Unsent Letters

I’ve been carrying so much inside me, and I don’t even know where to begin.

You always tell me I can tell you anything, but the truth is, it’s harder than I ever imagined.

There are parts of me, parts of this situation, that I don’t know how to say out loud, even to you.

I love you. More than words can ever fully capture. You are my light in so many dark places,

the one who makes me believe in something better, something real and beautiful. Being with you,

even in stolen moments, feels like a glimpse of a life I’ve always dreamed of but never dared to hope for.

But this love, it’s complicated in ways I never thought possible. Because while my heart belongs to you,

my life is tangled in chains I can’t easily break. I have obligations, responsibilities,

and children who need me in ways I can’t ignore. And that means living a double life,

one filled with secrets that eat away at me every day.

I know you want more from me. You want us to be open, to build a future together, to spend nights without fear or hesitation.

And I want that too, more than anything. But right now, it feels impossible.

The walls around me are higher than I can climb, and the consequences of stepping outside them terrify me.

I hate the pressure I feel, the pressure you might not even realize you’re putting on me.

It’s not because I don’t want to be with you,

but because I’m afraid. Afraid of what might happen if we get caught, afraid of losing the family I’ve built (the kids),

afraid of losing the children I love with all my heart.

I’m not the strong, fearless person you see. Behind the smiles and laughter, I’m breaking. I’m scared.

I’m overwhelmed. I carry so much guilt, guilt for loving you, guilt for hiding this from the world,

guilt for not being able to give you everything you deserve.

And I feel like I’m failing you. I feel like I’m failing myself. Like I’m stuck between two worlds,

and no matter what I choose, someone gets hurt.

I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if it’s fixable.

All I know is that I love you, truly, deeply, and that love is pulling me in directions I never expected.

Please try to understand that this isn’t about not wanting you.

It’s about being trapped by things I didn’t choose,

by fears I can’t control. I want to believe there’s a way forward for us, but right now,

I’m just trying to hold on without losing everything.

Thank you for being patient with me, even when I can’t always be the person you want me to be.

Thank you for loving me despite the mess and the secrets.

I hope, somehow, we can find a way through this darkness together.

Xoxo Me....

I didn’t know I could feel that again.

Not after everything that happened.

Not after the breaking, the silence, the fear that lived in my chest like a second heartbeat.

I had forgotten what safety felt like.

What it meant to let my guard down without flinching.

What it felt like to exhale without bracing for pain.

But then you came.

So quietly, so gently, so unexpectedly.

You weren’t loud or dramatic.

You didn’t demand anything from me.

You were just there, soft and steady, like the sun showing up after months of storm clouds.

Maybe it was a hug that didn’t make me tense.

Maybe it was the sound of laughter that didn’t feel like a lie.

Maybe it was just sitting beside someone, in silence, and knowing I didn’t have to explain my brokenness for them to stay.

Whatever it was, something shifted.

Something inside me whispered, “You can breathe now.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I did.

I didn’t cry at first.

I didn’t break down or fall apart in that moment.

No, I just existed.

Fully. Softly.

And that was the miracle.

Because when you live with trauma, feeling safe isn’t just about the absence of danger.

It’s about the presence of peace.

The stillness that wraps around your body like a blanket and says, “You’re okay here.”

It’s the slowing of your heartbeat.

The loosening of your muscles.

The return of your voice.

It’s the moment you realize you don’t have to run anymore.

Not from them.

Not from your past.

Not from yourself.

I held onto that moment like a lifeline.

It wasn’t loud or big, but it was everything.

A small light in a very long tunnel.

A gentle reminder that healing doesn’t always come in waves.

Sometimes, it comes in whispers.

In held hands.

In a deep breath.

In the silence that doesn’t scream.

You were my reminder that safety is still possible.

That it’s still real.

That no matter how deeply someone hurt me, there is still good in the world.

Still gentleness.

Still warmth that doesn’t burn.

So thank you, for being that space.

For not rushing me.

For not needing me to be “better” or “healed” or anything I wasn’t ready to be.

You didn’t save me.

But you gave me a place where I dodn’t have to fight.

And that, that is enough.

I still have bad days.

Days where the past comes back loud and fast.

Days where I forget what safety feels like again.

But then I remember that moment.

That one soft, sacred moment.

And I know I’ll find my way back.

Because now I know it’s possible, with you by my side.

Xoxo Me....

I carried you quietly for so long,

Holding pieces of other people’s hearts in my hands,

Pouring love into empty cups,

Giving until there was nothing left inside me,

And still, I hoped, I believed, I waited.

Because loving was all I knew.

Because even when I was broken, loving felt like the only way to stay whole.

But the truth is,

It’s so hard to love when no one ever pours back into you.

When your heart is an ocean and everyone around you is a desert,

Drinking greedily without ever offering a drop in return.

When you give warmth and kindness and attention,

And all you get back is silence, indifference, or worse, pain.

I wonder if they ever noticed how much I tried.

How I stretched myself thin,

How I held my breath to avoid causing storms,

How I put their happiness above my own,

How I whispered “I’m here” even when I felt so alone.

Did they see the cracks forming in my soul?

Or did they only see the smile I wore like armor?

I loved in secret,

Behind closed doors, behind tired eyes,

Even when it hurt.

Even when it was unreturned.

Even when it made me feel small and invisible.

Because I wanted to believe love was enough.

That maybe if I loved harder,

If I gave more,

If I sacrificed just a little bit more,

I would finally be seen.

I would finally be worthy.

I would finally be held.

But love is not supposed to be a one-way street.

It’s not supposed to be a fire that burns you alive while others watch, untouched.

It’s not supposed to be the silent echo of your own heartache.

It’s supposed to be a dance.

A give and take.

A meeting of souls that lifts both.

So to the love I’ve never received but always gave,

I am tired.

I am aching.

I am learning that love without reciprocity is not love, it’s survival.

It’s hoping against hope.

It’s holding on when you should let go.

And yet, here I am, still trying to love myself through the cracks,

Still searching for the love that doesn’t leave me empty.

Still believing that one day, I will pour into a cup that overflows back into mine.

One day, my heart will not be the only one giving.

One day, I will not feel so alone in the love I offer.

Until then, I am learning to hold my own hand.

To be my own light.

To love the parts of me that have felt so unloved for so long.

And maybe, just maybe, that is the beginning of healing.

Because I deserve to be loved fully.

Not just by others, but by myself first.

And that is a love worth fighting for.

Xoxo Me....

Why me, Lord?

Why did you let this pain take root so deep inside my heart?

Why did you allow the storms to crash so violently against the fragile shores of my soul?

I come to You with hands open but heavy,

With a heart full of questions that have no easy answers.

I look around and wonder,

Why did I have to walk this path of brokenness,

This journey of shadows that never seem to fade?

Why did You let me carry wounds that feel too large for one person to bear?

Why did You watch as the ones I trusted turned away,

Leaving me alone in the dark with nothing but my tears?

I don’t understand, God.

I don’t understand why my days are filled with so much hurt,

Why my nights are haunted by memories I want to forget,

Why my spirit feels bruised and battered,

Like a fragile bird caught in a storm with no safe place to land.

Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning,

Like I’m calling out into the void and no one hears me.

I wonder if You hear me too,

If You see the silent cries that spill from my heart when no one is watching.

