the the audience, youll see it more deeply, Imagine a pocket world where you’re not the only bitter or sour berry in the bunch. In this space, you’ll feel a wave of acceptance and understanding—not just from yourself, but from others as well. And you need to be with those people You’ll hold your head up high, knowing that even if people cannot fully understand you, it’s not your job to be performative like a jester for the world around you and never apologive for you being you, Your only purpose for the rest of your life now is to love and indulge yourself fully in the life that surrounds you. We only live once, and we may neve know if we will have the chance to grow old and reflect on the things we regret or the life we wasted by keeping ourselves packaged up, so younger me keep struggling, keep fighting because the world only gets more colorful down the dark tunnel your in at the moment, and the people who are on the otherside love you. But until then, be gentle with yourself. Growing up will feel like breaking at first, but you’re not. I promise you’re only growing,
P.S. I love you now and always.

Oh dear, pardon me for the fear. It never belonged to you, nor suit you. Who told you to lose yourself in that mirror?
Frolicking in depths of question to a tier. Where did you meet the idea that you were only mere?
How could you marry the enemy? Still clinging to the possibility of being neither here or there… But yet you insisted to continue to borrow from that not so random place that made you insecure.
Forgive me for not acknowledging the facts, how you could be ethereal. Im glad you could surpass the gleaming in your eyes, for the other side.
it’s gorgeous when you learn not to lie.
you didn’t realize the goodness in the midst of your still dance was so sheer.
So my dear, apologies are near.

No love for man—
We lost it when we lost all respect.
We learned early on love was another word
Used to manipulate those who already had the winning deck.
If a man can convince us we arent enough,
Then he’d be sure to always get another chance.
You told me we’d never fall for that trap,
But without even knowing… for so long
we gave the devil everything he ever asked.
So if they want to know where it began—
We were conditioned to believe we werent enough way back then.
‘Cause in retrospect, the man we were supposed to trust
was already teaching us.
Teaching us all the wrong ways to validate our worth,
how to love others more than our self
And how to pick men who are the worst.
You,
Much like the good woman you knew were busy putting yourselves to the side,
Making sure everyone else was alright,
Unknowingly showing others what we would accept.
Lots of tears, girl, but our tears never demanded respect.
So of course we are confused.
We confused love and settling.
Lust with love
Trading being happy,
For just being numb.
You tried to reflect.
Tried doing the math in your head—
When you added it up, you figured it was evident:
Relationships only lead to depression.
We crave love and to be healed
By the same people who keep breaking us again.
Naturally, we strayed away from emotions,
I pacified our fear with lust
And going through the motions.
Thought for sure this would keep us safer,
But as time went on, I began to notice—
I
I stayed having relations with people
Who just kept us feeling hopeless.
Never searching for more,
Because this is all there is and we both know it—
Till I dropped to my knees
And begged for us to be released
From the vicious cycle we created for me. Now I get to thank the Lord for this cup he took away from you and me.

Dear little seed, one day she’ll see
That she will become who she is meant to be
This is a letter to whom she once was
This is a letter to all the diamonds in the rough

When she was just a little seed
They asked her what she wanted to be
She sat in silence, she didn’t know what to say
Her life was just starting, she still had such a long way

A moment went by, the other seeds were sown
And she was starting to do things on her own
Among the other seeds, she tried to be
And I watched from afar waiting patiently

People began to marvel at what the others became
While she just stayed in the same place
More time went by, many seeds sprouted
Except for her, she feared she’d been forgotten

They merrily went on their way
Off to greater gardens to find their own space
Some became roses and daisies as beautiful as can be
And then I looked back at our lonely seed

She remained alone in her tiny pot
She became the seed that everyone forgot
She started to sprout, yet no one saw
But I was there to see it all

The sun beat upon her leaves so green
She was the strangest “flower” you’ve ever seen
Months have gone by, there were still no blooms
She won’t be entering the garden with the others anytime soon

She was just a plant, she didn’t know who she was
She knew that she’d never be good enough
She had no beautiful colors, just plain leaves
Maybe she was just a waste of a seed?

