I see you in that trailer of darkness and fear.
The dirt floors and empty cabinets tug at your heart and break your spirit.
I see the hands that cause you harm, and I see you holding onto anything you can—your doll, Betsy, sitting in the corner, barely held together with thread, but she is yours. She stays, even when others do not. You hold her close because sometimes, she feels like the only safe place you have.

I know that life seems so unkind, so unfair right now. And it is.
But I also know you’re resilient.
You have taken the impossible and learned how to fly.

One day, you will rise above all of this—
above the abuse,
above the isolation,
above the abandonment.

You will grow into someone who knows how to hold her own heart gently,
who speaks softly to her scars,
who stands steady in her truth.

There will be days when the ache feels unbearable.
There will be nights when the silence presses in too close.
And on one of those nights—lost, grieving, unsure where to place the pain—you will pick up a pen.

It will seem small at first, scribbles on notebook paper, words poured out because you don’t know what else to do with the ache.
But those words will become your shelter.
They will hold what feels too heavy to carry alone.
They will give shape to the sorrow and the questions you are too afraid to say out loud.

Writing will save you.
Not by fixing the past,
but by giving you a place to lay it down.
By giving voice to the girl no one listened to.
By making room for the grief, and the grace, and the quiet survival between them.

You will come to know God again—
not just the God others told you about,
but the God who was with you behind the dirty couch,
who curled in close and made you feel less alone.
Your faith will become something tender and true, not because you were unhurt, but because you were held.

And slowly—word by word, line by line—you will find yourself again.
You will write your way back to the girl they tried to break.
You will write your way forward into the woman they could not destroy.

I am so proud of you.
Not because you were fearless—
but because you kept going,
even when you were afraid.
Even when no one clapped.
Even when your hands were shaking.

You are here.
Still becoming.
Still rising.
Still worthy.

You will not stay broken.

ProWritingAid Style Score: 100%

Dear…You,

I hope this gets to you before, nevermind. We made it past thirty, remarkable I know. Everything is very different, but somehow still the same. Despite the threat of world war three, we somehow still get cool guyed at shows by members of bands that’ll break up in three months. Kinda funny when you think about it. Mom died, it sort of…changed everything. Dad remarried, she’s really nice and takes good care of him. It’s tough, but it’s what he deserves after those twenty-eight long years. I don’t have any words of wisdom for you. I can tell you to invest in whatever, but it’s all going to shit anyway, and it started before we were born, so just strap in. I know you’ll be okay; I am here, you are there. We know we will make it out alive.

Best wishes.

Me

Style score : 100%

To the version of myself who walked through hellfire,

I am sorry that you feel the pain that you do. I’m sorry for the years you spent stuck on the outside looking in, never quite belonging, and for all the times people misunderstood or misjudged you. But most of all, I’m sorry you had to forget who you were while you made a home within sorrow.

I stand with you through it all, and I see you. I see the way you get back up, time and time again—how your hope never fled with each fracture upon your heart. I heard your silent screams and desperate pleas.

When the time is right, I’ll grab hold of your hand and bring you back into the light. I’ll stoke the flame within you that refused to be snuffed out. I’ll pull you from the ashes and let you truly meet yourself for the first time.

You’ll understand, in one moment—all at once—why everything happened how it did. You were so broken, but never lost faith in love or yourself, even when it felt like it.

You never shied away from exposing your heart and letting others in; No matter how black their hearts turned out to be. None of it deterred you. No, it only strengthened you.

You understood the cycle and saw the patterns. You discovered the truth of your strength where many would’ve let their hearts wither away. You knew this so deeply that you never had to announce it. It just was.

It became the piece of you that sat within your mind—solid and unwavering. The pretty thing you’d look at when nothing else made sense.

And somewhere along the way, magic happened.

It’s within the glint of your own strength that you found the tools you needed and the answers you’d been searching for. Courage flooded your veins like a tide, there to stay as you chose yourself for the first time.

You did all of this while you dined with the devil. You lived in fear for a long time. Until enough was enough, and terror lost its home in your energy.

You discovered his weakness was your strength, and you bided your time—waiting in the discomfort, so sure of your worth. Because of your patience, I whispered in your ear.

And you heard me.

I asked you to rise—Told you that you’d sat in the ashes long enough, and the time to burn was no longer yours.

All it took was one word to convince you that the time to fight back was now. One word, and you clawed your way out of the devil’s den and onto solid ground. Where light returned to you, the wind caressed your face, and the birds sang to you once more.

Ascend.