But even in this confusion,

Even in this ache that twists my insides,

I hold on to You,

Clutching to the thin thread of faith that keeps me tethered to hope.

Because maybe, just maybe,

There is a reason for this pain,

A purpose hidden beneath the weight of every heartbreak,

A light waiting to shine through the cracks in my brokenness.

I don’t know what that purpose is yet,

And some days I’m too tired to believe it exists,

But I still pray.

I still whisper Your name in the silence,

Hoping You will carry me when I cannot carry myself.

Please, Lord, give me strength when my body and soul feel weak,

Give me courage when fear tries to drown out my hope,

Give me peace when my heart is restless and aching.

I am tired, God.

Tired of fighting, tired of hurting, tired of feeling like I’m not enough.

But I trust that You are with me,

Even when I cannot feel Your presence,

Even when I question why this is my path.

Help me to find light in the darkness,

Help me to believe in healing,

Help me to know that my pain is not the end of my story.

Why me, Lord?

I ask, but I also wait—

Wait for Your love to heal what’s broken,

Wait for Your grace to fill the emptiness inside,

Wait for the day when I can look back and say,

“I survived because You carried me.”

Until then, I will hold onto faith,

Even when it’s fragile,

Even when it feels impossible,

Because You are my hope,

My refuge,

My strength.

Thank You for listening,

Thank You for not giving up on me,

Thank You for loving me through the pain,

Even when I don’t understand.

Xoxo Me....

I owe you an apology.

Not just for the damage,

But for the years I spent hating you,

Blaming you,

Punishing you for the pain that others caused me.

You were never the enemy.

You were just the map,

The soft armor stretched over every wound I tried to hide.

You didn’t ask for the cuts,

For the bruises,

For the shame I poured into you like poison.

You didn’t deserve the silence I gave when you were begging to be seen.

You carried me through it all,

Through the days I didn’t want to wake up,

Through the nights I wished I could disappear.

You never gave up on me,

Even when I gave up on you.

Even when I looked in the mirror and turned away in disgust.

Even when I touched the broken parts of me with anger instead of kindness.

I see you now,

I see the stretch marks that bloomed when I was growing too fast for my heart to catch up,

The cuts that healed into whispers of what I once survived,

The softness in places I used to curse,

The rough patches where I scratched away my pain, hoping it would vanish with the skin.

And still, you stayed.

Still, you held me.

Still, you clothed every ache, every memory, every invisible battle I thought no one could understand.

You held me when I was too numb to feel,

And when feeling returned,

You were still there,

Still mine.

I’m sorry for every time I said you weren’t good enough.

For every time I stood under harsh lights and tore you apart with cruel eyes.

For the times I skipped meals or skipped care,

Because I didn’t think you were worth nourishing,

Because I thought if I punished you enough,

Maybe I’d stop hurting.

But you are not the pain.

You are the survivor.

You are the canvas that tells my story when my voice can’t.

You are living proof that I made it,

That I’m still here,

That healing, even slow, is still happening.

I want to learn how to love you.

To touch you with gentleness.

To dress you in comfort, not shame.

To run my fingers along the scarred parts and say,

“This is where I kept going.”

“This is where I refused to end.”

You are beautiful,

Not despite the scars,

But because of them.

Because they are mine.

Because they mean something.

Because they tell the truth.

So from now on, I will try.

I will try to thank you,

To tend to you,

To stop asking you to be perfect and start asking you what you need.

I will stop hiding you,

Stop punishing you for not fitting into some impossible mold.

I will let you breathe,

Let you rest,

Let you be loved, even when I feel unlovable.

Because you are still here,

And that means I am too.

Xoxo Me....

I know you're still there,

Hiding in the corners of my chest,

Whispering in my ears when I try to sleep,

Clinging to every memory that still stings,

Still trying to make sense of what happened by convincing me it must have been my fault.

Still believing that maybe, just maybe, if I had done something differently,

I wouldn’t have been hurt.

I wouldn’t have been left.

I wouldn’t have been abandoned, used, broken, or silenced.

You’ve held onto shame like it was armor,

Like if you wore it tightly enough,

It could protect you from being hurt again.

You believed that if you blamed yourself first,

No one else could.

That if you took the fall,

At least you had some control.

But my love, you were never to blame.

Not for what they did.

Not for how they treated you.

Not for the things you didn’t know yet,

Not for trusting,

Not for loving,

Not for surviving the only way you knew how.

You were a child when you learned to carry guilt that wasn’t yours.

You were small and scared,

And the world taught you to apologize for your pain,

To shrink your voice,

To question your gut,

To believe that your suffering was something you caused.

But you didn’t deserve any of it.

Not the violence.

Not the silence.

Not the betrayal or the manipulation or the cruelty masked as love.

You didn’t ask to be broken.

You didn’t invite the hurt.

You didn’t fail.

You were failed.

And I’m so sorry no one protected you.

I’m sorry no one came to tell you it wasn’t your fault.

That your tears were valid.

That your fear was real.

That your pain mattered.

I wish someone would have held you and said,

“You don’t have to carry this.”

“You are not the one to blame.”

So I’ll say it now.

Loud enough for the aching parts of you that still can’t sleep.

You are not the reason they left.

You are not the reason they hurt you.

You are not too much or too little.

You are not the problem.

You are not what happened to you.

And I know it’s hard.

Letting go of guilt feels like letting go of control.

But forgiveness, real forgiveness, is not about excusing what they did.

It’s about finally allowing yourself to be free.

To be soft again.

To come back home to yourself, without shame, without fear.

So to the parts of me that still blame myself,

You don’t have to protect me anymore.

You don’t have to carry this alone.

You don’t have to fight so hard just to feel worthy.

You are already worthy.

You always were.

And if I could reach inside and hold you,

The way you’ve held everything for so long,

I would.

I would look you in the eyes and say,

“I believe you.”

“I forgive you.”

“I love you.”

Even now.

Especially now.

You are allowed to let go.

You are allowed to breathe.

You are allowed to begin again,

Without guilt.

Without blame.

With grace.

Xoxo Me....

God, I come to You today with a heart so heavy,

So full of pain and aching that I can barely breathe.

I wonder,

When will my heart heal?

When will the pieces stop bleeding,

When will the weight of sorrow finally begin to lift?

I have carried this brokenness for so long,

Held tight to wounds that seem to grow deeper with every passing day,

And though I try to be strong,

Sometimes I feel like I’m unraveling,

Like the threads of my soul are fraying and slipping away from me.

I have prayed, God,

More times than I can count,

Begging for peace, for relief, for a light to guide me out of this darkness.

But the waiting feels endless,

Like I’m stuck in a storm that refuses to pass,

And I wonder if healing is even possible for someone like me.

Why does it hurt so much,

When will this ache in my chest stop echoing so loudly?

How much longer do I have to carry this pain,

Before I can finally breathe without the weight of yesterday pressing down?

I want to trust Your timing,

To believe that every tear I’ve cried, every sleepless night,

Every broken moment is part of a greater plan I cannot yet see.

But some days, God,

That faith feels so fragile,

So far away.

I feel so broken,

Like a shattered mirror reflecting a thousand fractured pieces of myself,

And I’m scared I’ll never be whole again.

I want to believe that healing is real,

That peace can find me,

That joy can bloom even in the soil of my pain.

