Dear Angela,
This year you turned 50! I am glad it has not gone by fast; it took a lot to get us here. I am glad that even when you were a young teen-ager you always knew what liked, maybe not what you would become but what you liked. A lot of people in your shoes do not get that lucky.
From as early as you can remember your mom as always been a little “different” than other moms. At age 18 you learned that your mom had a mental illness, Depression. Twenty years later you learned her illness was knows as Schizoid Personality Disorder with Psychosis. This explained so much; the talking to herself, the not talking to you or others, sleeping all day but not at night, we could go on and on. We for sure did not have a mom like other moms.
Your dad was always there, until he wasn’t. When he died when you were 17 I know that was really hard on you. Your life would forever be changed. Your childhood with him was not easy either. Mother always did try and keep us safe by hiding in the closet when he came home drunk at night banging on the front door. When he wasn’t drinking, I know you remember when you were in kindergarten him smoking marijuana in front of you with his friends. Even though he kept the green stuff under on a tray under the couch you know not to touch it. As a teen-ager he bought you whatever alcohol you wanted. Thankfully you were smart and chose wine coolers and could barely make it through one. Still, you can barely make it through one. He always made fun of us for that. I remember when you found the white pills in a baggie. He said it kept him up at night while he was working, and the ladies liked them because they lost weight. You remember his last few months like it was yesterday. That summer when you turned 17, his childhood friend got out of prison and moved to our town. He was out a lot with him. By September your dad was hardly ever home. You went to your school counselor to talk. She was nice and gave you a bunch of information on children of alcoholics. The next week our grandparents came down. Your dad was sitting right across the kitchen table by his parents. You showed them all the information the counselor gave you. You told them he needed help. All three of them denied him needing help. They would not listen to us.
It was Thanksgiving, two months after the “talk.” Your dad had been out partying again the night before. He always had seizures the day after partying. He chose to stay instead of going to your aunts for dinner. Adie (grandma), you and your sisters all went to take him food. He was in the bathroom. Then he would not come out. You learned that he had a seizure and fell against the wall and could not get air, he died. That was a hard night.
A year later you graduated high school. You know you liked psychology and law. From your Senior year and the next two years you spent in counseling and reading books such as “Co-Dependent No More.” You had to do the work so you would be able to help others. You always had that personal insight that helps you to this day. In college, you learned what Social Work was. It was perfect. You heard these ladies who were graduating worried that the state was not hiring Social Workers and what would they do. You thought, what kind of goal was that. A year later that would be you. It has been almost 27 years since your college graduation. Currently you are a Social Work Supervisor for the State of Ks working with children who are victims of child abuse. Angela, you have grown to be so proud to be where you are and to know that everything in your life lead you to who you are today. No, we don’t make a ton of money but we have had a good career. That counselor in high school told you, you were meant to be a counselor. You are not bitter and angry about your parents like you used to be. I know you get annoyed at still having to help your mom, but you are a lot better of a person to her than you used to be. Angela for you the success is not about fame and fortune or a big house, it is about overcoming the childhood that should have broken you down. Excellent job getting through this life, you have done a great job!
Love,

Dear young Ash,

It’s me, well I mean you, just the older, more learned version. I’m writing to tell you about something astonishing that’s happened to us. 

We both know you’re the girl who is always timidly listening, soaking up life from the corner, silently using all she witnesses to build walls to a cage enclosing her.

You feel safe in your cage. It allows you to see the world, but never get out and truly interact with people. It shields you from embarrassment, pain, and failure you fear experiencing.  Childhood is passing, year by year, yet you remain in the cage, afraid of making connections and letting people down. Your confidence lowers each time someone you love degrades you, when a once-admired teacher embarrasses you in front of the class, and when you don’t make the school dance team captain for being “too shy to lead.”  You embody silence and worthlessness despite having such shareable passion deep in your soul. In your cage, you miss out on many opportunities for connections and growth.  “Failure will never find me in here,” you figure, coyly.  Well, I’m sorry to tell you this but… it did.

I, you, we… failed. And I’m not talking about a math test or falling off our bicycle. We failed at the most important job in the world, giving birth to our child. Gwyneth died suddenly on her due date, and I gave birth to her. I know this is probably a lot for you to hear, you’re just a kid, still figuring life out. I don’t mean to scare you. I can’t say everything turned out OK, because we lost a child. However, good has somehow come from the pain and failure of Gwyneth’s death. Yes, the pain was like a dagger twisted through the heart. It was just as bad as we always feared it could be. Yet it opened my eyes, ears and mouth like they never were before. I suddenly felt strong and ready to speak!

What I want you to know is that we got out of the cage – finally! I kicked the door open and crawled out. I couldn’t save my own child and buried her on the day her whole life should have begun. Talk about becoming a letdown! There was no more need for the cage. Nothing else would come to get me, I had already been ‘taken.’  I threw it against the wall and listened as its metal bars and screws clinked and clanked, falling to the ground. Never had I felt so free, so powerful, yet so regretful for the childhood we muddled while hiding from something that will surely find us all eventually.

Over the last 10 years I, you, we, have transformed, and I need you to listen to me Ash – while you’re still young:
 
·       Get out of the cage right now.
·       You were born with value; it does not come from those around you.
·       Fear nothing. Fear paralyzes.
·       Do good always. And when you don’t, forgive yourself and do better.
·       Use embarrassment from failure to fuel improvement.
·       Make connections by listening. Everybody has a story you can learn from.
·       Show your emotions and vulnerability – people will appreciate your authenticity.
·       Live each day like it’s your last; you never know when that day will come.
·       Love your family fiercely. There is nothing more important in this world – nothing! 

Holding my baby’s lifeless body, my tears falling on her bruised face, all her pure
goodness seemed to flow into me, washing away any fears or doubts. I finally have
confidence and clarity!