Style score : 100%

dear little one,
young curious you. young free you.
never knowing what life would bring you through
how amazing to witness your path.
often times i look at your journey and laugh.
born in poverty but you never realized the lack.
father an addict, baltimore city became his trap.
you relied on village, and carried that on your back
passionate mother who just wanted you to survive
she gravitated to spirituality as she seen a way for you to thrive
even the separation from friends was rough.
but you packed your bags followed her lead, cause that was your form of trust.
now a preachers’ kid country living not too tough.
you missed your father’s presence, but that was your past so live and hush.
there were times your simple innocence and being was violated.
feels that you just adjusted and became situated.
cause who takes advantage of you at 3.
you struggled who really fought for you, who really fought for me.
you found your way, sports, basketball became your glory.
never knew that passion lied in your father’s untold story.
you were intrigued by words and how the story unfolds.
and here is were the rebirth explodes.
you dribbled that ball up and down those country roads.
A C-Student but your intelligence was one of a mystery on the verge to unfold.
from plays,spelling bees, and advocating for a plethora of disabilities.
you stood fast on your dreams and carried that mind and ball on your hip.
entered college, bowie state, on a full basketball scholarship.
of course bumps, and u-turns made their mark.
but somehow, “little one” your journey always had a start.
i remember thinking you weren’t going to make it.
riotous living, trying to cope.
dabbled in it all, partying, drinking, and dope.
but little one, that knowledge you never escaped and that’s why i know “little denay” was worth the wait.
writing you now to just to say how proud of where you landed.
i know at times you couldn’t understand it.. but i watched you grow and honestly knew the universe had their hand it. glad to meet you little one. tell the naysayers our story has just begun.

-dna
“denay fields”

Dear my still-naive 22-year-old,
The man who gives you butterflies, who makes the rain feel like mango blossoms blooming on dry branches, who makes you giddy over texts and shy glances—one day, being near him will feel like standing barefoot on shards of glass. And when that day comes, you’ll learn: it’s okay.
The phone call you wait for all day, where you giggle while telling him you cracked eggs to make khagina—those calls will vanish. You’ll see him in person all day, yet want to leave the room because the air will grow heavy, tight, silent. Like sitting through a song that once lifted you but now plays off-key. You’ll learn: it’s okay.
The man you defied your world for—your work, your rules, your parents—because he lit you up from the inside, made you feel like an entire festival of lights… one day, you’ll sit across from him and wonder when he became a stranger in familiar skin. You’ll look for the spark you fell in love with and find a dull flicker. You’ll beg yourself to stop searching, and learn to accept the dimming. And yes—you’ll learn, again: it’s okay.
He who once called you the most beautiful person he’d ever known will now question your ways, your beliefs, your very sense of self. You’ll ache to bring back the version of him that made you feel enough. You’ll try to mold yourself like soft clay, reshaping pieces to please him—only to realize you’re slowly erasing your fingerprints. And when the realization settles in like cold rain, it will whisper what you’d been trying not to hear: nothing lasts forever. And still, you’ll learn: it’s okay.
Remember how your father told you, never lose your identity? At the time, it felt like good advice. But love made you reckless. You sprinted toward it, arms open, thinking you’d finally found your home. You believed love was enough to build a life on. But now, in your quiet moments, you’ll understand: even the strongest houses crumble without a foundation rooted in self.
You weren’t born to orbit someone else’s life. You came here to be your own sun.
And when that thought becomes your truth—not just something you repeat to feel better—you’ll begin to stand taller. You’ll gather the scattered pieces, brush off the dust, and claim your space. Not as someone’s half, but as your whole self. And that day, you’ll not only learn—it will feel divine.
In the middle of it all, you’ll rediscover the flavors of your truth. Dal and rice, once a routine meal, will feel like warm hugs again. The alu tikki that once thrilled you because he liked it will begin to feel like someone else’s nostalgia. But that egg roll, the one made exactly how it was back home—that will taste like your roots, your story, your kitchen. You’ll remember: you were never lost. You just went quiet for a while.
So world, here’s what I want you to know:
Through every twist and heartache, I’ve held onto the bolts that make me me. I’ve watered the wilted parts, stitched up the torn pieces, and found the soft voice inside me again. The innocent believer I once was? She’s still here. Not untouched, but unbroken. Changed, yes. But never gone.
And now, I know—with all my heart—it’s not just okay.
It’s powerful.

Infinite Lifetimes Within One
I. On Living and Loss
I have been struggling to try to figure out how to heal, and I just realized I may have
known all along. Like I’ve always done it. I’ve done it again and again and again in my
life.
If I’ve had enough experiences in my life to last someone’s lifetime, then the gift is
receiving multiple lifetimes. To try again and live differently. I suppose that in itself is a
blessing. To have seen and felt means to have lived. And I have lived—not for long, but
in depth.
Self-actualization comes through time and experience, and I’m only 31. But I’ve
survived worse, much worse. And I can do it again.
II. On Humanity and Complexity
We all exist here on Earth to teach each other lessons—either through love or pain.
Humanity can only be so perfect. We can only hope to do so much, but only so much is
within our human grasp.
Our capacity to love is great, but so are the flaws that come with being human. The
lenses we look through, the experiences that shape us—these make us who we are,
and also make the mistakes we make. To accept humanity in its purest form is to accept
imperfection.
III. On Thought, Self, and the Static of Society
I sometimes feel quite alone in these thoughts. My friends and family aren’t always at
this level of comprehension. Most of what I reflect on is philosophical: societal
development, the human being, the coexistence of good and evil, of light and dark.
We live in a time where media overload overstimulates people into distraction. It
becomes hard to see through the static. People get lost. I still get lost. But I'm still
human—still flawed. Understanding, though, is better than not knowing at all.
To be the person you want to be means removing the noise and looking inward instead
of outward. Who are you when you are alone? When emotions rise and fall? When
nothing exists but your own particles and soul, what does it mean to exist then? Who
am I, if I am not defined by outside perspectives?
The greatest question remains the shortest: Why?

