Dear LG,

Some things were easy for you, while many other children have struggled. You learned how to read when you were two years old, and you do not remember a time when you did not know how to read. 

You do not remember struggling. On the first day of school, you were the only kid in your kindergarten class who could already read.

That is impressive and I am so proud of you! What is even more amazing is learning a skill you struggled with and have since overcome.

Jump roping.

Kids usually learn it when they are in kindergarten. You tried and failed at that time. The other kids and adults called you clumsy.

You felt discouraged. 

You stopped trying to jump rope that year. And the next year.

Then, one adult believed in you: your second-grade teacher.

She threw you in with the kindergartners as they learned how to jump rope and encouraged you as you tried to learn.

You towered over the other kids in your second-grade class, let alone the kindergartners. You felt awkward.

The kindergarteners and their teacher cheered you on as you jumped and tripped over the rope hundreds of times.

Eventually, it all clicked. You learned how to coordinate your jumping in perfect timing with the swinging of the rope.

You were so proud of yourself, you just kept jumping and laughing happily.

Not only did you learn jump roping, you became an expert in the third and fourth grades. You joined the jump rope club with the girls and you jumped double dutch with ease. You also loved swinging the two ropes while the girls jumped in.

You were in your happy place.

Sometimes you will forget what you have overcome in your life and then remember that seemingly simple story of learning to to jump rope.

It was something the other kids took for granted, and you struggled to overcome.

And you did it!

You don’t know this, but this little life lesson – failing hundreds or even thousands of times before succeeding – will take you far in your life.

You will write the first 50,000 words of novels and then scrap them because they were ideas that failed.

You will write other prose that meanders.

You will craft rhyming poetry that does not quite flow.

You will not stop trying to write something that suits your style.

You will find your big break, one way or another. When you do, it will be a spectacular victory.

I believe in you, LG. My younger self who will never, ever quit doing what they love. You will always live inside me.

Since I was three, I’ve seen life a different way. 
Fighting a battle, undefeated to this day
Cancer took half my sight but didn’t take my vision. 
And I wouldn’t change a thing if I had the decision. 
Living this way has taught me a lot. 
You don’t need to have it all to give it all you’ve got.
Never thought that I would get this far.
From the passenger’s side to taking over the car
Used to shake in my skin; now I’m calm in the face. 
Old fears couldn’t catch me if they picked up the pace.
Thinking of my breakthrough, I’m more than amazed. 
Through Christ, I can do all things, and He will be praised.
God gave me this life because He knew I was worthy.
And I thank Him for His everlasting grace and mercy.

Dear Younger Self,

You won.  Your jabs, tricks, and schemes worked and knocked her down..again and again.  She fought a good fight and hung on to her friends no matter how bad they were.  Was it because she had low self-esteem?  A bad self-image?  All created by you projecting a melting image of herself that shone onto every event in her life?  So you could feel better?  Nobody saved her.  Nobody came to her aid.  She lay there, water rippling over her body..porcelain reflections on the now flat lukewarm surface.  The you now would like this.  The me now HATES this.  The me now needs to live with those memories and shove them away, blaming them on youth, bad parenting, and low self-worth.  But I can’t help but wonder younger self, if we could have saved her, by being kinder.  

Hand on stomach and heart,
Older self

Dear younger me….

We made it. You made it. Remember those countless nights of huddling in the corner of your bed, tears streaming down your face telling yourself it’ll be okay? I know you didn’t really believe it, but turns out everything was okay. You always believed that depression and anxiety were going to be lifelong struggles. If you’re reading this right now wondering how we made it through, here it is.
Here’s your story…..our story:

Growing up in a religious home, you always strived to follow God. But bad things still happen, even to Christians. From years of abuse and trauma, you began to suffer from severe anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts. You ended up in foster care twice, in multiple foster homes with the fear of people growing intensely. Well past your breaking point, you were hospitalized several months later after a suicide attempt. You went through different periods of self harm, driven by depression and death. As life progressed, no matter what happened or what you achieved, nothing could take the pain away. You lived in such a state of grief that there seemed no way out. But there was always a constant in your life. God. You lost your way over and over again, but He kept seeking you out. Every time you tried giving up, God pulled you from the clutches of darkness. You wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for Him. As you stumbled along the way, He called you to move several states away to a church you had only visited a few times. With anxiety gripping at you, within a month you had moved over three hundred miles away. That simple step of obedience revolutionized your life. As you surrendered your life to Him, there was a breaking as you were completely submerged in the waves of His Grace. Immediately chains of darkness began breaking off of you. The depression, anxiety, fear, suicidal thoughts. Broken off of you and God restored you to Himself. You were baptized for the first time since coming a Christian and then baptized in the Holy Spirit and receiving the gift of tongues! Several months later you had ministry time that brought freedom and a repentance to demonic strongholds in your life. Today you are on a praise team, finished your schooling and currently headed for college! You’re studying special education, music, and multimedia communications. The only reason you’re alive today is because of God. Every life changing moment, every new freedom, every breath you take is because of His loving mercy. Oh how He loves you! So guess what, hun? You made it! This is your story. This is your testimony. You’d be so proud of yourself! But while you’re going through life, read this letter and know that it really will be okay.