And there’s more good – I’m married to a genuine man, a true partner in marriage and parenting. He sees my value as a person and as a wife. We have 5 living kids. I’ve told them about the cage so they’re aware and never go inside themselves. After years of studying fertility awareness, I’m empowered by understanding my female body and teaching other women how to do the same. I even wrote and published a book all about it! The more I speak, the stronger I feel!  It’s incredible out here Ash, once you get out from behind those bars.

All this to say – enjoy your younger years out in the open! Always do your best but know that you will make mistakes. How you respond to those mistakes is what life is all about!
 
xoxo,

Dear little Chloe,

I’m just gonna rip the Bandaid off quickly, and I apologize because I know you were always more of a peel-the-Bandaid kind of girl. But trust me that it’s easier if I just tell you that you’re a lesbian.

Yeah, you heard me right.

I’m not sure if you even know what being a lesbian means, I know Mom and Dad never talked to you about sexuality or the queer community, they always just assumed you would grow up, fall in love, and marry a man. Being a lesbian is no different, you grow up, fall in love, but you fall in love with a woman.

And no, there’s nothing wrong with that, despite what you’ve been told.

I know you’ve had trouble being vulnerable with your feelings, expressing what’s going on inside your head, and being honest with yourself. I know that you feel the need to suppress the love you have towards others, and God, I know you have so much love in your heart to give.

I know that deep down in your introverted soul, you want to experience love one day. You long for having someone to love, and to receive that kind of love back. I know you search for it, filling your daydreams with this boy or that boy, and you think you like them because boys are the only thing you know to associate with love. The possibility of love with a girl has never crossed your mind.

But, do you remember Jackie? The girl you met in your karate class? You hated karate because it required too much yelling and that clashed with your quiet personality. You quit after three classes, but you didn’t stop thinking about Jackie. You wanted to be her “best friend,” she was the only thing you looked forward to in that karate class.

Or the girl named Carly in your cooking class you took when you were about eight? I know you were flustered when she gave you a hug on the last day of class, and you thought about the hug in the backseat of Mom’s car on the way home.

What about Avery, the girl in your drama class? You wanted to get to know her better, so you would try to sit next to her in class and talk to her during breaks. You didn’t know why you were so drawn to her or why you didn’t have a crush on any boy during middle school.

You finally figured it out in high school, with this girl Avalon. She was older than you and funnier than you, which is a rare occurrence because you’re pretty damn funny. But, it drew you towards her, you found her alluring, magnetic in a way. She was everything to you, you aspired to be her, but you aspired for more, you just couldn’t put your finger on what. It clicked one day after having a conversation with her, you had never felt so seen before. You finally came to terms that you liked her, and yes, you liked a girl.

Love with women comes easy to you, you don’t even have to try. They take your breath away, they mystify you, they’re like a challenge. Tough, but once you figure them out, rewarding. And when you fall for a girl, you fall hard. It’s unlike anything you have ever felt from a boy.

I’m not saying it was that easy, though, in fact it was difficult on you. You faced a lot of self-doubt in your feelings rather than just trusting your gut. You tried to bottle up the feelings towards her, shove them in a dark corner in your mind, or forget about them. Pardon my language because I know you don’t like when people use profanities, but there was no way in hell that you could make your feelings for her go away. They were undeniable, unlike anything you have ever felt for a boy before. It was like an epiphany.

It was harder for you to even consider telling other people. What would people think about you? Would they think differently of you or talk behind your back? What would your family think? You love your family, and you didn’t want to mess up your relationship with them by telling them this new information about yourself.

Remember to take a breather. It’s okay to be nervous.

I’ll tell you this, we took it one step at a time.

Turns out, people are pretty accepting, and that’s something to be grateful for, because this isn’t the case for most gay people. You told our little sister first, she barely batted an eye, and you cried in the bathroom after. But, you cried happy tears.

You told two of your cousins next, and turns out one of them also likes girls. The other gave you a fist bump. You went home with a smile on your face.

And then you started to tell your friends, friends who were close to you and who you could trust. They only smiled and said, “Wait, really?” You said yes, you liked girls, and they were like “Me too!”

Finally, you told Mom. She called you over the phone and you cried happy tears because she wasn’t upset with you like you thought she would be. People can surprise you sometimes. She even apologized if she ever said anything insensitive, and said that she loved you regardless. It’s not so scary once you put yourself out there. Yes, not everybody is going to be accepting of you, but I suppose that’s a way to see who your real friends are, and who you can depend on and trust. Because good people will love you no matter who you fall in love with.

If I had to give you any advice, I would tell you to go easy on yourself and to acknowledge your feelings. It’s okay to feel ways that other people don’t and it’s okay to love who you want to love. There is nothing wrong with who you love and how you express love.

I’m sure you’re thinking about what God has to say about us, and honestly we’ll never really know. But, the God I believe in made us the way that we are for a reason, and He has so much love for us because loving who we want doesn’t make us bad people. We were born this way, and there isn’t anything we can do to change the way we are. So no, we’re not going to hell because we want to kiss girls.

But, I’d like to leave you with a good note. Being part of the queer community is a beautiful thing, as silly as it may sound to you. I know you’re going to grow up learning that being gay should not be part of your lifestyle, it’s something that you shouldn’t support, and something you’re going to learn to look down upon as a Christian. But, there’s real beauty in the community and something so liberating about identifying as queer. There’s something so remarkable about queer friendships and relationships that I can’t quite articulate in the form of words.

But yeah, I just wanted you to know that you’ll be okay. I love you, take your time, and you’ll see the light at the end of the tunnel. I love you, little C. Be kind to yourself.

Love, big C.

The first thing you should know, Jasmine, is that you are so full of love and light that the waters of your love threaten to drown you in its depths. You spend your days treading the waves constantly, just barely keeping your head above the surface. Ebbing. Flowing. Searching for a vessel to pour yourself into and lighten your load.