Please, hold me in those moments when I am weak,

Whisper to my soul when doubt threatens to take over,

Remind me gently that You are here,

That You see every scar,

That You know every silent scream that no one else hears.

When will my heart heal, God?

I don’t know.

But I’m still here.

Still fighting.

Still holding onto the hope that one day,

The cracks will fill with light,

And I will be stronger for having broken.

Thank You for not turning away,

For carrying me even when I felt too heavy to bear,

For loving me in the midst of the storm,

Even when I couldn’t love myself.

Help me keep waiting,

Help me keep believing,

Help me keep walking toward the healing I long for.

I’m tired, but I’m not giving up.

Because You are my hope,

My refuge,

My healer.

Xoxo Me...

I still remember you.

Every single one of you.

The way you wrapped around me like a storm, thick and airless, making it impossible to breathe.

The way you stretched on and on, hour after hour, until time didn’t feel real anymore.

You were the nights I thought I wouldn’t survive.

The nights I whispered goodbye into the silence, just in case.

The nights I clutched my chest and wondered if anyone would notice if I just disappeared.

The nights I cried so hard, I forgot what it felt like to be calm.

The nights I stared at the ceiling, the wall, the razor, the bottle, the rope, the window, wondering if any of them would give me peace.

You came when no one else did.

When my phone stayed quiet,

When the house was silent,

When my pain was screaming and no one could hear it.

You came when I was already tired of being strong.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of saying “I’m okay” when I was barely breathing.

You came in the form of thoughts I couldn’t shake.

Of memories I didn’t ask to relive.

Of shame that clung to my skin like something I’d never scrub away.

You came with whispers that told me I was worthless,

That I was a burden,

That no one would miss me,

That it would be better if I just let go.

And some nights, I almost believed you.

Some nights, I held the darkness so close, it felt like home.

I stared into it, waiting for it to pull me under,

Because I didn’t want to fight anymore.

Because I didn’t think I mattered anymore.

Because I didn’t know how to keep carrying pain that didn’t seem to have an end.

But here’s what you didn’t expect.

I made it through you.

Somehow, I did.

With tear-soaked pillows, trembling hands, and a heart that barely beat,

I made it through.

You almost killed me.

But you didn’t.

You tried to convince me that the pain would never pass,

But now, I’m writing this, and you are in the past.

Some nights, I still feel you.

Like a shadow just beyond the doorway, waiting.

But I know now, I am not alone.

Not anymore.

I have learned to hold on,

To whisper back,

To ask for help,

To speak, even when my voice shakes.

You were real,

And you were terrifying.

But you taught me that survival is not loud or pretty.

Sometimes it’s just choosing to wake up.

To stay.

To breathe.

To live, even when you don’t know why yet.

So to the nights that almost killed me,

I carry your scars,

But I also carry my strength.

And I am here.

Still hurting sometimes.

Still healing slowly.

But alive.

And that is a victory.

Xoxo Me....

You were always there.

Cold, still, echoing, and endless.

You were the answer I never wanted, the response that screamed louder than words ever could.

I reached out, again and again, not with hands but with heart, with eyes that begged, with voices that cracked mid-sentence, with trembling words I barely had the courage to speak.

But you answered me with nothing.

With space.

With absence.

With that hollow ache that settled in my bones every time no one came.

You were the space between sobs,

The weight that followed the moment I finally said, “I’m not okay,” and no one looked up.

You were the breath I held, hoping someone would notice the way my light was flickering,

The pause after every “I’m fine” that should have been a clue.

You were the unanswered messages,

The unread pain,

The unopened doors,

The moments where I sat in the middle of my room and wondered if anyone in the entire world could feel the way I was disappearing.

I cried for help,

Not always out loud,

Sometimes in quiet gestures, like isolating myself or shrinking away or staying awake all night because I was too afraid of my own thoughts.

And still, you answered with silence.

Not because you were cruel, maybe,

But because the world wasn’t listening.

Because people didn’t know how.

Because my suffering was too inconvenient, too messy, too hard to hold.

And that silence hurt almost more than the pain itself.

Because it made me question my worth.

It made me believe I was unlovable, unfixable, invisible.

It made me wonder what was wrong with me,

That I could scream inside and still be met with nothing.

It made me build walls, not to keep people out, but to protect myself from ever hoping again.

Because hope was dangerous.

Hope meant expecting someone to care.

And caring had become too rare to count on.

But here I am, still writing.

Still breathing.

Still alive, even after all the times you told me I didn’t matter.

Even after all the times you wrapped around me like a blanket made of ice.

Even after all the nights I cried into a pillow and held myself because no one else would.

I am here.

And maybe that’s what matters most.

Because now I know, my voice deserves to be heard, even if no one is listening.

My pain is valid, even if it made others uncomfortable.

My story matters, even if it was met with silence.

I mattered then.

And I matter now.

You taught me something I never wanted to learn,

But it made me stronger, in a brutal, unforgiving way.

You taught me how to be my own witness,

My own comfort,

My own home.

You taught me how to listen for my own voice when the world refused to echo it back.

Still, I won’t thank you.

Because you were never kindness.

You were absence.

You were what made everything harder.

But I will say this,

You didn’t win.

You didn’t keep me down.

You didn’t erase me.

I am still here.

And I’m speaking, even now.

And my words will never be silent again.

Xoxo Me....

I see you.

Even if only in glimpses.

In the quiet moments between breaking and healing.

In the softness that’s growing in the cracks of all that shattered.

In the breath you still take, even when it hurts.

Even when you’re tired.

Even when you’re unsure if you’ll ever feel whole.

I know you don’t feel her yet, this version of you who rises.

You don’t see her clearly in the mirror.

You still flinch sometimes, unsure if you’re allowed to take up space.

You still hear the echoes of old voices.

The ones that told you you were too much, or not enough.

The ones that made you apologize for your tears, for your needs, for your pain.

But you’re coming.

God, you are coming.

And though it’s slow, and messy, and nothing like the movies,

It is real.

It is honest.

And it is yours.

You are becoming the kind of woman who no longer says “I’m fine” when she’s not.

The kind who holds space for her emotions instead of burying them beneath fake smiles.

The kind who speaks even when her voice trembles.

The kind who cries in bathrooms and still gets back up, wiping mascara-streaked cheeks with trembling hands.

Not because she’s weak, but because she’s learning that vulnerability is not weakness at all.

You are becoming a woman who protects her peace.

Who walks away from what poisons her, even if it once felt like home.

Who no longer begs for love or attention or crumbs of affection from people who never truly saw her.

You are building something sacred within yourself,

Brick by brick, boundary by boundary, truth by truth.

You are soft, but not breakable.

You are still healing, but that doesn’t make you broken.

You are worthy, even on the days you don’t feel like it.

Even when you make mistakes.

Even when you fall apart.

There is a fire in you that never went out.

Even in the darkest nights, it flickered.

Even in the loneliest places, it glowed.

Even when you didn’t believe in yourself, it waited.

For you.

For now.

I know some days you feel like a stranger to yourself.

You miss the version of you who didn’t flinch so much.

Who laughed more easily.

Who trusted more freely.

But she’s not gone, she’s evolving.

You are becoming wiser, deeper, more grounded.

You are growing roots where you once only knew survival.