A year went by, her leaves remained green
But this mysterious plant finally had a change of scene
Into a beautiful greenhouse where the sun was her guide
It kept her warm, gave her light, and love it provided

She grew and grew, but for my eyes only
A beautiful yellow flower from the seed that was lonely
She welcomed the rain and the morning dew
She welcomed bees and butterflies too

This is the story of the seed who’d never be
This little seed used to be me
Many didn’t understand me, neither did I
I thought I’d never be enough no matter how hard I try

I’ve seen others bloom, and into their own gardens they went
But there was nothing wrong with me, my time had not come yet
My flowers took longer, but my leaves remained green
It was God secretly working behind the scenes

Now that I’ve bloomed, I can finally see
That I am part of a story written just for me
My life looked like nothing worth putting on paper
When in reality, I just haven’t found my way yet

Although I can recognize my own colors now
Sometimes my thoughts still get lost in the crowd
Comparison truly is the thief of joy
But this garden in life is for all of us to enjoy

As flowers, we continue to bloom and grow
We were meant to do more than just go with the flow
There’s a place in the garden made just for you
To be just who you are, and to do what you do

Others may bloom faster than you
But keep watering your soil, God’s not through
Underneath is something made with love
And you, my flower, are more than enough

Here lies your inner child. Taken too early, as they always say. A beautiful light snuffed out before it had a chance to grow. Voice crushed by hands of the cruel world. Playful imagination crumbled to reality. Full and loving heart pin-pricked to slowly drain out. Slowly, so you can feel the pain of the emptiness. Adventurous dreams danced in a brilliant mind before they were trampled to dust. A hallowed vessel, nothing more than a shell, is all that is left to dig the grave. All that is left to burry the secrets of an inner child that is now forgotten.

Hey You
It’s the healed version of you
The six years in the future
Real grown version of you
Started over and all alone, version of you
Been alone for a while, real strong version of you
Grind mode on go
But different in this version of you
Believing in yourself
Established this healing version of you
Looking to God for the answers
In this version of you

This version of you
Just stopped by to let you know that
You were enough
At your weakest, you held your family on your shoulders
Pouring hot water over it all
Brewing a fresh cup of Folgers
Just trying to sip only on the good

You were enough
And deserving of unconditional love
Someone to cherish you
Like the gift that you were
You were enough
To fight for and not fight with
To hold onto with a tight grip
But instead, you had a tight lip
You were enough

In the moments where you
Masked your pain
So no one knew your struggles
Everyone is so used to you being so strong
They just went along
With the fake smile
And the put together look
The “Oh, I got it, do you need something?”
Just another page out of your “I gotta be strong book”
You were enough

Looking back at your version
Realizing that they were only infatuated with the curves of your body
The loyalty and sacredness of your garden
And how you only gave it to them
With a full guide on the best ways to be naughty
The desire to please, cater, and fulfill
Realizing they were only happy with how you loved them
And what you could give them
Knowing now that they never loved you
Just enjoyed the lover girl in you

The trials and tribulations that you went through
God promises to return all the love you gave back to you
In the form of a man who will cherish you
I know that it feels foreign
For a man to care for you
affirm, reassure, and compliment you
But put your fear aside
Allow yourself to be soft
For once, let someone take care of you
Allow him to do what a man is supposed to do
It’s okay to let him do for you
To open the door and pull out chairs for you
To sit in silence and enjoy the company of you
To ensure that you’re always safe with him
Let him be your protector
Take the 45 out of your purse and empty the clip
Allow that man to stand for you
Speak softly, allow him to make the demands for you
You deserved to be loved
You’re the perfect wife
For the perfect man that God has chosen for you

So ease the overthinking of your mind
Stop questioning what he says all the time
Allow him to be a man of his word
And you stay prayed up and in your word
Don’t hold back your love because you’re afraid
Fear will raid
And destroy God’s plan
So be yourself
Keep working on you
So he gets the best version of you
Pour into him
Like you would want him to pour into you

You were always worth it, even at your lowest
I’m just glad as the healed version you
I see it now as true