IV. On Immortality and the Nature of Change
People crave immortality, seek it, have always sought it. But what is the point of living
forever? As we live, the choices we make—our downfalls, our growth—these are
already signs of rebirth, over and over.
Why seek eternity when we are already gifted with infinite lives within one?
Is it better to sit forever in the face of fear, or to embrace the unknown and understand
life and darkness for what they are? Nature is not about to change for us—it is constant.
But we are the variable. We can grow, change, pursue. We can also slip, fall, and crave.
With every darkness comes light, and with light comes darkness. We live in a cycle of
change, because as nature is constant, and change is nature, change is constant.
V. On the Soul, Reality, and the Final Question
If reality was fractured, how many of us would still be whole? How many of us would still
be able to identify the self? Could you?
You can debate that consciousness is the identity to the self—but is it not dependent on
the bricks we’ve laid to build that consciousness within ourselves as we age?
Reality may be the veil that holds the fabric of existence together, but on a different
level—immeasurable to human science—is the soul still intact if reality no longer is? If it
is, who are we at base? If not, should the soul’s energy be a measurable quantity in this
world?
If I’m still asking, who are we at base?—perhaps it is the journey and the destination to
both have the question and have it unanswered. Perhaps the debate is to debate. To
question life is to live it. To question who we are and what life is without other static is to
clearly see the question, even if we never hold the answer.
But going back to the point of humans as a flawed creature—intelligent, however
flawed—the mind wanders forward, but it also wanders backward. It may never truly be
that this question can be answered, until we stop having experiences.
And perhaps then, the answer to life is, in fact:
Death.
VI. Closing Reflection
I am not searching for answers. I am living the questions. And that is enough for now.

Dear Rose,
I know it’s dark. I know it’s scary. You are unsure of what the future holds.You’re only five, your earliest memories shouldn’t be like this. I have so much to tell you and you might not understand it all right now. You might even think I’m crazy. Please, just try to listen.

That horrible man will go away, eventually. Please hang on to your spirit. Mommy will get better. Please keep her laughing. Your brothers will soon be your friends. Please hold on to the fun times. You will get through this stuff.

Now I need to warn you……
You will fall in love, but your heart will get broken (a lot). You will get through school, but it will be very hard. Making friends will be easy, but you’ll lose most of them. The word dad will mean something, but not the way you think. You will go to therapy for help, but it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

But within those things…..
You will be with the man of your dreams. He will find you at the right moment. Your high school graduation is coming. You worked hard and earned it. You will have friends. The few who are true are the only ones you keep. Your dad is not blood, he is the carrier and protector of your heart. Therapy is hard and there’s no other way to put it. Ironically, that’s what makes it work.

So the answers to those questions in your little head right now are…….
His name is Domanic. Buckeye Community Highschool is where. Their names are Bri, Taylor, Caity, and Xah. You will have more than one counselor. You’re a mommy to a little boy. You have your very own home. You’re doing good. You have struggles.

All at the same time…
You are loved. You are strong. You are worthy. You are kind. You are the best version of yourself at the moment. I can’t wait to see all the rest of the versions we become.
Gently,
You at twenty-four <3
Style score- 100%