You should know that your power lives here. In the billowing floods of tears at the prospect of your greatest fear: abandonment.

It will take a grueling 10 years of isolation for this to change, but it is in this isolation that you’ll excite yourself in other ways, through a discovery of a world that exists beyond the local AMC theatre or the rollerink you’re never invited to.

The shelter you created for yourself out of fictional worlds, boyband lore, and a brief obsession with John Hughes films– is only temporary. The ache to be known and understood will return, as it always does. You will hate this part of yourself, but it will fester and grow nonetheless.

The feeling will persist even once we reach high school and are granted the popularity we craved for so long after the years of rejection. You will succeed in most things, and it will create a new fear in you. A fear of losing it all one day. A fear of disappointing the people you love. A fear of being known as anything besides this new, carefully crafted persona.

You should know that throughout all of this, the universe has been watching you blossom, beaming down at its beautiful flower child as you shed your petals and grew them anew season after season.

One day you’ll call out to the universe for a lesson to help you understand why the fear won’t go away.

And in answer, the universe sent us a man so beautiful and broken it knew we would never be able to resist the call to action. The urge to lick his wounds and patch his ego back together so that he could be the man we dreamed of. We poured ourselves into him and over him to be his champion in the war he’d waged against himself. We stepped out from behind our crooked shield, swimming head to toe in oversized rusted armor and brandished the all too heavy sword of our love upwards at the heavens to prove ourselves.

Because our devotion to the sick, the weak, the needy, has always overshadowed our devotion to ourselves. As if our worth couldn’t exist alone. Because we believed that deep down, the secret to a perfect world, was that everyone should simply exist in service of those who need it most. And the universe, all knowing as it is, knew that the only way I’d give up this belief in self sacrifice was if it taught me what the best and the worst of humanity can look like in the lesson that was Him.

There was a time where He would have destroyed us. Where we would have been so desperate for Him to see the pain He’d inflicted that we would have abandoned our self image in pursuit of revenge. Painted our face until we no longer hated the watery eyes staring back at us in the mirror. Starved ourselves skinny and stripped ourselves bare to expose this stranger’s body to the men we’d never risk exposing our heart to again. We’d reign terror and spit venom until the memory of Him came creeping back in. Then we’d crawl back to him on bruised knees and beg for salvation.

But, luckily, this was not the first time the Universe has tried to teach us this particular lesson. We failed the first time, to choose ourselves. Because you are me and I am you and I was so desperate to protect you from my loneliness, I looked the devil in his eyes and pleaded with him, as his hands tightened around my neck until my vision dulled, to love me. Please love me.

We were strong this time, Jasmine. We turned to the sky and asked the stars what to do about Him and they answered us, as they always do. The wind came down and dried our tears and whistled in our ear to simply let go and trust in them. And we did.

And despite it all we still love in spite of the love we never felt. We smile at strangers, and text people photos of rainbows we see outside, and tell the people we love that we love them every single time we feel it. There are still trials and tribulations and tears and sorrow. But when I talk to the universe, it talks back to me. And we will never be alone again.