I know you don’t think so right now, but you’ll survive the next four years. You’ll do so much more than that.
I remember the last big trip to Walmart the weekend before my first semester and how surreal everything felt. As I wandered through endless aisles of school supplies and bedspreads, I wondered how I would ever live on my own. The thought of living so far from home tied my stomach in queasy knots.
I remember saying goodbye to my family by saying “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast,” because it was easier than saying “I’ll see you in three months.” After we all hugged, I trudged to the dorm and didn’t look back, even though it was all I wanted to do. My elevator ride to the seventh floor was the longest elevator ride ever.
I remember my first night in my dorm room, as I sat in the dark. Anxiety raked my mind so sharply I couldn’t even cry, even though I wanted to. It haunted me when I woke up for class, and followed me to every single subject. I could barely answer questions when I was called on to do so.
I especially remember that first Thursday as I walked to lunch. The past several days weighed on my heart like three years—three years of an anxious fight for survival. I was on the phone with my family, and I hung on to their every word like a lifeline. My legs could no longer support the weight of the world on my shoulders, so I found a bench and sat down.
My mom’s voice chirped on the other end of the line. “Are you gonna be okay?”
Amidst my own worries, I had never asked myself that question. Would I be okay? Could I do this? Or was it really too much for me? I took a deep breath and collected myself.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” For the first time, in a small corner of my soul, I believed it.
I remember hanging up the phone shortly after that, and slowly getting up from that bench to go to lunch. As I walked, I noticed how green the leaves were on the trees overhead and the lush grass. Anxiety loosened its grip on my mind with each step.
So much beauty, love, and laughter would have been lost if I had given up on college before it even started. I survived that afternoon before lunch, and I can promise you, I more than survived the next four years. In fact, I don’t know if I could have survived without them.

The mistakes you have made
Need to seem foreign to me.
It’s not who I am.
It’s not my identity.
You lived in a warzone from the very start.
Lies spoken over you like a
Burning arrow to your heart.
Let the lies fade
And in peaceful
Waters wade.
Let your lighthearted soul
Shine forth and ring true
Be the person you know you are
but never knew.
For you are enough. I combat those lies. With your Dad you cut all ties.
See you are more than enough. You’re strong brave and tough.
You had it rough and weren’t meant to carry their heavy stuff.
Projecting onto your heart
Should’ve been a crime.
Now let your heart sing like a beautiful wind chime.
They hated your light
For in the darkness they spewed hate.
And made this life tough and
Confusing to navigate.
But you’re not them.
You never were.
Now you’re strong, enough, and secure.
The world needs your beauty
In all of its glory.
Now bold queen come forth and share your story.
If enough had a name Jennifer would be it.
Now embrace your light
Climb put of that pit.
Love,

Dear 10th- grade me,
Moving has got to be one of the biggest heartaches you’ve felt. During your middle school years and your first year of high school, you’ve felt alone and confused. You yearn to go back, and the constant thought of “what if we never moved” plagues your mind from the first minute you’re awake. In 7th grade, you struggled with a crush on a guy who barely acknowledged your existence. In 10th grade, those feelings consumed you like deep water. You felt as if you had been drowning in your feelings and the only way to stay afloat was to make a move.
Because you felt this way, you did the only thing you felt, you had to do. You confessed and shot your shot three times. Each time you were disappointed and the bitter taste of sheer foolishness burned in the back of your throat. You were confused, and your heart ached for someone who never bothered to reciprocate your feelings. You sought closure, and instead, you got nothing but silence. Cold and unwavering silence. You still reap the consequences and the fragile confidence you once had shattered like glass. You struggle to pick up the pieces, and you suffer silently. You give too much to people who don’t deserve it. Your fragile heart craves the comfort it’ll never find in him. You don’t cry over him, or even get angry, but he still lives in your mind rent-free. Every person you meet is a blessing or a lesson in disguise. A guy who made you doubt your self worth isn’t worth all this heartache.
Besides the boy drama, you also dealt with the intense feelings of not fitting in—that what-if haunts you like a ghost behind a closed door. Every day, you imagine a different life, one where you hadn’t moved. The school atmosphere was swirling with toxicity and fakeness. And soon it took its toll on you. You stopped caring about your social life and poured your attention into your grades. Being the most intelligent person in the class gave you the confidence that you lost—piece by broken piece. Instead of seeking validation from friends, the A+ you got made you feel worth something. To your parents and to others.
Learning to love yourself is the first step in overcoming insecurities and becoming more confident. Learning how to stop caring about what other people think about you is also crucial. But this isn’t something that will happen overnight. Discovering your own self-worth is a personal journey that everyone has to go through at some point in their life. No matter how put-together someone may seem, there is always a facade and cracks under the surface. Everyone at one point in their life has felt as if they weren’t enough. However, they learned to overcome their insecurities and grow, ultimately shining brighter for the better, and you can too!
High school is like a rollercoaster. It has many emotional ups and downs, many twists and turns, and it can be unpredictable at times. But it’s important to remember that high school only takes up 4 years in your life. They can seem long and grueling, but what matters most is that you focus on yourself. Anyone talking about you behind your back reflects more about them than it does about you. You don’t have to take responsibility for other people’s immaturity. If they want to talk badly about you, that is their choice. In life, you won’t be able to please everyone or even get them to like you, but the ones that do like you will show it by being there for you and supporting you through your highs and your lows.
You’ve already made it through the first 2 years of high school and are doing a fantastic job! You may feel further behind than others but always remember: God has a plan for you and his timing is always immaculate. The last two years may seem like a long period, but before you know it, you’ll be going to college—free to make your own decisions and make new friends. Everything happens in your life for a set reason and moving turned out to be a blessing in disguise. You made new friends and discovered your passion for writing. And eventually, you’ll meet someone who’ll love you for you. They won’t make you doubt yourself, and they will prove repeatedly why they chose you, through their actions, and their words. You’ll learn to love yourself and you’ll find someone that loves you for you. All it takes is time and patience. Keep going and keep trying. I believe in you.
Sincerely
Your older Self