So please don’t rush this.

Don’t shame yourself for how long it’s taking.

Transformation is not always graceful.

It’s jagged. Exhausting. Holy.

It’s rising from the ashes with burned hands and a brave heart.

One day, you’ll look back and realize,

You didn’t just survive.

You became.

You became someone who chose to live.

Who chose to try.

Who chose herself.

And I will be here, always, watching you bloom.

Through the tears. Through the mess. Through the quiet victories no one else sees.

I will be here.

Loving you.

Rooting for you.

Becoming you.

Xoxo Me....

You were there from the very beginning.

Soft. Curious. Brave.

You tried to speak even when the world told you to hush.

You tried to rise even when I kept burying you beneath shame, fear, and silence.

And I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry for all the times I ignored you.

For all the moments I chose to stay quiet when everything inside me screamed for truth.

For every second I let others speak over you, louder and harsher, until you didn’t know if you had the right to exist at all.

You were only trying to protect me.

To guide me.

To remind me of what felt right, what felt wrong, what felt like me.

But I doubted you.

I silenced you.

I was taught that being small was being safe, that being quiet was being good, that having a voice was dangerous.

So I turned you into an apology.

A whisper.

A hidden thing I only listened to in the dead of night when no one else could hear.

You begged me to speak up when I was hurting.

And I didn’t.

You warned me when someone’s touch didn’t feel right.

And I ignored you.

You cried with me when I broke down in empty rooms, aching to be heard, even just once, by someone who would believe me.

And still, I stayed silent, because I thought that’s what strong people did.

I abandoned you when you needed me most.

And for that, I’m sorry.

But I want to change now.

I want to hear you again, clearly, fully, without shame.

I want to trust that you know what’s best for me.

That you always did.

That maybe the reason I never felt whole was because I kept cutting you off mid-sentence.

Because I was too scared of what might happen if I let you speak all the way through.

You’ve always been there, haven't you?

Even in the silence, you waited.

Even when I whispered lies to myself, you held onto the truth.

Even when I screamed that I was worthless, you quietly reminded me that I wasn’t.

And now I want to listen.

To the anger that rises when my boundaries are crossed.

To the joy that bubbles when I do something brave.

To the sorrow that needs to be acknowledged.

To the fear that needs comfort, not shame.

To the truth that lives in my bones, in my breath, in my being.

You are not too much.

You are not too loud.

You are not embarrassing or dramatic or inconvenient.

You are sacred.

You are powerful.

You are mine.

So here I am.

Choosing you again.

Promising to stand beside you when your words shake.

Promising to love you, even when others don’t.

Promising to let you sing, scream, sob, whisper, whatever you need.

Because you deserve that.

Because I deserve that.

From now on, you will no longer be silenced.

You will no longer be second-guessed.

You will be honored, cherished, and trusted, like the lifeline you are.

And one day, we will speak without fear.

Without guilt.

Without apology.

And we will finally be free.

Xoxo Me....

God, I’m coming to You with a heart weighed down by shadows so heavy I can barely stand.

Everything feels overwhelming, like I’m sinking in a sea that never ends,

Drowning in fears and doubts, lost in the silence that screams inside me.

I don’t know how much longer I can carry this,

How many more nights I can face the cold emptiness alone,

The crushing loneliness that wraps around me like a thick fog,

Making it hard to find even the smallest flicker of hope.

Please, carry me through this darkness.

Be the steady hand that holds mine when my own is shaking,

Be the light that breaks through the blackness when my eyes refuse to see,

Be the voice that whispers courage when my spirit is too tired to fight.

I am so tired, God.

Tired of pretending that I’m okay when inside I’m falling apart,

Tired of smiling through the pain,

Tired of waking up every day to carry wounds no one understands.

I beg You, don’t let me walk this road alone anymore.

When the weight of it all presses down so hard I can’t breathe,

When my heart feels like it might shatter from the inside out,

Lift me up.

Hold me close when the nights are the darkest,

When the past haunts me like a ghost I cannot escape,

When the tears fall silently and no one is there to catch them.

I need Your strength because mine is fading,

I need Your light because my world is swallowed in shadows,

I need Your love because sometimes I forget what it feels like to be worthy of it.

Carry me through the darkness, God,

Because I want to believe in morning again,

I want to believe that the sun will rise over the pain,

That healing is possible,

That I am not broken beyond repair.

Thank You for never leaving,

For being the quiet presence even when I cannot hear You,

For holding my hand through every storm,

Even when I was too lost to feel it.

Help me hold on,

Help me keep walking toward the light,

Help me trust that this darkness is not the end of my story.

I am broken, yes,

But I am still here.

Still breathing.

Still hoping.

Carry me, God.

Carry me through the darkness.

Xoxo Me....

You probably don’t even remember me.

You might not even realize what you did.

Maybe it was just another moment in your day. A passing second you forgot before the sun set.

But I remember you. I remember everything. Because in a world that had gone cold and hollow, your small act of kindness lit something inside me that I thought had gone out forever.

You didn’t know that I was hanging by a thread.

That I had barely gotten out of bed that morning.

That my heart was heavy with grief no one saw.

That I had convinced myself I didn’t matter.

That no one would notice if I simply disappeared.

But then, there you were.

Maybe it was the way you smiled at me when no one else did.

Or the way you picked up something I dropped without hesitation.

Maybe it was the way you said “Take care” like you meant it.

Or the way you looked into my eyes and didn’t look away.

Maybe it was just how your presence didn’t demand anything from me.

Just quiet warmth in a world that felt too sharp, too loud, too much.

You didn’t try to fix me.

You didn’t even know I was broken.

You were just kind.

So effortlessly kind.

And in that moment, I realized how starved I had been for something gentle. Something good. Something soft enough to remind me I wasn’t invisible.

I don’t think you know what you saved that day.

You saved me from the spiral.

From the weight of believing I was alone in a world that didn’t care.

You gave me a breath when I didn’t think I deserved one.

You reminded me that light still exists.

That people can still be good.

It wasn’t about what you said.

It was how you made me feel seen. Even if just for a second.

Even if you walked away and forgot.

I carried that second with me like a seed.

And on the darkest nights, it grew. Slowly. Quietly. Until it became something more.

A reason.

A sliver of hope.

A whisper that maybe I could hold on just one more day.

So thank you.

For doing what you didn’t know I needed.

For being light without trying.

For showing me that not all strangers are dangerous. Some are soft-hearted angels in human form.

You will never know the weight you lifted.

You will never know the tears I cried afterward.

Not out of pain, but out of relief.

Because someone saw me, and it was enough.

Wherever you are. I hope you are safe.

I hope the world is being gentle with you, the way you were gentle with me.

I hope you’re surrounded by the same kindness you offered without even knowing it.

You probably don’t remember me.

But I will never forget you.

Xoxo Me...

I didn’t think you’d come.

There were nights I lay curled beneath my pain, wondering if light would ever find me again. Days I dragged myself through the motions, a hollow shell of someone who used to feel, used to dream, used to hope. Everything hurt, even breathing. Even smiling. Even existing. And in those moments, you felt like a myth. A cruel promise whispered by people who didn’t understand what it was like to be drowning in your own mind.

But somehow, you came.