You got this!
Signed, Older You

Younger Me,
I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, lost in the maze of questions and emotions that come with being adopted. The weight of not knowing your biological parents sits heavy on your heart, and the world seems to demand that you embrace your adopted parents with a love that feels forced and foreign.
But let me tell you something profound: the love and acceptance that you seek will find you in the most unexpected ways. We grew through this. We found our way through the labyrinth of confusion and pain, and emerged stronger, with a heart that understands the true essence of family.

The stigma of our origins and the emptiness of not knowing our birth parents were shadows that haunted our early years. We faced the judgment and the whispers, the sense of being different. But in the process, we discovered that our story was not one of lack, but of abundance. We learned to love our adopted parents, not because we were forced to, but because we saw their humanity, their efforts, and their genuine care for us.

It’s okay to feel conflicted, to question, to grapple with the mixed emotions. These feelings are valid, and they shape you into a compassionate, understanding person who knows that family goes beyond bloodlines. It’s built on trust, kindness, and shared experiences.

In time, you’ll see that the love you give and receive is real, not because it’s expected, but because it grows from the seeds of understanding and acceptance. Our adopted parents might not be perfect, but neither are we. And in that imperfection, we find room for forgiveness, for growth, for genuine connection.
So, hold on. Embrace your journey, with all its complexities. The love you feel might not come in the way you expected, but it will be real, and it will be yours.

Be kind and gentle to yourself and do all things with love,
Older Me

Socially awkward.

I was born from complacent duty
And an alcoholic dependency
Forced out the womb with forceps

Without parental or medical foresight
On how it would affect me. It motivated me
To see limitations as my enemy.

The kin to me would be unknown
Because I was born to this world
But not of it. A singularity.

Only defined by self.
Made in the image of self.
Self made.
Purposed by the most High.

Most of the time… high on hopes
Doped up on fantasy, to escape
An abusive reality… but the stench
Of misery’s scent was stuck to me
Once upon a time

Toxic ties that tethered
Me to despair
I didn’t care to stay there

So I gave myself to prayer
To let my Maker bare the burden
Once I did that I became aware
Of the joy that life offers

I know who I am
Very soon so will you too
With all my love

Dear Young Allison,
I wish that I could reach back in time, wrap my arms around you, and tell you that what you’re facing doesn’t define you. I know you’re carrying so much weight – both physically and emotionally – and a lot of it comes from the words of someone you love. Maw-Maw’s comments, sharp and painful, dig deep don’t they? It feels like every meal is watched, every outfit is scrutinized, and every part of you is seen through a lens of judgement. I want you to know something important: that shame is not yours to carry.

You are not the problem, your body is not a problem, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation or an apology for how you look. You’re more than a number on a scale or the size of your clothes. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but those criticisms are not about you; they’re a reflection of Maw-Maw’s own struggles, insecurities, and maybe even the world she grew up in. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, does it? You deserve to hear words of love and kindness, and I’m here to tell you those words now.

You are strong. Not just in the way your body carries you, but in how you carry yourself through the endless comments, the side glances, and the unsolicited advice. That strength will become your superpower. One day, you will realize that the things you’ve been told are flaws are actually what make you resilient, fierce, and beautiful.

There will be a moment-many moments, really-when you look at yourself and feel pride. Your body will transform, not because you finally fit someone else’s standard, but because you’ll build it into what makes you feel powerful. Every step you take, every choice you make for your own health and happiness, will feel like reclaiming parts of yourself that were never lost, only hidden under layers of doubt planted by others.

You’ll learn that beauty is not something anyone else can define for you. It’s in the way you move, the way you love, the way you laugh. And one day, you’ll see yourself as I do now: strong, capable, beautiful, inside and out. Maw-Maw’s voice will fade, replaced by your own, full of love and confidence.

Until then, be kind to yourself. You’re already so much more than anyone ever gave you credit for, and I’m so proud of the women you’ll become.