A feeling too familiar.

To Drift like a ghost in the wind.

Falling for false claims from those who often say.

They love me.

They support me.

They’ll be there for me. (Right)

But leave without a sound or notion of why. (Is it me?)

You blame yourself.

You try to come up with reasons on why people leave as fast as the seasons go by.

Spring, Summer, Fall & Winter.

As we enter the realm of our mind, I eagerly hear the questions.

Will I ever be enough?

Enough to be loved?

Enough to be cherished?

Enough to be heard?

Enough to be seen in a world of obscurity?

Enough to stay for?

Within me, I can see how heartbreaking the mind can be.

The gut punching facts that the mind speaks of tragedies or feelings of hurt.

They remain to remind you of memories that make you doubt yourself.

You think a good thing is a bad thing.

You think you are not good enough to feel joy or to even relish the thought of peace.

You no longer want to feel.

You want to be still.

The breakdowns severe, it feels as our hearts trying to escape your chest.

Questioning my worth, that I have worthy embedded in my skin.

Hear when I say.

Yes, you are ENOUGH.

You will loved & cherished.

The support you receive will be with no question.

The one you truly love the most will see you.

You are enough to stay for.

We are divine beings whom deserve peace, joy and love.

We Are Enough!

Ms. Sarah Ann,
I won’t write to you like a child, I know you’d laugh at it and put the letter down before the end of this sentence if I tried. Because you’re not a child, not really, not anymore. As much as you might argue with me about it, and I know you would, you still should be. You deserve to be a kid. Just because you don’t get to be doesn’t mean you deserve to grow up fast. I know you say you don’t care, but I do.
I ‘m going to be honest with you, writing this letter to you is hard. Sometimes I like to pretend everything that happened didn’t, that we’ve always been how we are today, that it didn’t take being completely unwound to be stitched into something beautiful. But that’s not fair to you, is it? You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be remembered. And so I see you. I see you in the hiding spot under your bed so all the bad things can’t touch you. I see you flinch as I hear the footsteps, see you hold your breath as he steps in the room, trying to look casual, trying not to tip anyone else off. But he can’t find you there, he’s too tall, and, later, I see your tears when no one else comes looking. I feel the knife twisting when you’re called a liar for trying to tell adults what’s happening. I hear you trying to reason with yourself, “He hasn’t been here long, maybe it’ll stop. Maybe he’ll go back and see me as a little sister. Maybe he’ll hate me. Maybe he’ll leave.” I see you carrying the mark of a medusa tattoo long before it is ever etched into your skin.
You are surviving, and you are doing it with the strength that will serve you well for the rest of your life. But that is the kind of sentence people try to comfort you with after all is said and done. The patronizing kind that insists everything has a purpose like somehow that makes everything okay. It doesn’t, and you are the only one who gets to decide if the strength formed in the fire is even a worthy consolation prize for the third degree burns. It doesn’t have to matter who this turns you into, what matters is that everything happening to you shouldn’t be. You should be allowed weakness. You should not have to get up every day at age eight as a warrior. You should be getting to make-believe being an adult with your friends, not pretending to be a child you no longer are to make the real adults happy.
And baby? It’s not your fault. And I know you repeat it to yourself nearly every night as you hide under that bed, you sing it softly in your head before you fall into nightmares, it’s a tiny whisper of hope you feel seep through your fingers like sand every time you’re screamed at, every time you’re held down, every time you’re scared to come home. It’s a plea when you say it, a beg for absolvement, a desperate attempt for someone, anyone, to recognize that this should not be happening to you. But Sarah, when I say it, it’s a fact, it is power. When I tell you right now that this is not your fault, that nothing you could’ve ever said or done would have stopped this, I’m telling you that one day that conviction will hold you gently when all you’re used to is being hurt.
And sweetheart? One day, that won’t be the only thing holding you gently. You’ll find kindness, you’ll find friends who hold your secrets like glass: softly, carefully, safely. You’ll find a boy who loves your sharp edges, who files them down with consistency, with care, with love. One day the edges being formed now won’t cut you so much. They won’t cut others either. And on days when the world feels too big and you’re eight years old again, hiding under your bed, you have people who will come and find you. Because you were always worthy of being found.