Dear Unsealed,
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
This is beginning of what I would tell my younger self.
I see you, Vicki.
You were shy at a young age, yet bold enough to run out in the front yard shirtless at three years old. Your mom was incredibly angry. You told her you didn’t have any titties yet. This seems that my personality carried me through life. At one moment, I am an empath introvert. Then the next moment you are writing protest songs and standing up for humanity with a pen and computer.
I see you, Vicki.
You were always drawing, writing, and playing music from a very immature age. You are still an empath. How has that worked out? You attracted narcissistic little boys. You went to college beginning in the 70s. You studied everything I could study. You began writing professionally again in 2023. I now see red flags in relationships. I have learned to love myself. You learned to set boundaries.
I see you, Vicki.
You were always a dreamer, hanging out with your imaginary friend, Teddy Bear, singing, and at times, you very depressed. Now, you know how to deal with your feelings by using critical thinking skills and the core values therapy your therapist sent you. I will tell my younger self, “Don’t be so boy crazy! Think expansively, go for the gusto in journalism and education, don’t let the narcissistic nuts get you down, and stay creative.”
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
I say to my younger self those core values my grandma taught me were my guide throughout my life. However, I didn’t always follow the advice given to me by my grandma Carrie Soleta.
I see you, Vicki.
You had so much faith as in the story about the grain of a mustard seed and that phrase your grandma taught you held you together throughout your life. The story about the “faith of a mustard seed” is found in the Bible, in Matthew 17:20. In this verse, Jesus tells His disciples that even faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains, emphasizing the incredible potential of even the tiniest amount of genuine faith. The mustard seed, known for being one of the smallest seeds, symbolizes how something so insignificant can grow into something powerful and transformative.
You were naïve, funny, and bold. You loved writing, art, music, and reading at an incredibly youthful age. You would sit for hours playing your piano and singing those blues from long ago. Leadbelly and Bessie smith were among your favorites. You grew up in a home full of music. You were taught to like all forms of music at a different age.
I see you, Vicki, in your music class in middle school at 14 years old. President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963, while riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas. It was a pivotal moment in U.S. history, leaving a lasting impact on the nation. That must have been such an emotional and unforgettable moment, Vicki. To go from the joy and rhythm of singing to the gravity of that announcement was a stark contrast that deepened the impact. Your immediate reaction was to burst out in tears spoke volumes about how much JFK meant to you and your family. His charisma and vision touched many, and it sounds like his loss felt deeply personal to you.
It’s extraordinary how those memories stay with you, etched in time. Vicki, I see you!
Another pivotal moment was your broken right ring finger. Your mom dropped you off at middle school one morning. She warned you not to go visit your boyfriend because if you did, she would find out. You stepped out of the car. As your mom drove off you waved, pretending to walk into the school. When she had turned the corner and was out of sight you turned around, walked down the steps of the school and hurried over to your boyfriend’s house. You hugged him and you guys laughed so hard about you sneaking off to his house. You looked at your watch. Oh no, you will be late for class. So, you ran to school, not aware of your surroundings, causing you to run into an open pickup door. You caught yourself with your right hand, only to discover you broke your right ring finger when you crashed into the door. You walked the half block to school crying your eyes out. When you got to the school to see the school nurse she called your mom. Your mom picked you up shortly after the call. You stepped into her car, “Mom, so sorry. Please don’t be mad. I hurt so much.” She replied, “I told you I would find out if you went to your boyfriends house.” You replied, “Mom, you didn’t have to wish it to hurt so much!”
You broke the same right ring finger at least four more times. You were 14 and clumsy.
I see you, Vicki.
That one day you disobeyed your mom was a year of one broken finger. You had major surgery on your squashed and very broken finger. The surgeons told you they wanted to use you as a guinea pig for a new operation. You had almost completely repaired your finger. They told you they had to cut a nerve to your brain from your right ring finger. They had no idea about the end results. So, for one year I learned to write with my left hand as my right ring finger was repaired and a cast applied so I wouldn’t break it again and protect it while it healed. You called it your right-hand boot.
You now know the result of your nerve severance of your right ring finger is more than likely the reason you hold your computer mouse upside down. There were no computers in 1964.
You drove your teachers nuts in graphic arts classes, but you managed to get them off your back by telling them to back off. You asked them if they had an issue with your work, so, they let you be.
You were way too boy crazy. You hired your neighbor to iron clothes on the day it was your turn to do your chores. Sue, your neighbor loved to iron and told you she needed money to buy a toy, you hired her for the next week. You got away with that for two months. I would sit on your parents’ bed reading musician magazines and playing music. I was supervising Sue. I shared my stipend with her. We were caught. I was grounded.
I tell you that it was very entrepreneurial. Of course, women were not considered in those terms in 1964. Women were 2nd class citizens in 1964.
One incredibly sad moment was in 1966. You were in high school. You dressed in bell bottoms and crop tops. You straightened your curly hair to look like Cher. You wore Indian moccasins to a party one night. Everyone welcomed you. You were given a beer, but you didn’t drink but you sipped it. The three football boys sitting on the sofa looked at the other two football boys in the room, and then they grabbed you yelling at you calling you an Indian squaw whore. They grabbed you, dragging you into the bedroom. They raped you one by one as they forced you to not move holding you down. You weighed 100 pounds at 16. The following Monday, you were stared at, called names. You were bullied throughout high school with Indian squaw whore. In the late 1960s women were 2nd class citizens. It was always the girl’s fault if they were raped. Men were told it was okay. That followed you throughout your life. You could not tell anyone. Now, I tell you at 16, men can be useless and mean, and their tools are nothing but their pee tools.