With all my love and strength,
Grown, beautiful, stronger and older Allison

Dear Little Kendy,
Has Mom come home yet? I can feel your anticipation waiting for a friendly face to enter through the front door. She works hard day and night for your well-being, yet that feeling of emptiness lingers. You crave to be in the presence of another human; you always appreciate the intimacy of a lively conversation. I remember it as if it were yesterday, but for you, it’s now. Waking up in an empty house was always a struggle. Breakfast for one. Playing with our toys was a satisfying pastime. In those isolated moments, Barbie, Pinkie Pie, and our hundreds of Littlest Pet Shop figurines comforted me. After traveling the world, creating new friends, and becoming a fashion icon with my “Gal Pals,” I’d turn to television for new excitement. It was always “Friends.” Chandler, Monica, Rachel, Phoebe, and Ross! The gang’s all here! While giggling at Monica’s head stuck in a turkey, I heard her keys jingle. Mom opened the door and sighed. “Friends again?” she spoke. Little did she know I rewatched the same show over and over again because I admired the character’s willingness to spend as much time with each other as humanly possible. Episode after episode, I felt included in their world. Mom and I had our usual little routine. I yap her ear off and she engages as best as she can. I loved our time together, but soon I’d have to close my eyes and be alone all over again. I did everything in my power to escape the endless loop of alone time. Hanging out with our neighbors, who I barely enjoyed spending time with, as a means of escaping my impending solitude. Throughout middle school, I intended to establish connections with as many people as I could, so I’d never have to be alone again. Just know, you do just that. You will meet some of the most kindhearted and compassionate individuals in your life, most of which I am still friends with today! We became close instantly, making it even easier for me to become attached. After getting my first “real” phone, we talked all the time. Late-night Roblox sessions, gossiping about the cutest boys in our grade, or weekly trips to Galleria Mall were times I looked forward to. I remember those school days filled with unforgettable moments, and how I’d rush home to dive straight into voice chat with friends. My routine drastically changed and my alone time ceased to exist. My high school experience was just the same. If someone was throwing a party, I was there. If a friend wanted to grab food, I was there. “Want to come to my dentist’s appointment?” “Absolutely!” I found myself leaving for school at 5 am, going to work until 9 pm, and then staying out until midnight. I graduated high school in May of last year. Everything I had known, changed. I started picking up shifts at work to make up for the lack of school interaction. From June 2023 to May 2024, I went out almost every day. With time, I realized I was pushing myself far beyond my limits. I grew tired and rarely took a second to check in with myself. At the beginning of this summer, I had very few plans, my friends got jobs or boyfriends, and I was alone once again. I cried endlessly. Why was I unable to be alone? Didn’t most people find peace in solitude? I began watching TikToks about self-improvement and emotional regulation. Everyone always said the same thing. “Journaling changed my life.” Initially, I thought those people were naive, but it turns out the only naivety present came from me. I bought an aesthetically pleasing journal, those fancy ballpoint pens, and set an intention for myself. Page 1 of my journal reads, “Contentment.” Journaling quickly became my healthy attachment. I opened up about my thoughts and experiences, reflected, and came to the conclusion I was relying on others for abundance. I am rereading my 2024 affirmations while writing you this letter. On a charcoal-colored page, adorned with constellations and a bouquet, it reads, “I create my own happiness” in my semi-cursive handwriting. Over the summer, I worked hard towards self-improvement and engaged in solo activities including crosswords, building Legos, and practicing Pilates. Now, I am whole and look forward to coming home and experiencing new moments with myself. Overcoming my fear of being alone was a transformative journey where I realized solitude doesn’t equal loneliness, but rather becomes a sanctuary for growth and discovering contentment.
Xoxo,
Twenty-Something Kendy

It was my seventh birthday. The air was stale even at 10 a.m., as it was on most late August days. An echoing hard knock on the forest green-colored door that guarded our house on Grace Ave alarmed me. Even though I was only seven (hours into the age), the knock raised an alert in my stomach that made it drop many stories. Two officers, one holding papers, spoke to my mother as I stood in the doorway, shielding behind her legs. Both officers entered our house, took our furniture, and started throwing it outside. My mother told me to pack my bag with my essentials, which were at the time my favorite blanket, and my Batman action figures. I remember the bass
in my mother’s voice as she begged the men not to take away our home. I remember the bright
eyes of each of our neighbors as they watched from their kitchen windows. I remember the
sound of broken glass as each of the dishes and mugs that once filled our kitchen and served us
dinner every night hit the concrete ground right at the curb of our street. But what I remember most is watching the brand new set of bunkbeds that were an early birthday present being hauled away. I begged for bunkbeds for years to accommodate my friends for sleepovers, but as quickly as my wish was granted after blowing out the candle of last year’s cake, my brand new bed was being tossed into the trash. The sequence of events was blurry after that, as my mother and I
bounced around for years and couch-surfed in many friends’ living rooms. In each new apartment we had, I was hesitant about unpacking my items and often kept them in boxes to not get too comfortable. Even as the years went by and I had my apartments with roommates or current significant others, I refrained from mixing my kitchenware or knick-knacks with theirs because the idea of being vulnerable in my own home was foreign. In one relationship, we combined our books on a bookshelf (in alphabetical order of author’s last name), which fit perfectly into the
space. After a nasty breakup, I came home from work, and the bookshelf was half empty, and my books were the only thing left that was standing in that relationship. My heart went back to my old house on Grace Ave as my body was standing in its same form just a decade later. But this time, instead of feeling empty and without shelter, I reminded myself that it was healthy to let myself be vulnerable and trust another space and another person, as it took me many years to do so. I also realized that I even trust myself. Yes, the books were gone along with some furniture out of our shared apartment, but I still had shelter. I will be okay.

However, to this day, I still crave having bunkbeds even as an adult.