You didn’t arrive with a grand announcement. There was no lightning bolt. No miracle moment. You crept in quietly, like the first light before dawn. Gentle. Slow. Almost invisible at first. It started with one breath that didn’t ache as much. One morning where I opened my eyes and didn’t immediately wish I hadn’t. One smile, small and shaky, that felt like mine again.

And then I felt you.

The warmth on my skin. The way sunlight wrapped around my shoulders like a soft, forgiving blanket. The way I stood outside. Really stood there. And let the world touch me without fear. I blinked into your brightness, and for the first time in so long, I didn’t shrink away from it. I didn’t hide.

I let the sun reach me. And I let myself feel it.

You were more than just a day. You were proof. Proof that even after the deepest winters of the soul, the sun still rises. Proof that healing is not a straight line. But a million little steps forward. Backward. Sideways. And still, somehow, forward again. Proof that the heart can remember how to beat for something more than just survival.

You were the day I laughed without guilt.
The day music sounded like joy again.
The day food tasted like comfort, not punishment.
The day I looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch. Even if the person staring back at me was still learning how to love herself.

You didn’t erase the past.
You didn’t take away the scars.
But you reminded me that I am still here. That the girl who once thought the darkness would swallow her whole made it. And not just barely. She rose.

To the day I finally felt the sun again.
Thank you for waiting for me.
Thank you for showing me that healing is quiet and messy and real.
Thank you for reminding me that I am allowed to feel good things. That I don’t have to live in mourning forever.
That light can live beside my pain. Not in place of it.

I will never forget the darkness. But I no longer live there.
I carry it, yes. But it no longer carries me.

And when the clouds return, as they sometimes do, I will remember you.
I will remember this warmth.
This breath.
This softness.
This peace.

I will remember that I didn’t give up.

And I will wait, gently. Patiently. Bravely. For the sun to find me again.

Xoxo Me....

I carry your voices in the stillness, whispered expectations, unspoken rules, the weight of eyes that watched my every move, ready to praise me when I bowed my head and fall silent. I learned early that love in this home was measured by my obedience, my absence of question, my willingness to fade into the background rather than risk your displeasure. So I perfected the art of muteness, of shrinking myself until I became a shadow of who I was.

You told me, without saying a word, that your comfort was more important than my voice,

You taught me that my fears, my tears, my dreams, my anger, even my laughter, were inconvenient distractions from the smooth surface you insisted upon,

You embraced me only when I played the part you wrote, when I remained small, compliant, and unseen.

I remember the holidays when I sat at the table, brimming with secrets I was too afraid to speak, while you praised my “good behavior” like it was a medal.

I remember the family gatherings where I watched cousins hug and laugh freely, while I learned that the safest place was to stand at the edge, quiet, motionless, inconsequential.

I remember the nights I cried silently in my room, hands over my mouth so you wouldn’t hear the sobs you’d call “dramatic” or “attention-seeking.”

You demanded my silence as though it were proof of my loyalty,

You whispered that I should be grateful for your approval, for the scraps of affection you tossed my way whenever I perfected my stillness,

And in your eyes, I saw the message: a daughter who spoke up was a daughter who challenged your control, who questioned your narrative, who threatened the careful façade of your perfection.

But here’s the truth you tried so hard to bury,

My voice matters,

My pain matters,

My story matters.

I have carried the burden of your conditional love for too long,

I have worn silence like a shroud, thinking it would protect me from your wrath, your disappointment, your withdrawal,

But silence doesn’t heal, it corrodes. It turns love into a transaction, affection into a reward system, and family into a cage.

So I’m writing this letter now, not to demand your approval, but to reclaim my right to be heard.

I’m writing to the mother who averted her gaze when I bled in secret, who told me that tears were a weakness instead of the language of a wounded heart.

I’m writing to the father who praised my obedience and dismissed my questions, who never paused to ask what I felt or what I needed.

I’m writing to the siblings who learned early that my silence kept us all “peaceful,” even as it left me hollow and alone.

I forgive myself for believing, for so many years, that I had to be quiet to be worthy.

I forgive myself for the nights I lay awake, reciting apologies in my head for things I never did.

And I forgive you, for acting out of fear, out of your own wounds, out of the same pressures that demanded your own silences.

But I will no longer be a ghost of your expectations,

I will speak my heart, even if it trembles,

I will share my dreams, even if they frighten you,

I will voice my pain, even if it disrupts your uneasy calm.

I will practice my courage in the daylight,

so that silence becomes my choice, not my prison.

I will surround myself with those who welcome my questions,

who hold space for my tears,

who celebrate my laughter.

And I will build a new family, one made of mutual respect, unconditional love, and the freedom to be fully alive.

To the family that only loved me when I was quiet,

Thank you for teaching me the cost of my silence.

Thank you for driving me to find my own voice.

And thank you, unintentionally, for guiding me toward a life where silence is no longer a demand, but simply one of many colors in the beautiful, wild palette of who I am.

Xoxo Me....

You refused to see the storm behind my eyes,

You dismissed the trembling in my voice, the way I flinched at sudden sounds, the nights I couldn’t sleep because my mind replayed every hurt in an endless loop,

You told me I was overreacting, that I was too sensitive, that what I endured was “no big deal,” as if my tears and my fears were curiosities, not evidence of deep wounds.

I need you to understand something, your words mattered.

When you minimized my pain, you taught me to doubt my own truth.

You made me believe that if I cried, I was weak; if I remembered, I was dramatic; if I spoke, I was seeking attention.

You shamed me into silence, convinced me that my survival was overblown, that my trauma was somehow less real than anyone else’s.

Do you realize how that feels?

Like wandering through a burning house and having someone say, “It’s just a little smoke.”

Like falling from a cliff and being told, “You’re fine, just a scratch.”

Like opening a bleeding wound and being told, “It’s nothing, it’ll heal on its own.”

Your denial cut deeper than any blow.

Because it wasn’t just the original hurt I was grappling with,

It was the betrayal of those I thought would believe me, protect me, hold me.

How can you heal when the people around you refuse to acknowledge the damage?

How can you learn to trust yourself, to trust the world, when even your closest companions brand you a liar?

Yes, I remember the nights I trembled in the dark,

Afraid that my fear would never end, afraid it wasn’t “bad enough” to earn help.

I remember the times I reached out, hoping for compassion, only to be handed a shrug.

I remember the ache of wanting to be believed more than anything, and the hollowness when your response was indifference.

But here is what I have learned,

My pain is real, even if you couldn’t see it.

My survival is valid, even if you couldn’t hear it.

My growth is powerful, even if you refused to acknowledge it.

I survived what you said was “not that bad.”

I stitched myself together on nights when your voices were louder than my own.

I found help in whispers of compassion from strangers, in the gentle strength of my own heart.

I found proof that healing doesn’t require your permission.

So this letter is not for you to feel guilty, though I hope you reflect.

This letter is an oath to myself,

I will honor my truth.

I will speak my pain.

I will never again allow someone else to dictate the value of my experience.

To every “It wasn’t that bad” I ever heard,

Thank you for driving me to discover my own voice.

Thank you for showing me that my worth is not measured by your ease, but by my courage to endure.

And thank you, unintentionally, for guiding me toward people who see me, who believe me, who stand with me.

Xoxo Me....

You marked me.

Not just on my skin, but deep inside my soul, where your hands could never truly reach — but still managed to leave scars that no one else sees.