A Girl with a Watering Can by Pierre-Auguste Renoir is the most vivid of my childhood memories. Mounted on the living room wall, I would lie on the floor and stare intently at the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl attired in my favorite hue and transport myself to that ethereal garden. I longed to be standing amid the colors of our creator, engaging in the tranquil scene where life seemed simple. A watering can and flowers, listening to the birds sing where monsters didn’t roam.  
The delicate balance of staying present but sending my thoughts to wander where I’m not that little girl whose innocence was lost.  I belonged there, standing with confidence that I was protected from seeing the world with ghosts that forever linger in my memories.  The scene calmed my desire to disappear as a teen when I opened the door and welcomed yet another attack on my young body.  If I closed my eyes tight enough, I could smell the fresh scent of spring and breathe out the marred reflection of my battered soul.  
Were the angels crying when they saw the destruction of my once fearless spirit?  My heart drops when my mind retraces the hours spent secluded in unwanted noise.  The endless nightmares that interrupt my slumber and consume the midnight hours with fear, the flashbacks and panic that attack without warning. 
One moment can alter the trajectory of one’s destination in life.  For me, this moment lifted the fog I had been existing in for more than three decades. The veil came off. One person’s presence in my life, though they may not have realized it, was a turning point that awakened me to my value and deservingness of a more fulfilling existence.  My angel on earth who reminded me of my worth. Conversation without judgment, presence without pretense, and love without condition became the key that had been lost and could now open the lock to restore what had been hidden.  The revelations that came with that were eye-opening. The beginning of everything that was buried. Years of collecting dust brought me to this uncomfortable yet necessary pivotal moment in my life. 
The murmurs of the pale blue corolla, only outdone by the fragrance of the perfume scenting my space bring me back to childhood days where time spent outdoors felt carefree and unburdened. The pretty blooms greeted me as I headed outside to spend the day. Though the blooms only last a short while, the timing is magnificent. A tender beginning into longer days, brilliant sunshine, and joyous memories. Beauty enters at a time when everything else has yet to shine. The hope that all would be right in time.
Hope. Peace. Joy. Love. These are the words I want to live. I want to remove the words that bring no purpose. Discard any that brings pain and grief. Concentrate on one at a time but knowing that one will lead to two and so on.
However, before I could get there, I had to heal myself. I must love myself and I’m not sure if I ever had. I always thought that I did but it’s become obvious that if it had once been true, it ceased to be at some point along the way. Maybe it was a little at a time and I just took no notice. It’s possible I never quite knew how to love myself and thinking that it was selfish of me to do that. I’ve always felt guilt where guilt didn’t belong. I couldn’t see how loving yourself manifests into a better life not only for me but also allows healthy and safe relationships for those who enter our lives along the way. I was always great at taking care of my body, but I lacked in the area of my head and my heart. I never felt I had earned it. The hard part was believing I deserved it and holding fast to that commitment. Maybe it needs to be read: Love. Hope. Peace. Joy. Love. The first love is for me and then the healing is followed by the rest.
It’s in our nature to take pictures of only the good times to reminisce about.  Those moments of our lives that were captured on film, the celebrations, the birth of children, family get-togethers.  Mostly happy, joyous occasions that showed those in attendance with brilliant smiles or immersed in laughter that more often than not included a few tears from the sidesplitting cachinnations.  Brief seconds where expressions of love or contentment were captured to look back and hold onto that feeling.  I found very few solemn times captured that would dampen our moods.  I did find a few though.  A smile was missing or there were tears in my eyes.  If only I could go back and hug that girl and tell her she is loved.  
The hesitation to love my body completely has always been greater than the acceptance. To truly appreciate what God has given me. I had only seen the imperfections, the scars. Those on the surface and others hidden inside. This body, the one that holds the best parts of me, my mind, heart, and soul is worthy of praise. It’s traveled with me on quite a journey and deserves respect and admiration. The thought has crossed my mind that I’ve never realized the magnitude of all it has done for me.
The vault that holds my memories, the enchanting moments sprinkled throughout the years. The key to opening all that is my imagination and the sparks that have taken flight from it. The wounds that have been mended, though many carry the secrets better left unsaid. The ability to heal and endure is magical on its own. The miracles of life that were created and brought into this life are joyous accomplishments. The arms that cradled the tiny beings to the breasts that nourished their bodies are elements of love and nurture. They were conceived and survived within this flesh. To be in awe of the wonder of motherhood. The strength to continue each day no matter what obstacles are placed in its path.
This canvas of flesh has persevered and shown unyielding resolve with each confrontation or denial of self-love. This impermanent model God felt worthy enough to mold is incredible. A symbol of bravery, strength, and beauty deserving of garnering unwavering attention and affection. The time has come to cast the shadows aside and nurture my mind, speak kindly to my heart, and whisper to my soul that I am worth every beautiful opportunity and acknowledgment I am given. I am still here breathing and healing. I was never broken. I just needed to bloom.
 I sit and watch the sunrise on a beautiful day.  It’s spectacular. Seasons change as life does. The cool crisp air awakens my senses and fills my lungs with the scent of renewal.  I find solace in nature’s cyclical rhythm.  The leaves, like memories, rustle, and fall, making way for the promise of spring.  Today’s beauty is eternal, unfettered by the limitations of human life. The sun’s warm touch ignites a sense of gratitude within me.  Each breath is a gift.  Each moment is a treasure.  The seasons have taught me to cherish each moment.  To find beauty in decay and rebirth.  In this fleeting dawn, I feel alive.  The world awakens, vibrant and pulsing.  
 Birds sing their morning hymns, as God’s creatures begin to stir.  I seek simplicity, a sunrise, a breeze, a loved one’s touch.  Life’s complexities fall away, leaving only room for love.  As Autumn’s palette paints the sky, I am reminded:  that every ending marks a new beginning. And in this acceptance, I find peace.  Time, once a linear path, now unfolds like a lotus.  Petals of memory unfurl, releasing the fragrance of the possibility of a better future. Today’s radiance assures me every moment is a masterpiece.

Dear Teenage Me,

Greetings from the future! I would ask, “how’s it going?”, but I already know: life is kind of overwhelming for you right now. Your family recently moved to a new country and here you are, still trying to gain your bearings and fit in at your new school all while your body and mind are experiencing so many changes. There is so much that frustrates you in general and perhaps the most frustrating thing that hits closest to home is your one and only younger sister. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering, “why are we focusing on her in a letter for me?” Please bear with me and hear me out.

People have been comparing the two of you for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s because you only have an 18-month age gap between you and how much other people think you look like. Either way, the similarities haven’t changed how differently people treat you. As the older sister, you’re the role model. You’re the responsible one. So when anything goes wrong, it always comes back to your behavior (or lack thereof) in some way. That’s been true since childhood. After all, was it proper for you to go play when your sister had homework and would be distracted by your actions? Was it proper for you to have a dirty room if it meant being a bad example for her? If she was too loud, was it proper for you to leave her to her own devices instead of telling her to take it down a notch (or ten)? The answer, of course, was always no. The expectations for you weren’t always spoken but they were clear: you had to know better and it was your job to look after your sister.

I know the expectations are even higher now. You understand that your behavior makes a statement about how your parents raised you. You revel in the praise of getting good grades, conforming to the rules, and making your community proud. You understand social cues and adjust your behavior accordingly. Meanwhile, your sister struggles in school and gets into trouble. You see how people stare and laugh at her, not with her. Your parents hear about it from her teachers, and their response is always the same: “talk to your sister”. While you want to help, you also wish you didn’t have to. You wish she could just…figure things out and not attract so much negative attention. You wish she would take responsibility and self-adjust, as you do, instead of making more trouble for herself and for you by extension.

There is a strong feeling of bitterness that often rises in your chest these days that you don’t have a word for yet. The word is “resentment”, and you feel it in spades. It’s the reason why there is so much anger in your voice whenever you talk to her. It’s the reason why there are hidden and not-so-hidden jabs in the way you speak about her. It’s also the reason why you don’t see how much she is struggling too. How she struggles to figure out whether people want to be their friend or their entertainment. How she also feels the weight of others’ expectations, except unlike you, she knows that she doesn’t meet them. While your resentment highlights her flaws, it allows you to forget her incredible sense of humor or the fact that she is one of the kindest people you know, despite the bullying she experiences. Your resentment makes you so focused on your own confusion and pain that you can’t see her own.