Your dad sent you to study nursing school in 1968. You graduated from an LVN program in 1969.
Another pivotal moment was beginning college in the 1970s. You could not wait to study everything. Pandoras box was opened, and you were Tinkerbell exploring all the merchandise. You studied Business and union management. Then you studied Journalism.
You flunked marketing because your thesis in business was about name brand clothing labels and how they were the best to buy. Your thesis was about shopping at thrift stores and buying name brand clothes that were name brand clothes but were half the price of Neiman Marcus. It was an exceedingly long thesis with descriptive adjectives, verbs, and nouns that sent your marketing professor into a rage. He gave me a grade of F minus. You switched to a journalism major. There was no Fox faux news back then.
You studied computers and makeup artistry in the 1980s. the 1980s were a trying time for you, you worked at the LA Times and for some reason you turned down the date with the rich guy and went on a date with a guy you had nothing in common with except sex. You were gullible and had way too many hormones. One night at the beach in the dude’s van and you thought you were in love. Despite the differences of cultures as you were from North Hollywood, and he was from South Central Los Angeles. You had two gorgeous babies that weighed ten pounds each. One was born in 1983. The other was born in 1987. You divorced the narcissistic South Central LA dude in 1989. It was a horrible divorce. He never forgave you and still holds grudges against you as he is a narcissist, liar, cheat, and now MAGA. So, how did we get together? He was a gun-loving fool, you were a flower child and political activist, and humanitarian. This has affected you even in old age, as he has tried to turn your grandchildren and sons against you as you stand today. The main lesson you learned from this unique relationship was that you did not go to work at the LA Times to get married or have babies. You love your two now grown men very much, but unfortunately the gun loving MAGA dad has more influence than your empath, creative personality. As he called you, weak and too caring. My oldest son told me I never did anything in my life because I don’t have money. He will ignore me until I make money with my art, writing, and music. His dad and his brother will find something else wrong with me when I make more money. So, you turned it over to God, because it’s too painful to execute your crying all day every day. Breath in, breathe out as the thorns on the stem of the rose hurt and bleed to the point, I had to search for the band aid to patch it up.
You married again, but this time a Yaqui and Chumash Native American dude. You divorced him because of domestic violence in April 2000. You now remember he went off his rocker and became extremely mentally ill as it was hereditary in his family.
You then became involved with an Italian dude named Barberini. He was much older than you. You followed him to Texas leaving your computer job which you would have retired with a good salary and benefits. You guys broke up. Then the Texas cowboy, a University of Texas political degreed narcissist whose boots were even orange. Then you guys broke up in 2016. The morning, he told you he saw demons upon waking up, and you saw angels, was the final day you ever saw him. Your friend picked you up and you spent the week with her before you left to go back to California.
You moved back to LA and kissed the ground when you stepped off Amtrak at Union Station.
Flying monkeys were everywhere as your ex-orange boots nutty mentally ill dude called all your friends.
You shed oceans of tears.
“The term “flying monkeys” in the context of a narcissistic breakup refers to individuals who, knowingly or unknowingly, aid the narcissist in their manipulative tactics. The phrase originates from The Wizard of Oz, where the Wicked Witch’s flying monkeys conducted her bidding. Similarly, in relationships, these “flying monkeys” might spread rumors, gaslight, or otherwise support the narcissist’s narrative.
Narcissists often recruit flying monkeys by playing the victim, using charm, or exploiting relationships. These individuals may genuinely believe they are helping or may be manipulated into taking the narcissist’s side. Their actions can amplify the emotional distress of the person targeted by the narcissist.
Understanding this dynamic can be crucial for healing and setting boundaries after a breakup.” ‘As per http://www.veywellmind.com’
This has happened to you with your family, your lovers, your marriages, and some of your fake friends.
You now have had a therapist since 2019.
I am now at 75, creating art, music, and writing again.
I will tell you about my younger self who did not know who you were as a human being for almost your whole life. You loved your teddy bear as your imaginary friend as a child. You have had dreams since birth that have come true. Your grandma Carrie visited you for ten years after she died. You covered up your feelings and scars by dancing on tables and sometimes drinking too much. You no longer drink nor dance on tables. You are learning you are a creative introvert with spurts of extrovert activities and then being a recluse as you are now okay with who you are. You are learning your boy craziness was absurd. Boys are just human beings and have severely damaged egos about whose tool is bigger than the next guy, it’s almost a comedy of errors except now our president is a narcissistic fool and the short tooled damaged ego dudes oversee America.
I have complex PTSD from too many narcissistic relationships and had a meltdown after the election. I spoke with the therapist two times a week for three weeks.
Women are 2nd class citizens again. Bigotry is rampant. My DNA is mixed with three African tribes, Irish, Kerry County, Ireland, London, Indios Mexico, Native American Choctaw, Mediterranean Italian and Spanish, Coptic Egyptian, Red Sea, Asian, and last, but not least, a human being.
You have learned you are a humanitarian, dreamer psychic, empath creative introvert, and to love yourself despite ugly men that have tried to make you into another person by belittling you and sending flying monkeys to your friends.
The final pivot in your life was getting old, excepting your white hair, and not chasing after men. Keep creating with all your music, writing, and art. You have health issues that include kidney disease, parathyroid disease, diverticulitis, and three old spinal fractures. Your diet is lactose free and gluten free except you can eat pan dulce and mozzarella cheese. Mozzarella cheese is from Italy and pan dulce from Spain/Mexico.
I would like to tell you other stories, but you have lived a long time. That’s for a future story.
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
Style Score85%
Style Guide Compliance92%
I EDITED THIS FOUR TIMES. I EDITED IT TWICE IN MICROSOFT WORD AND TWICE IN PRO WRITING AID. WHY DID I DO THIS BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT I DO. I THEN HAVE TO SAY TO MYSELF, “WHOA, VICKI, YOU GOT IT, CHILL!”