You tried to take everything from me — my innocence, my safety, my trust, my sense of self.

You built a prison around my past, with walls made of fear and silence, locking away the parts of me that still scream in the quiet.

But here I am.

Still breathing.

Still fighting.

Still standing, even when it feels like the weight of what you did might crush me.

You may have touched my past,

But you do not own my present.

You do not control my future.

I am reclaiming my voice, piece by piece,

Even when it trembles with pain,

Even when it cracks with fear,

Even when it’s hard to speak at all.

I am telling my story now, not because I want sympathy,

But because I refuse to be silenced any longer.

Because my truth matters,

Because my healing matters,

Because I am more than what you did to me.

You tried to break me.

To erase me.

To make me feel small and worthless.

But I am bigger than your cruelty.

I am stronger than your hate.

I am a survivor, raw, real, and unyielding.

I carry the scars you left,

But I carry my own strength too.

The strength to face each day,

The strength to feel again,

The strength to hope for something better.

Your hands may have shaped my past,

But they will never define who I am.

I am reclaiming my life,

My body,

My soul.

And every day, I choose to live —

Not because of you,

But in spite of you.

To my abuser,

I am here.

I am whole.

Xoxo Me....

I wrote your names on my heart,

Believed we were forever,

But when the pieces of me shattered,

You turned away.

You saw the cracks forming,

The tremors in my voice,

Yet you let your footsteps fade

Before I even asked you to stay.

I remember the nights I called your name through tears,

Hoping you’d run toward me, not away,

Hoping that friendship meant more

Than convenience or comfort.

But you were gone.

Gone when my laughter turned to ragged gasps,

Gone when my smiles fractured under the weight of my sorrow,

Gone when I needed you most,

When every fiber of me was unraveling.

Your absence taught me a lesson I never wanted:

That some hearts are only strong enough

To hold joy, but too brittle for grief.

That loyalty can shatter

The moment it’s tested.

I replay our history in my mind, the dinners, the secrets, the late-night talks,

And wonder if any of it was real,

Or if it was just a beautiful lie

You told yourself so you could feel safe.

I mourned you as if you were gone forever,

Because you were.

Not just gone, vanished

Into the comfort of your own lives,

Leaving me in that lonely space

Where fears grow wild and hope suffocates.

But I learned to breathe again,

Even without you here to catch me.

I learned to stitch myself whole,

One trembling breath at a time.

I learned that the arms I needed

Were my own.

Still, I grieve the loss of who we were,

The friendship that died when I was broken.

I grieve the trust I misplaced,

The hand I reached for

Only to find empty air.

To you, who walked away:

I do not hate you.

I’m only sad.

Sad that you couldn’t stay for the hard parts,

Sad that you valued ease over empathy,

Sad that you taught me how fleeting “friend” can be.

But I forgive you, too,

Because I forgive us all for being human,

For sometimes being too afraid to bear each other’s wounds,

For drifting apart when the storm came.

And now, I stand on firmer ground,

A little more cautious, perhaps, but also stronger,

Wiser in my choices, kinder to my heart.

I recognize who will stay when I falter,

And I hold those souls close.

To the friends who left when I broke:

Thank you for teaching me the value of true presence.

Thank you for showing me the strength I had to find alone.

And thank you, unintentionally, for guiding me

Toward the people who would never let me fall.

Xoxo Me....

There are nights when the silence is deafening,

When the darkness presses so hard against my chest that it feels like I’m drowning in air I cannot breathe,

And I wonder, with every shattered heartbeat,

Why I had to face all of this alone.

I shouldn’t have had to survive this alone.

No one should ever have to carry such unbearable pain without a single hand to hold,

Without a whisper of comfort in the cold,

Without a soul brave enough to see the brokenness and stay.

But here I am,

Carrying wounds that no one knew how to heal,

Fighting battles that no one even saw,

Walking through a world that turned away,

Pretending I was whole when I was breaking in ways no one understood.

I learned to hide behind a mask of smiles,

To swallow my screams into silent sobs,

To tuck away my shattered pieces so deep that even I sometimes forgot they were there.

Because if I let them show,

If I let anyone see the raw, bleeding girl beneath,

I might shatter completely.

I was the invisible storm,

Raging inside,

Alone,

Unseen.

I was the quiet desperation in the spaces between words,

The trembling hand no one reached for,

The hollow ache that no one asked about.

I should have had someone to say,

“It’s okay to not be okay.

You don’t have to be strong all the time.

I’m here.

You’re not alone.”

But those words never came.

Instead, there was silence,

Cold indifference,

Empty spaces where love should have been.

I survived because I had no choice,

Because somewhere inside me,

Beneath the exhaustion,

The fear,

The crushing loneliness,

There was a flicker of something fierce and stubborn and alive.

But surviving doesn’t mean healing.

Surviving means waking up every day to the weight of memories that still haunt me,

The echoes of pain that refuse to fade,

The scars I carry on my skin and in my soul.

I should not have had to face this alone.

I should have been held,

Loved,

Protected.

But instead, I became my own fortress,

Guarding a heart that was too fragile to trust,

Building walls so high that sometimes I can’t even see the sky.

And oh, how lonely it is,

To fight for your life in silence,

To carry grief that no one asks about,

To feel like your pain is too much for the world to bear.

If you are reading this,

And you feel that same ache,

That same hollow loneliness,

Please know this—

You are not alone, even when the world forgets to say it.

You are not forgotten, even when no one holds your hand.

And if you are like me,

If you survived alone,

Know that your strength is nothing short of miraculous.

You are a warrior,

A flame that refused to be snuffed out,

Even when everything inside you begged for rest.

But I pray for the day when no one has to survive alone again,

When someone reaches out before the silence becomes too loud,

When no heart is left to shatter in shadows.

Until then,

I carry my story quietly,

A fragile but unbreakable testament to the girl who refused to give up,

The woman who is still learning to live,

To love,

To heal—

Even when the world felt too heavy,

Even when I am all alone.

Xoxo Me....

I want you to know that I see you.

Not the version you showed the world, charming, kind, loving.

But the cold, calculated person who wore a mask made of lies and half-truths, who took what you wanted without a single thought to the destruction you left behind.

You pretended to love me.

You said the words I longed to hear, gave me the smiles I desperately needed, wrapped me in promises that crumbled the moment your back was turned.

You held me just close enough to keep me from running, but always distant enough to remind me I was never truly yours.

You took my heart and treated it like a game piece, something to move around, to discard, to break without remorse.

You used my kindness against me.

My trust.

My hope.

You made me believe that I was special, that I was worthy, only to show me how easily I could be discarded, forgotten, replaced.

And when I cried, when I begged for answers, when I tried to hold on, you twisted the truth, turned the blame back on me, made me question my own reality.

You shattered my self-worth, piece by piece, until I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

I became the girl afraid to love, afraid to trust, afraid to believe in anything good again.

But here’s what you never counted on:

I am still here.

Broken, yes. Hurt, yes.

But breathing.

Fighting.

Learning to love myself even when it feels impossible.

I am reclaiming every piece of me that you tried to steal.

The pieces you thought you’d destroyed, my hope, my strength, my voice, they are rising from the ashes.

You may have left scars, but those scars tell a story of survival, not defeat.