And when you do figure this out years later and remember the screaming matches, the tears, the mean words, the first thing you’re going to feel is shame. Shame for not being the sister she needed and not being able to take those words back. But wait, there’s hope! I write to you from a time when you and your sister are a strong unit. You laugh and cry together. You apologize better when you upset each other. You now poke gentle fun at your differences and are still fiercely protective of each other. Eventually, you’ll start to forgive yourself for what you didn’t know and what you could have done better. You’ll start learning from her how to be yourself more and contort yourself less. And when your sister encourages you to write, you will roll your eyes good-naturedly and move onto other things without realizing that she has planted one of the many seeds that need to sprout before you’re ready to take that leap.

What is a body if not a safe space?
How come within my skin I faced
Uncomfortableness from friend and foe the same.
I look back on it now and laugh at the shame.
Brought upon me by those
With old school Christian ways.
“Boys will be boys,” they said when I complained.
About how they gripped at my chest
My thighs, My bra straps, My thick mane.
It all felt so hopeless then.
It felt like I couldn’t win.
Against a system, a culture, a people
That had deemed my body public property.
When my mother found out she set me straight promptly.
That I should not encourage trouble upon me
And to not make myself enticing to draw in unwanted company.
In the halls of my Southern elite high school
I rotted away knowing there was nothing I could do.
That was until me too
When I saw people cared to not let boys do what they want to do
To stand up for bodily autonomy no matter the obstacles I had to go through
Guns, knives and defense classes caused clashes
with family and boyfriends alike
But we persevered
We fought to be not only protected but also feared
I am proud to say we have incited tears from abusers’ eyes
As they kiss their families goodbye
After I used ICE to cool my rage
And send them packing from a cage
To their country of origin.
We did not let our religious start to life
Hinder us from doing what’s right.
Silence begets silence
Passiveness begets passiveness
In it grows rot that must be dug out and purged.
We have found our voice and the strength to not let it be silenced.

Dear (younger) Alex,

Recently, your parents uprooted your life in Rochester, Minnesota and moved to start a new chapter in Fairfax County Virginia. You just started the 4th grade at Sangster Elementary School and already, your classmates treat Jamestown like it is Disneyland, ride real horses, and have perfect cursive penmanship. Obviously, Virginia has a hard time letting go of the colonial times and takes higher education extremely seriously. But, besides Virginia being oddly proud of it’s past, I know being the new kid in school is hard. Getting teased over your midwestern accent is one thing, but the truth is, I know you don’t want anyone knowing about your secret.

A few months prior to moving, you found out you have dyslexia. Dyslexia sounds pretty bad considering you don’t even know where to begin on how to spell it. Dyslexia is something where there is no cure and there are no pills that will help. Instead, you just have it.

Now, if circumstance couldn’t get any worse, you are now stuck in a classroom full of ivy ledge go-getters. Yet here you are, already behind and fearing you will fail out of school for thinking you are not smart enough due to your learning disability. At this point, you assume your best solution is to morph into a shadow, to not talk since you already sound foreign, and constantly dread that everyone is going to find out. Especially when the teacher decides to go on an intense humiliation picking spree and will randomly select some poor soul to read out loud. Of course, there will be some students who will want to show off their college level reading skills but, the teacher loves to pick on someone who hasn’t had a turn. Unfortunately, repeating quietly to yourself, “Don’t pick me” magically manifests into being chosen.

Now as the future you, I could lie and say no one finds out and you will never get teased. Instead, I am here to be honest with you and deliver the good and bad news.

First, the bad news:

The fear of randomly being called to read out loud is forever going to be scary, even to this day. The continuous teasing never ends, people will question your intelligence and ask you why you take so long to finish tests. I can also guarantee that someone in the room will always correct the way you mispronounced a word. There will be many late nights making flash cards, rereading chapters, and triple checking your answers on tests to make sure you read the question correctly. It will be increasing frustrating to hear people say they don’t need to study since it’s so easy. When for us, it’s not so simple.

Now for the good news:

I understand the determination to be normal is what truly drives you. But, the older you get, the more you will realize that we are never going to be like everyone else. We simply cannot be and that is because we are not suppose to be. All the hard work you put in trying to be normal actually turns into grit.

Instead of seeing dyslexia as a burden – dyslexia is a hilarious gift because what isn’t funny about saying, “Can I have some antelope?” When you ment to say cantaloup. Eventually, the fear of being wrong doesn’t worry you anymore because we are so use to not being right. Besides, your entire intelligence isn’t based on a multiple choice test. So instead of hiding, we started embracing learning, asking questions and studying because having unique ideas and being naturally curious is what opens doors for you.

So although we are not perfect I promise you one thing for sure: you will never fail. Matter a fact, you will just continue to grow and eventually learn how to really fly.

Dear Taleena,
Opportunities will come before you, accept the challenge instead of avoiding a collision. Let ambition flow through your veins with every step. In elementary school, you will have an assignment where you will choose a business venture. Your creative mind will choose to be a banner designer where you will create advertisements for the local classroom businesses. Having a rapport with your fellow classmates will allow you to become the most successful business with recurrence. Your reasonable prices will be relatable as these businesses are just starting up and they need advertisements for their goods and services. Constant smiles and banter will catch the attention of shoppers. Personalize the banners for them to sparkle and shine in the elements of laughter, chaos and townsfolk activities. Maintain this enthusiasm through all of your encounters and don’t let any opportunities pass you by. Build an enterprise and pass through the generations that hard work and dedication will lead you to the destination you deserve and desire.
Sincerely,
The one who endured through the chaos and turmoil to create a path for success and independence.

To my young soul-

You didn’t know why-
You had a compulsion to lie.
You were born to sow chaos,
Then to watch from the side lines.

You didn’t know why-
You sat and read in the trees for hours…
Why you loved no one’s company,
As much as the magnolia flowers.

You didn’t know why-
You never felt like enough.

You didn’t know why-
You had a desire to bleed.
You didn’t know why-
Pain felt like a need.