Old me would have a lot of judgement and criticism for current me to handle. Current me would have to sit her down and help her understand how things unfolded. She’d probably fall off her chair. I imagined old me sending a letter to current me and then turning up at the door.

Letter from a Former Self
Good morning, it’s been a minute.
I hope you are aware,
Those ideas you had were fine like china teacups-

What was that? Sit a minute? Sure. Maybe we can have a little tea;

Do you remember the time Mrs. Wright gifted us an entire set, with the blue flowers around the rim?

Do you still like teacups like that?

What color did we finally paint our kitchen?

Do you still like handmade toys and long walks with ice cream cones at the end?

Did we stay the course or bail on the grumpy hubby? Of course we stayed. How many prayers did it take? I can see something finally worked, you look content. So he must have stopped with the shoving and choking and all that.

What devotionals do we like lately?

How many languages do we speak these days?

Did the kids go to college?

Style score 100%

Between us
A few moments of silence would hang in the air.
The phrase

What happened to you?
Seeps into the corners of my mind.

I prefer to be alone.
Or at least I don’t mind being alone.
I don’t waste my time trying to please everyone.
Sure, I am still caught up in my feelings–
But I feel truer to who I am.
I have grown more cynical, less surprised by the cruelty of fate.
& I now prefer Guinness to a Bay Breeze.

Not everything has changed though, has it?
No, not quite.
I still get motion sickness on a hammock.
& love to watch sad movies.
Chase sunsets down country roads.
Turn to the lyrics of Billy Joel to fix my problems.
Drop anything to help anyone just because I can.
In this life, if we can’t help each other, then what do we really have?
I still long for the same person as I always have.
We would laugh–
How are you still not over them?
There are some people who are worth
Every spare thought
Forever.
Oh, how the hopeful romantic in me will always remain.
As will the sentiment:
That things will always get better.

—

ProWritingAid Style Score – 100%

Hello…. It’s been quite a while since you’ve heard from me… I know. I’ve just been kind of lying low. Sitting in the shadows, I guess you could say. Watching you grow into a new and better version of yourself each day. Yes, I’ve seen it all in your everyday life. All the good times, along with the struggles and strife. I didn’t want to interfere during your hard times and possibly make things, for you, worse, so I just sat back and watched you fight your battles, and yes, it truly did hurt.

So many times I wanted to visit you, but I couldn’t bring it upon myself to show. It took me a while trying to understand how and why you just up and let me go.

I questioned my entire existence and purpose in this world. I eventually realized that I am nothing more than just a foolish girl. It took me some time, but I eventually accepted and made peace with what was, is, and what will be. I understand now that our time together was meant to be brief. As I see you now with the new version of yourself… I want you to know that I’m proud of you and you too should be proud of yourself for so many things, but most importantly, for being you and no one else. You could have never gotten as far in life as you have to this day if you and I had never parted ways. I see that I was meant for you to grow and learn. I fulfilled my job duties… carrying them out, to the best of my abilities, full term. Swallowing the pill of letting you go is bittersweet, to say the least. It brings excruciating pain to know that we will never again meet. I will cross your mind from time to time… bringing different emotions for you to sort, process, and file. One thing is certain…. your thoughts, of me, will always leave you with a smile.

I know there will be times that you miss me just as much as I miss you, but don’t be sad, angry, or feel anything negative towards something you outgrew.

I happily watch you grow from the shadows of where I was left behind. It brings me such joy to see you grow… It gives me an immense sense of pride.

I just wanted to write and tell you these things… as this will be the last time that you hear from me. To be honest, though…. I will never be very far. I will always be a part of you. I will forever be the past you that you keep tucked away inside your heart.

(Style score 60%)

Next time I stop to smell the flowers,
I will be sure to also tell them that I, too, bloom this time of year.
Though, it wasn’t always like this, you see.
I had to first learn that watering others before I water myself only causes me to wither.
And for years, I did not bloom because I only focused on “fixing” myself.
But would you dare look at a rose and tell it it’s not good enough?
That it needs to hurry?
Bloom faster?
Be better?
A flower has the luxury of being itself and blooming when it’s ready,
And one day, it dawned on me that I deserve that luxury, too.
I didn’t yet know that if a flower doesn’t bloom, you change its environment — not it.
And so, after many years and multiple moves, changed homes, changed climates,
changed jobs, changed relationships, changed air, water, and energy…I am in bloom.
And this is all to say that I am blooming because I finally feel safe enough to grow roots
and be myself,
And I know now that it was not my own doing but God’s pruning that made the
difference.
I am rooted, grounded, and growing each day,
And I know better now than to let just anyone pick me or enjoy my beauty.

(Style Score 100%)

Dear Twenty Year Old,
You worry too much. Your worry comes from needing to control. The need to control comes from fear of not being enough. But you don’t know to break all that down yet. All you know is the uneasiness. That unsettled state. That uncomfortable churning of the insides called worry.

And because you invest so much of yourself in it, your worry will materialize.
Take for instance the worry that is consuming you right now. The worry about getting laid off from the job that you obsessed over and handpicked, after evaluating, analyzing, comparing, consulting.