I am angry.

I am furious.

Not just at you, but at the world that let me believe your lies for so long.

But that anger fuels me now.

It gives me power.

It reminds me every day that I deserve so much more than what you gave.

You did not love me.

You loved what you could use, what you could control, what you could break and leave behind.

But I am not broken beyond repair.

I am not yours to hold.

I am not a chapter in your story to be discarded.

This letter is my reclaiming, my roar after years of silence.

To remind myself that I am worthy of love that is real.

That I am worthy of respect, kindness, and truth.

That I am worthy of a love that doesn’t use me, but lifts me up.

To you, the person who pretended to love me just enough to use me,

know this: I see you.

I remember the pain you caused.

And I am choosing me over you, every single day.

I am healing.

I am growing.

I am free.

And I will never let anyone treat me like I was a disposable thing again.

Xoxo Me....

No matter how much I try to be strong,

No matter how many masks I wear,

There’s a little girl inside me who’s still screaming,

Still hurting,

Still reaching out for something she never got.

She’s scared,

Lonely,

Confused by a world that seemed so cruel when all she wanted was love.

She’s carrying wounds no one saw,

Cries no one heard,

A silence so deep it feels like it might swallow her whole.

That little girl needed someone to hold her,

To tell her she was enough,

To protect her from the darkness that crept in.

But no one did.

And so she learned to scream inside,

To hide the pain beneath a fragile smile,

To believe that asking for help was a weakness,

When it was really the bravest thing she could have done.

I still hear her sometimes,

In the quiet moments,

When the world is too loud,

When my heart feels too heavy,

When the past refuses to stay buried.

I want to tell her she is safe now.

That she is seen,

That she is loved beyond measure.

But I also want her to know that it’s okay to scream,

To cry,

To feel broken.

Because that little girl is still part of me,

And she always will be.

And until I learn to hold her with the kindness she deserves,

I’ll keep carrying her pain,

Keep fighting for her voice to be heard.

To no one,

To the child inside me who never stopped needing love,

I’m here now.

And I’m not going anywhere.

Xoxo Me....

I see you.

The smile you wear like armor, the laughter that echoes when inside, you’re quietly breaking.

The way you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, but keep your face calm so no one notices the cracks beneath.

You’re so tired, aren’t you?

Tired of explaining.

Tired of being asked “Are you okay?” when you’re not.

Tired of feeling like your pain is too heavy to share, or worse, that it’s invisible to everyone else.

That smile is brave.

It’s a shield you’ve crafted to protect yourself from questions you’re not ready to answer.

To keep the world from seeing the parts of you that ache and tremble.

To hold together a heart that feels like it might shatter if even one more person looked too closely.

But I want you to know this:

You don’t have to carry it alone.

You don’t have to hide behind that smile forever.

It’s okay to be tired.

It’s okay to let someone in, to show them the real you, even if it feels scary.

You are worthy of being seen, all of you, not just the brave mask you wear.

That smile is beautiful, but your truth is more powerful.

Your tears are not a sign of weakness, they are the language of healing.

Your pain does not make you less; it makes you human.

So, to the girl who smiles so no one asks if she’s okay, I am here.

I see you.

I hear you.

And I want to hold your hand through the quiet moments no one else knows about.

You don’t have to hide anymore.

You can let your guard down, slowly, gently, on your own terms.

Because you deserve kindness.

You deserve compassion.

You deserve to be held, in all your broken, beautiful complexity.

I am proud of your courage, even when it’s silent.

And I believe in the light waiting to shine through, just beyond that smile.

Xoxo Me....

I’ve asked myself this question more times than I can count,

Why didn’t you fight for me?

Why did you turn away when I was falling apart,

When I was begging for someone to stand up,

To hold my hand,

To say, “I’m here, I won’t let go”?

Maybe you were invisible,

A ghost I imagined when the silence became too loud,

Or maybe you were real and just never strong enough,

Never brave enough,

Never caring enough to battle for the broken girl who needed saving.

I needed you more than I ever knew how to say.

I needed someone to see me when I was disappearing,

To fight the darkness that swallowed my light,

To believe in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.

But you didn’t.

You watched from the sidelines,

Or maybe you were lost too,

Or maybe you never existed at all.

And that emptiness hurts just as much as the pain I was drowning in.

I wonder if you ever thought about me.

If you ever felt a flicker of regret,

A moment of doubt.

Did you imagine what could have been,

If you had just stayed?

Because I did.

I imagined what it would be like to be fought for,

To be loved fiercely,

To be worth fighting for.

And when I realized you wouldn’t come,

That no one would,

I felt utterly alone.

So here I am,

Writing this letter to no one,

To the ghost that never came to my rescue,

To the silence that filled the spaces where your voice should have been.

I forgive you, in the way that I can,

But I also mourn you—

The absence,

The lost chance,

The little girl who still waits for someone to fight for her.

Xoxo Me....

I want to speak to you, the part of me who stood on the edge when everything felt unbearably dark.

The part that felt so heavy, so broken, so lost that the only escape seemed to be to stop fighting.

I’m sorry you were alone in that moment.

I’m sorry the world wasn’t there to catch you when the weight crushed your spirit.

I’m sorry no one held your hand, no one whispered that you mattered, no one stayed long enough to see the pain behind your silence.

I know it felt like the darkness would never end.

Like the pain would swallow you whole.

Like you were drowning in a sea with no shore in sight.

I know you thought no one could understand, no one could help, and no one would stay.

But here’s what I want you to hear now:

You were not alone.

Even when it felt that way, a part of me was holding on for you, fragile, scared, but refusing to let go.

A part of me was waiting for the dawn, even when I couldn’t see it yet.

I am sorry it was so hard.

I am sorry the loneliness was so deep.

I am sorry the pain was so heavy.

But I am proud of you.

Proud that you survived that night.

Proud that you are still here, breathing, fighting, hoping.

You are so much stronger than you know.

You have carried a darkness most people will never understand, and yet you are still standing.

Still moving forward, even if only by the smallest steps.

Please know that your feelings were real, your pain was real, and your struggle was valid.

And I promise, I will never leave you alone again.

I will hold you gently, speak kindly, and remind you every day that you are loved beyond measure.

To the part of me who wanted to die, I am here now.

I see you.

I love you.

And I will never stop fighting for you.

Xoxo Me....

I’m so tired.

So tired of putting on a mask every day,

Smiling when my heart is breaking,

Laughing when inside I’m screaming,

Pretending that everything is fine just so no one has to deal with the storm I carry.

I don’t want to pretend anymore.

I don’t want to hold my pain inside just to keep others comfortable,

To make the world think I’m strong,

To hide the cracks in my soul that feel like they’re getting wider with every passing day.

There’s a weight on my chest that no one sees,

A sadness that drips into every moment I try to fake joy,

And I’m exhausted from the performance,

From the endless acting,

From the silence that’s supposed to be my strength but feels like my prison.

I want to scream, to cry, to fall apart and not be afraid of what others will think,

To be seen in my mess, in my pain, in my brokenness without judgment,

Without people turning away because it’s too hard to watch.

But I don’t know how to do that.

Because the world taught me that showing pain is weakness,

That vulnerability is dangerous,

That my feelings are too much to bear.

So I keep pretending.