You didn’t know why-
You were up all night.
Despite a handful of Tylenol P.M-
No fatigued mind in sight.

You didn’t know why-
All you could do to speak was to write.

You didn’t know why-
You were full of love and disdain.
You didn’t know why-
You just had to paint.

You didn’t know why-
Why you always dyed your hair,
Why you cried in the corner-
Why you threw that chair.

You didn’t know why-
You felt no love or care.
You were so out of control.
Unaware of what festered in your soul.

You didn’t know why-
You were the only human alive.
You didn’t know why-
You were born with a desire to die.

You didn’t know, why you didn’t need sleep-
You didn’t understand your dreams,
About being six feet deep.
You didn’t.

You didn’t know if you had an idea-
Or a disillusioned psychosis.
You didn’t understand you were still you,
If you accepted the diagnosis.

You didn’t know how to be-
You didn’t know why
Until finally you listened to the DSM 5.
You didn’t know how to not be defined.

You didn’t know about manic depression,
You didn’t know why you felt such desperation.
You didn’t know why- you didn’t know.
A bitter pill to swallow.

Now you know.
Yet you can’t leave it behind,
With a diagnosis you must make room,
Now you know.

Your mood is a disorder,
Yet it’s all you’ve ever known.
So swallow that pill in the hopes-
One day you may not need it anymore.

You’re perfectly whole,
Yet now you know.
Escaping not unscathed; only wiser.
You’re young and you’re old.

Now you know.
You’re my shoulder to lean on,
As the world is cruel.
Now you know, I didn’t know you.

It’s okay to hate her
To hate them both
Death will not excuse bad parenting
But one day I promise you
The shards of their broken promises
The Bricks of grief that hold you back
And drown you in fear
Are what build the foundation of your forever
So again yes
It’s okay to hate her
To hate them both because one day
I promise you’ll learn to let go

Dear Deaja,
How cool is it reading a letter from your future self? You’re probably in our room at grandma’s house with your headphones on blasting old school rap music so you can put off doing homework. I know there are over a million questions racing through your tiny child’s mind, bad new we never grow wings. Seriously though, in our life we get to do things and see things we never even dreamed we would but at this point I know your mind is only focused on something no kids this young should ever have to be worried about. I understand this is something you don’t ever want to hear but the sooner you hear it the better your mental health will be. Firstly, none of this is your fault. You have to remember who is that parent and who is the child. You have done everything you know how to do since you were seven years old, and the fact is when someone refused to change even after you constantly tell them how they hurt you, then you have to realize that they don’t value their relationship as much as you do. You’re a thirteen-year-old high school student and if that wasn’t hard enough on you, you just found out from one of your classmates that your mom moved away from you, and she also took your brother and sister without saying a word to you. By now you’re on day five of trying to call her and getting no response. I’m sorry to say she won’t answer the phone for you, in fact, at some point she will even change her number altogether.
Secondly, nothing is wrong with you. Grandma is going to tell you to keep calling her once a week like clockwork and not to stop no matter how many more times she sees you break down. I want you to know its ok to be sick of being hurt by the same person. I know how much it hurts you to see all the other kids around have their mothers in their lives and while your dad and grandma struggle to cover it up with you with toys and fun and whatever else, it’s just not the same. That haunting feeling like something in your life is missing, that there’s a piece of your heart you can’t seem to find it and it feels as if you never will. I promise that feeling won’t be there forever, you can and will find your way to fill that hole with things that bring you peace. Despite what the world and some of the people around you will say, no one has the right to keep hurting you. The simple fact is that even after having children, life will never be like the kind of parents we see on the tv shows, the world just doesn’t work that way and there are people in the world who are too selfish to put other, including their own children, before themselves. Between you and your mother, you are the child in this matter not the adult. The responsibility of taking the first step to mend fences should not always be on you. Lastly, it’s ok to be the villain in someone else’s story. While your mother will keep trying to charm you with promises of doing better, wanting to get to know you and doing better from then on, it’s all a lie. Someone who really cares about you will never keep letting you down. They will not repeatedly cancel on you at the last minute, leave you high and dry without a phone call for weeks, months and years at a time, nor will they try to make you out to be the problem every single time.