That coveted, perfectly crafted job. You *are* going to lose that job. You are most definitely going to get laid off. Ironically, the actual moments leading up to and the moment you are walked out will pale compared to how it all seemed in your worriful imagination. The weeks that follow the lay off will be full of surprises, full of open doors and unexpected openings.

But with that experience, that grip fear has had on you loosens. That bind control puts you in, and your need to control softens. Worry comes undone.

Right now, if I could reach out and see you, I’d hold your face in my palms. I’d look into your eyes and say, enjoy this. Savor this experience of getting laid off. Enjoy the pay package you’ll receive. Take that and travel. It is like a month of paid vacation.

Toss worry into the wind and live with the freedom of knowing: all is always working out for you.

Love always,
-You, the fearless version.

Romance has finally blossomed.

I have spent my life admiring from afar and yearning. Watching people fall in and out of love, wondering when it would be my time to meet my person.

She was there the whole time. I just had to say something.

For a while, I felt hopeless, like I was trapped in a state of singularity. With failed attempts at relationships, the constant questioning of sexuality, and fear of heartbreak, experiencing love seemed like an impossible reality. A reality I had fantasized, something so glamorous it was unattainable.

Yet, she happened, and it made a lifetime of a wait worth it.

After months spent longing, dreaming, and wishing that she would reciprocate my feelings, when it happened, it felt impossible to digest. Overwhelming feelings of affection and disbelief seemed to wash over me. I could not comprehend how such a beautiful being would see me through the lens of attraction.

With shy glances at each other, gentle touches, and exchanged laughs, I have never known feelings like this before. When I think my heart has swelled to capacity, she makes it grow impossibly bigger.

We talk until the clock passes midnight, savoring each moment that we have with each other. I am grateful for the universe for allowing our paths to cross. The chances of us meeting were slim, and the chances of us reigniting were slimmer.

The little things swoon me. Reaching out to hold my hand. Gently kissing on my shoulders. Her small hands running through my hair. Every moment I’m with her feels like bliss. What I am saying is strong, but it is true. I feel so strongly about her.

Words cannot describe what it’s like being around her. All the time in the world would still not be enough for me to be with her. I have never craved someone’s presence so strongly. I want to crawl into her skin.

I used to fear accepting love, because I was so afraid of loss. But, her love I cannot decline. I give in to her and give into my infatuations. Because I cannot stop myself from falling for her.

It baffles me how often people fall in love. How can so many people experience feelings this strong? This feeling is so unique, so unlike anything that has happened to me before. Feelings so hypnotic, consuming, and wonderful. I want to ride the adrenaline forever.

The seed of romance has been buried, and finally watered. From the dirt grows a rose. A product of my affection for her.

Style Score: 77

Loss’s burden sometimes makes winter feel endless, spring’s warmth a forgotten memory.

But then I see my children—tiny buds reaching, even when the chill lingers—and I know life awakens.

They are the blossoms I nurture when my heart feels too brittle to bloom. Each giggle and soft embrace are a gentle reminder that beauty grows in unexpected places.

Within me, I carry the strength and love my mother once infused into my very being. Even in the depths of grief, a muted power whispers of growth, perseverance, and the passing on of the light I hold within.

You see, I may not be the radiant flower unfolding in full splendor, but I am the nourishing soil, the steady rain, the gentle earth, in which her legacy takes root.

My boys—they are her masterpieces; each one a fragile bloom stretching toward the sun, transforming my sorrow into the delicate fragrance of hope.

When shadows shroud my reflection, they turn, resilient and tender, toward the light that still warms our days. In every hushed moment, when a soft smile or shared secret fills the silence, I see her—a presence forever etched in the way they laugh, love, and live.

This is where my flowers grow.

Not in the bold fireworks of triumph, but in the tender, persistent unfolding of a love passed down from one generation to the next.

Through them, I discover that even in the long winter of loss, a gentle spring blooms—one that reminds me, no matter how weathered I may feel, there is always beauty nurtured by love.

April 16 2025

Stephanie Dotson

Talking to myself

Perception is everything.

What you are told isn’t always the truth, you trust the person not their words.

The abuse you see, and experience will NOT break you. You ARE enough!

Do not wait for someone else to do what needs to be done. You learn so much more about yourself when you do it will your own hands.

Eventually mammaw will pass. I know it terrifies you and keeps you awake. It is a part of life. She will give you everything you need to succeed.

You will have so many hardships, too many to discuss, but you will learn and inspire others with your love, faith, trust and your brilliant soul. You also don’t take yourself seriously, that’s a great thing! People who aren’t happy with their lives will pick on you because they want to fit in with the crowd. You will overcome the things you were called. You will surprise them all. You are a crowd of one and you are awesome!

April 16, 2025 

Stephanie Dotson 

Spring Blooms 

Good evening to all reading this letter!  I like this challenge because it involves my favorite season, spring. 

It’s a little weird but I started a new journey in my life, due to my health. In October I retired from my school job.  It was difficult because for the first time in my life, I had truly found a purpose.  My grandma heart was filled every single day! It was an honor, and a dream come true.  The problem was how my health kept affecting my job and the anxiety of failure made things worse.  I had a great deal of support, but the symptoms would not be ignored. 