You Are More Than Enough

To the me that felt unseen, unworthy, unappreciated, unloved, not good enough, forgotten and even unhappy. I want to say to you, you do matter. You mattered then and you matter now. If I can go back in time and hold your hand. Hold that adolescent and free soul in my hand. I wish I could heal you. The version of you that desperately wanted to be understood and perceived as good enough. The me that so desperately wanted to turn myself inside out so people could see that I was who I said I was. As if I had to prove myself to these people who bread crumbed me and who are these people? People who made me feel small. The very people who counted me out. These people I so desperately wanted to be seen by.
I wish I could have been there to teach you, you are enough. Matter of fact you are more than enough. You constantly wanted to know “Why? Why this treatment? Why look at me with disgust? I’ve done nothing wrong. Why?” If I could give you an answer as to why these people will never acknowledge you, well it’s because they don’t want to see you morph and change into something new. They don’t even want to change, so why would they want that for you? I remember the times you were bullied in school, I remember the times you had to fight for yourself. I even remember the times in which you had to hold back tears of hurtful words being hurled at you from your father.
I remember all the depressive nights we spent writing and reading our woes away. I remember what we lived through. I remember who we were. But understand we have come a long way. We have looked the devil in the eyes and won the battle. All the restless nights of our parents arguing. All the sleepless nights and nightmares that followed. All the late nights of hard labor trying to afford your way through college and through life in general. I know how gut wrenching that was. But just know our faith has kept us strong. If I could give the younger me reassurance I would say that God has over floweth our cup and we don’t ever have to feel that way again.
It was a lot on the human mind to cope with but I’m glad you made it out. We didn’t have the hottest or newest fashion or the latest game console, but what we did have was a sense of self, a personality, humor, ambition, perseverance, good company and knowing who we were. All these characteristics and catastrophic events made us who we are today. The scars that we carry are a testament to how much strife we had to go through. The many people that saw something in us and wanted to snuff out our light before we even knew what we carried within us, all the days wondering whether things will change and get better, all the unspoken words you held in your throat in order to keep the peace, the resilience you showed.
Is proof enough of how strong you really were. If I could go back and speak to that child I would say, “you did a great job at staying true to yourself because all of those events were the catalyst of change.” Those restless nights, those wet rainy days with rain pitter pattering on the window. We have uplifted many people and showed others they are worthy. We turned that pain into a rhythmic flow of abundance. A symphony in our mind, a plethora of ideas. I jotted them all down and used them to fuel my creativity. The mind of a depressed child made for a life filled with character development. Yes, unfortunate events occurred but looking back on our growth we have crafted the life that we wanted.
Our scars are now a story for the unhealed and healed. If you ever wanted to know, you are enough. If I could go back in time I wouldn’t change a thing…ok maybe I wouldn’t have warmed up that leftover pork steak before catching the school bus at 6:30 am buuut look on the bright side. We lived through many days of hard labor and unfair punishment but everything happens for a reason. I didn’t think I was worthy of enjoyment. As an adult I have learned to love myself, my scars, my flaws. They make me a perfectly imperfect person and that’s the beauty of me. As a religious woman, I know I am wonderfully made. So to the younger version of me, oh I would say we are more than enough.

-Sincerely, a worthy child