“Dear Lisa, We hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits.”
This is the way “our” Daddy always started his letters to “us”. “We” won’t tell about how those letters were used to mock Our Daddy and Stepmom, but they were…
Dear Little Lisa, I am so proud if you! Little Lisa, you are so beautiful & so smart & funny and sweet and kind and full of energy. You are like a butterfly and a whirlwind combined. You have survived in me for so long. I am filled with awe when I look at you in my memory. You, We, me as a child, are a miracle. Your tenacity and stubborn determination to never give up, to survive, is proof of the existence of miracles. I’ve heard it said that ours is a rare generation gifted with our own Guardian Angel to help us. I’m not sure who said it, but I know that The Creator of the Universe loves you Little Lisa. Enough to assign 1,000 x 1,000 Angel’s to surround and protect you from the 1,000’s of days of having to be invisible and unloved. The slaps, kicks, rage, punches, insults and violations you endured.
I know these words hurt you to hear even now Little Lisa, but I have happy news to share with you, my dear little inner child. The time has finally arrived to tell your life story for the1st time. We, You, m
I have saved a single account from each year of the desperate hidden life I lived. I have a story from each year i survived up to age 14. My Step-Dad(RIP) came in to keep me safe for five years. At age 19 I joined the United States Air Force.
You, Little Lisa have been given the gifts of impeccable timing and deep level of comprehension. The ability for making needs come into being. You seek & speak & know Truth. It is by these gifts, and miracles my inner child and I overcome my challenge in life, one day, one moment at a time.
Little Lisa, here is one of your stories. Told for you and through you that I may connect with you. Our heart is blocked, we cannot feel love from other humans. You taught me love, gratitude, tolerance, forgiveness and perseverance even though you had no example. We had no basic social training or interaction or trust. We are at times lost in society. We feel safe living in isolation. We knew nothing about help, or how to ask for help. The following story inspires my courage to change and to grow in confidence.
*Nevada Way, Henderson, NV.
*Winter-1968*Age 7*:
“We moved again…to a cold dark, big house. I am very ill, again, with either tonsillitis or mumps. My head is burning up with fever. The glands around my chin and neck are swollen. I’m very tired and hungry. I have never been to a doctor.
The caregiver has told me to not move from the couch until they are back home after work. So I lay still, tense under a blanket waiting. I can’t eat or drink. Im not allowed to go to the bathroom. I am home alone, again.
I have been alone, by myself, on my own since I started kindergarten at age 5. I get one meal each evening, chicken gizards and rice usually on weeknights.
I haven’t been to school for mist of this, my second grade year because I’m to little to cross Boulder Highway by myself. We have this house because Aunts husband’s mother owns it and says we can stay fir a month or two. The caregiver doesn’t return from work at a junkyard an hour away until after dark.
I am on the couch waiting. It is light outside and very cold. I hace frost on my breath when I exhale. I woke up with my head pounding like a hammer inside my brain after the adult dose if adult cold medicine wore off.
I look to my left downward to the hallway. I see Tiger, the cat laying in front of the floor heater, it looks like he is sleeping. I wonder why he doesn’t come see me so we can try to stay warm. It gets dark outside.
I see the car headlights out the front window as the caregiver pulls into the driveway.
The key turns the lock in the doorknob and the caregiver comes in the door.
They go into the kitchen and to the bathroom, I think. When they come back out they turn on the floor heater and pet Tiger who is laying there quietly. They stand and turn back down the hallway to the linen closet and come back with a pillow cade. They bend down and slide the pillow case around and over the cat, Tiger and stand and go out the front door with Tiger in the pillow case. When they return Tiger in the pillow case is gone.
Then they come over to the couch and check my breath. I am breathing.
They repeat the usual greeting to me using my nuckname- given to me when I was about 3 years old.
“Goddamn You Lisa, can’t you ever do anything right”.
The End

Dear Younger Mark,

I know how hard it is for you to speak up when it is time to tell someone how you feel. I also know that it does not have to be any specific situation. You have always been outgoing and a social butterfly. You were never afraid to talk to anyone, but your pitfall was speaking and letting your voice be heard. You let people speak for you or over speak when you tried to speak. It was a challenge I know. I also know that when you felt scared or did not know how to express your contained sadness’ again because you would not speak up you would make jokes to hide those feelings and emotions. The whole time it was okay to say what you felt. There were so many ways to express and say whatever you wanted, and you could have said them nicely or in a polite way. I know that if you said something that it would have made you sound like a jerk or sound rude. You know as well as I did that was never the case.

One thing for sure that I did want to let you know was that I have now learned and have finally overcome the fact that we are still valued. I wanted to write you this letter after so many years to tell you that. I finally let your voice be heard!

I did not want to be run over anymore and for sure people spoke for me anymore. I wanted to say what I felt, and I did. At first it was hard, and the delivery was off and wrong. It came out and sounded so rude. I for sure offended a lot of people and made people sad. This was not the Mark they knew. I also made people sad. I have since learned how to adjust my voice in a way that and that my opinion can be heard and valued but not make it sound as aggressive as it once was. There were times that my head and brain were not connected to my tongue, so my mouth spoke out of line a lot. Everything went wrong. But I have worked on that.

All of this to tell the younger me that it took a long time, but I have overcome that feeling of not being able to say and say what I feel when I need or want to. I was able to overcome that massive mountain that we faced daily for so long. I realized that we have a voice that should be heard and when it needs to be. One other thing that I have overcome is that we did not realize that we struggled so much with was we never felt value. We have always been valued.

The challenges may have tried to make us timid and hold us down but over time we learn that because we are valued and that the voice we have should be heard in any setting. Time has allowed us to achieve a victory over these obstacles called challenges because we have overcome them!

With Love,

Older Mark

as a young pup
i was told many things
some i wouldn’t understand
while others i would abhor

my guardian would try their best
to teach me how to behave,
there’s a right time and place
is what they constantly say

never run away
don’t bark at night
don’t eat this or that
never ever bite anyone

over the years i had grown,
not yet fully understanding
why i would do as i am told
i only wanted to make them happy

then came a mighty storm
with a deafening echo
and enough flash
to turn night into day

my guardian was not home
and i was terrified, all alone
the wind blasted open my door
and i felt the storm coming for me

in a panic i ran away
trying to escape this dreadful storm
yet nowhere i went felt safe
so i kept running further away

eventually i ran far enough
to no longer hear rumbling
yet now, i was completely lost
and couldn’t help but to bark for help

i smelled something approaching,
with relief i ran towards them
only to be greeted by snarls
and growls of impending doom

they told me to leave,
as this was not my home
and they have their own guardian
whom they love and adore

so i ran some more
but i had grown tired & hungry
and stopped to scrounge for scraps
any piece of food i could find

i picked up on a pungent smell
coming from a nearby ditch
and against all i have been taught
i scarfed down this half rotten corpse

it didn’t take long for me to be sick
my stomach would grumble from pain
and i had to lay down to rest
at least for a few hours until daylight

when i awoke from my sleep
i was too disoriented
to have proper judgement
for what i was about to do

a human was approaching me
with a handful of treats
but i did not trust them
so i growled and lunged at them

they ran off and i ate the treat
that was dropped on the floor
i tried to go back to sleep
but i didn’t get much of a chance

another human approached me
this time without a treat
but a very shiny stick
with a loop at the end

i snarled with every step taken
and i didn’t know what to watch out for
is the stick to be used against me
or is that just a distraction?