Fastforward to March 2025 and sitting on the front porch enjoying nature. You could hear the squirrels barking at each other because someone dared to invade its territory. The hummingbirds returning from their winter season in search of nectar.  They are quite thirsty and hungry. They are so very beautiful and one of my new jobs is making sure my feeders are clean and topped off. Each day passed and I just felt a stronger and ever growing need to go outside. Watching everything blooming and growing gave me such a sense of peace. 

I decided that I needed to grow something! A few years back we planted a garden.  It was so much fun but also infuriating.  We have a squirrel, I will call Tom, who made it a mission to steal our veggies. His family lives in a hollow cedar tree in our front yard. Our big boy green and red tomatoes in the garden were a sight for sore eyes. I looked each day to see their progress and dreamed of dashing a little salt on it and taking a big juicy bite! Poof, they started disappearing.  My husband caught Tom one day stealing our very last green tomato.  He said Tom had difficulty managing to handle the big tomato and maintain his footing at the top of the privacy fence.  The last my husband saw Tom; he and the tomato had fallen over the fence.  I think his eyes were bigger than his stomach. It’s so funny because this year we had a fence installed in our front yard.  Tom will occasionally start walking the fence and drop to his belly using his hands and feet to slide him along the top of the fence. That Tom squirrel is an action hero! 

We decided we were not taking any chances this year.  I used some hydroponic kits and currently have lovely herbs delighting my nose and senses inside my house.  The only concern now is keeping my cat summer from trying to eat the herbs. Spring to me is a time for growth.  I will grow, no matter what difficulties might arise, failure is not an option.  If there is a spirit in my heart and breath in my body, I will bloom this spring. 

Prowritingaid score is 68.

Like the birds crooning and warbling

My life’s in synchronicity

Rasing my vibration and sparkling

Opportunities arise viscerally

Realizations become crystal clear

Sharing love aglow

You persevere by facing fear

Love will always flow

Dear Survivors,
Silence can be a slow death. At least it was for me. As a young girl, I was told to keep our secret because he was the only one that loved me and who would care for me. I knew that what was happening to me when I was alone with him was not normal. Even at four and five years old, I was very aware that his actions toward me were not in line with what he preached about when he gave his sermons in front of our church each Sunday morning.
But psychological grooming can be even more cutting than the sexual abuse itself. The Reverand, otherwise known by me as Grandpa, convinced me that silence was the only path. And that God understood and forgave our secret.
My silence of what was happening first protected my grandfather when I was a child, and then as I got older it also protected me from the utter shame and disgust of what had been done to me.
Eventually my silence killed my trust, my voice, my motivation, my peace, and my ability to receive and give love. At times I thought that the silence was quite literally choking me out- that it would finally take me over completely and rob me of my last breath. I was a wilted flower, suffocated by my own silence.
I seemed to have it together on the outside but inside I was dying and no one knew it.
I spent my entire childhood and majority of adulthood being a people pleasing over achiever. I needed to control things because everything that I had ever known seemed so out of control.
I often felt like I was two people living in one body- the ugly and broken little girl with the dark secrets versus the overachieving perfect girl who would never let anyone down.
I was brave enough to confront him before he died. He dismissed my memories as I predicted he would, but it still felt righteous to confront him and see him squirm in his deluded victory over my spirit. It was still our little secret, but at least I had confronted him.
Even many years after his physical death I still continued to spend my life living in shame and hiding my truth from most people except closest friends.
In particular, I was afraid to tell my family- namely his wife, my step-grandmother. I carried the weight of this awful secret, thinking I could somehow protect her from finding out what a monster she had been married to for so long. I felt like if I told her, I would break her, and she would never speak to me again.
I promised myself that I would live in FULL AUTHENTICITY this year though and be done with trying to protect and please people. So on January 1, 2025, after fourty years of silence, I took the leep and I finally shared with her what had happened to me as a child.
I was so scared for fear of her being angry, hurt, or not believing me. And she reacted with all of the above.
But the most healing and beautiful thing happened in me being truly authentic and I breaking my lifetime of silence. I realized as I was speaking my truth to her, that her reaction and feelings did not actually matter to me any longer when I was truly being authentic to myself.
This was about ME. Somehow the words poured out like a field of truth.
And so began my first steps on the path of authenticity and healing out loud.
This was about setting free the little girl in me that had been buried for so long. I couldn’t save that little girl then- I let her petals wilt and nearly die-but now I was a phoenix and I would no longer be silenced.
So I used my truth as a torch to light a controlled burn to my forest of secrets- the truth could no longer hide in the shadow of silence because I burned the entire forest of lies and secrets to the ground with my fire of authenticity.
In this process, I planted seeds of truth to grow a garden of safety and authenticity built to bloom forever more- my garden of truth that I now share with you.
It’s frightening to be authentic and expose yourself but what we master and share in ourselves, we water to grow in others.
One little seed can start an entire garden of blooms, and this letter is another seed that I am planting.
Tell your truth.
And bloom on.

Authentically,
The Fiery Girl Who Finally Found Her Voice

Style Score- 98%