before i could realize what happened
there was something tugging at my neck
and i was bound to the shiny stick,
slowly being dragged away into a kennel

we rode to a depressing building
and i was taken inside to a cage
i figured this was it for me
as my neighbors would soon agree

they told me their stories as i did mine
one of them said they had a similar tale
and how they have been stuck here since
which only made me further more sad

now i finally know why
i should never run away
or why i shouldn’t bark at night
and especially not to eat everything

most important of all,
i know why i shouldn’t bite
because now i am held captive
and there is no escape from here

a few days passed and i have given up
on ever being able to see my friend again
my guardian truly was taking care of me
and i missed them and their ways

and that’s when it happened
i couldn’t believe it…
the cage door opened
and they were there

my guardian came to rescue me!
i was filled with such joy
i would never disobey again
not even during a storm

Dear Younger Me,

I see you. I see that ache you carry, the weight of feeling unseen and trapped. It feels so heavy, doesn’t it? You’re surrounded by people who should protect you, but instead, they make you feel small. A home that doesn’t feel safe, and it hurts in ways that can’t be spoken. I hear you. You feel silenced, hidden in a corner where no one truly hears you, lost between the expectations of others and with the sting of neglect.

Stolen innocence, the abuse that no one stops or acknowledges. But none of this is your fault.Those cutting words that make you doubt your worth, those looks that make you wonder if they’re right. Like maybe you really are just angry, bitter, and undeserving of love or peace. I know they call you a rotten apple and expect you to be grateful for the hurt they inherited and handed down. But they don’t see the wounds beneath, the pain that drives you to lash out, the scars of neglect, and the love that was withheld. They only see the shell and never the child inside that’s aching and unseen.

But I’m here to tell you. They’re wrong. You are so much more than their words, stronger than the brokenness they try to make you carry. You are not their mistakes, You are not bound by your parents mistakes and their past does not define your future. I know how lonely it feels, and I’m sorry it’s like this. I wish it could be different, but I need you to hold on.

I’m grateful you put down that bottle. In that moment of darkness, you chose hope over despair, strength over silence. Remember, surviving was an act of courage; you’re still here.

That anger you feel! That fire in your chest! It’s real, and it’s valid. But don’t let it consume you. Let it keep driving you. Let it remind you of all you’re worth, of the life you’re going to build that has nothing to do with their judgments. You’re the author of this story, not them. They don’t get to write who you are. Not the teachers, not the doubters, Not your parents, Not your grandmother or anyone who has tried to break you down.

Inside you, there’s a strength that nothing can extinguish. It’s there to push you through every dark day, to rise again even when it seems impossible. Each trial is adding to that strength, that courage, that unstoppable spirit they never expected. And just know that one day, you’ll be surrounded by people who truly see you, who understand the battles you’ve fought and celebrate you for every inch of progress.

You’ll walk across a stage at an HBCU, bold and unapologetic, knowing that every ounce of pain only fueled your rise. You’ll stand there as a powerful Black woman who didn’t let anyone else define her, who became everything they said she couldn’t. So keep going, little one. Feed that fire, let it guide you. Be bold. Be unstoppable. Speak up, no matter who tries to silence you, and don’t ever apologize for the woman you’re becoming.

One day, you’ll look back and know that every tear, every struggle, and every moment of anger was part of a journey to becoming unstoppable. And you’ll be so proud of the person you fought to become.

With love and pride,
The Strong Black Woman You’ll Become

Dear Younger Me,
When I was your age, I told myself I was afraid of the dark. I slept with Mom until an age some might find “too old,” but I never really liked being alone, so why force myself? Dance Academy would play, and I’d drift off beside her, feeling the comfort of my glasses slipping off my face as I dozed. Eventually, I got used to doing it on my own. I’d take off my glasses and watch TV until my eyes grew heavy. The images were always blurry, but that never mattered—it was the comfort, the sounds that lulled me to sleep.
As I got older, I realized it wasn’t the dark I feared, but the silence. I couldn’t just sit with my thoughts, so I played music each night, letting it fill the quiet until my mind faded into sleep.
When I turned 16, I wanted more space and moved into the basement. I was thrilled to set it up like my own little apartment. “Will you be able to sleep all the way down there alone?” Mom asked, a little worried. But quarantine had changed me. I had grown comfortable with myself and even welcomed the silence darkness could bring.
Weeks passed as we finished setting up my room. Once we put the bed in, I stayed there alone all night—but then I’d return to sleep between my mom’s and grandma’s rooms. “When are you moving down?” Grandma would ask, and I’d say, “I’m just waiting until I set it up exactly how I want.” To everyone else, it might have seemed like nerves, but I knew I’d get there.
And I was right. I finished setting up the room and began sleeping down there just fine. Occasionally, the shadows would deceive me, forming images that dissipated as the lights faded, but I eventually grew accustomed to this. I wasn’t afraid anymore.
At the age of 17, I discovered that I had Type 2 diabetes. Type 2. The explanation, “Your blood sugar is too high,” didn’t seem like something a “normal” 17-year-old should be dealing with, and it made me feel like I was at fault. You need to change your diet.” The news hit hard, and I retreated into myself, looking for anything that would distract my mind. 
That’s when I started reading—book after book, writing reviews, marking my favorite parts. I read so much that I decided to write my own story. I always heard that I was good at it, so it felt natural. I wrote as an escape, just letting the words flow without overthinking. 
I haven’t finished the book yet, but it has led me to a life I never expected but am grateful for. I want to be a writer because it’s something I can control. There was always something that made me feel powerless and afraid, but writing let me create worlds, characters, and stories that follow the rules I set. In a world where so much is unpredictable, writing felt like a steady ground beneath me. I decide how things begin, how they end, and everything that happens in between. So I wrote Darker in the Shadows for you, the girl who just wanted to not feel out of control—a story dedicated to the version of me who turned the darkness into a sanctuary, a place to grow and thrive.
With love, 
-A