Until my heart shatters in silence,

Until the nights are filled with tears no one hears,

Until I forget what it feels like to just be me without the mask.

I’m done pretending.

I want to be honest with myself, with the world,

Even if it means being uncomfortable,

Even if it means facing the fear of being truly seen.

Because maybe, just maybe,

There’s freedom in truth.

There’s healing in letting go of the need to be okay for everyone else.

So here I am,

Not okay,

Not pretending,

Just real.

And maybe that’s enough for today.

Xoxo Me....

I’m exhausted beyond words.

Tired of reaching out with an open heart only to be met with silence,

Tired of giving pieces of myself that I can never get back,

Tired of chasing affection that should have been mine without asking.

Love was supposed to be easy.

Something pure and free,

Something that doesn’t come with conditions,

Or waiting,

Or begging.

But all I’ve known is hunger—

A desperate ache for a love that never came when I needed it most,

For warmth that wasn’t returned,

For hands that let go before I could even hold on tight.

I begged in whispers and screams,

In tears and silence,

But the answer was always the same—

Not enough,

Not worthy,

Not wanted.

It breaks me every time,

How love can feel so scarce,

How my heart can feel so empty,

Even when I’m giving everything I have.

I want to stop begging.

I want to stop feeling like my worth is tied to someone else’s choice to stay.

I want to know that I am enough,

Just as I am,

Without having to prove it over and over again.

But the ache remains.

The longing is real.

The emptiness echoes in the quiet corners of my soul.

And I wonder if I’ll ever feel what it’s like to be loved freely,

To be held gently,

To be wanted just for being me—

Not for what I can give,

Not for what I can fix,

But simply for existing.

Until then,

I carry this tired heart,

This wounded soul,

Hoping that one day,

I will find the love I deserve.

Without begging.

Without breaking.

Without losing myself in the waiting.

Xoxo Me....

I see you there, quiet, still, like a hollow shell drifting through the day.

The part of you that feels nothing, or maybe too much all at once, like your heart has been packed away somewhere, out of reach.

I know those days are heavy.

When the world moves on around you, but you’re stuck in this silent space where feelings seem locked behind an invisible door.

Where even hope feels distant, and the weight of emptiness presses so hard it’s hard to breathe.

It’s okay to feel this way.

It’s okay to not have answers right now.

It’s okay to be tired of trying, tired of feeling like you’re carrying so much that your spirit just, pauses.

I want you to know: you are not broken beyond repair.

You are not lost forever.

You are still here.

And that means there is still light, even if it’s just a flicker right now.

Sometimes numbness is your mind’s way of protecting you from pain so sharp it would shatter you otherwise.

Sometimes it’s a sign that you need rest, kindness, and space, not pressure or judgment.

So, on the days when you feel like a shell, empty and quiet, be gentle with yourself.

Wrap yourself in soft comforts, even if they feel small.

Allow yourself to simply be without forcing yourself to feel or fix or understand.

Know that this emptiness will not last forever.

The light inside you is still burning, even if it’s dim.

And little by little, piece by piece, it will grow again.

You are not alone in this space.

And I am here, holding your hand through the silence, waiting with you for the day when your heart will sing again.

Hold on to that hope, no matter how faint.

Because even shells hold the promise of life inside.

Xoxo Me....

God, I’m so tired—so weary in ways I cannot fully explain,

My soul feels worn thin from carrying burdens too heavy for one heart,

And yet, here I am, still holding onto You,

Still reaching out with trembling hands,

Still whispering Your name in the quiet moments when the world feels too much.

I don’t know how I’ve made it this far,

Through the nights filled with tears I thought would never end,

Through the days when every step felt like a battle I was losing,

Through the endless ache inside that never seems to fully fade.

Sometimes, the weight of it all presses down so hard I want to give up,

To let the darkness swallow me whole,

To stop fighting for a peace that feels so far away.

But even in my exhaustion,

Even when my heart is breaking under the strain,

I trust You.

I trust that there is a reason for this pain,

That You are weaving something beautiful from the broken pieces of my story,

That Your plan is greater than the sorrow I carry,

That Your love will find me even in the deepest shadows.

But God, the waiting is so hard.

The not knowing,

The feeling like I’m lost in a storm with no shelter,

It shakes me to my core.

I want to be strong for the world,

To smile and say I’m okay,

To carry hope like a banner,

But inside, I am tired—

So very tired.

Please forgive me for the moments I falter,

For the times my faith feels weak,

For the days when the pain feels louder than Your promises.

Help me remember that trusting You doesn’t mean I have to be perfect,

That it’s okay to be broken and still believe,

That hope can live even in the cracks of my weary heart.

Thank You for holding me when I can’t hold myself,

For carrying me when my legs give out,

For loving me even when I forget to love myself.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring,

But I choose to trust You with my story,

With my healing,

With my heart.

I’m so tired, God,

But I’m not giving up.

Because You are my strength,

My refuge,

My hope.

Carry me gently,

Lead me through this valley,

And when I feel like I have nothing left,

Remind me that Your love is enough.

Thank You for never leaving me,

For walking beside me every step of the way,

For being the light that never fades.

I am tired, yes,

But I trust You.

Xoxo Me....

It doesn’t always make sense.

Some mornings I open my eyes and feel like I’ve been drowning in a storm I can’t remember,

And all that’s left is salt on my cheeks,

A tightness in my chest,

And a whisper of something lost.

I still wake up crying sometimes.

Not from the dreams,

But from the things that never leave,

The feelings that follow me into sleep like shadows I can’t outrun.

They crawl beneath my skin,

Settle in the corners of my heart,

And pull me into memories I never wanted.

Sometimes, I wake up and I swear I can still hear the words that broke me.

I still feel the hands that hurt me,

The silence that swallowed my cries,

The emptiness that wrapped itself around me like a second skin.

And there’s this moment—

Right before the sun comes in—

Where I don’t know where I am,

Who I am,

Or why my body feels like it’s bracing for something that isn’t even happening anymore.

But my heart doesn’t know the difference.

Because pain doesn’t understand time.

Trauma doesn’t care that it’s over.

It echoes.

There are nights I go to sleep with hope,

With a tiny prayer tucked into my chest that maybe, just maybe, tonight will be kind.

But then I wake up with tears I didn’t ask for,

A weight I didn’t invite,

And all I can do is sit there in the morning light,

Holding myself like no one ever did.

I try not to hate myself for it.

For still hurting.

For still remembering.

For still breaking in the quiet.

Because healing isn’t a straight line.

It’s circles.

It’s spirals.

It’s bleeding through the bandages you thought were enough.

And the worst part is,

No one sees this version of me.

The one who curls up with her own pain,

The one who has learned to cry without a sound,

The one who wakes up with eyes swollen from dreams she didn’t choose.

But I see her.

I hold her.

And I remind her,

Even in the moments when it feels like I’m unraveling all over again—

I survived.

I’m surviving still.

So yes, I still wake up crying sometimes,

But I also wake up.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

Xoxo Me....

There’s a version of me I haven’t seen in a long time.

She used to laugh like the world was light,

Like her chest wasn’t full of knots,

Like she believed love could stay and pain was just a passing thing.

I miss her.

More than I know how to say.

She was soft,

Before the world made her hard.

She trusted,

Before betrayal taught her how to question everything.

She loved easily,

Freely,

Without always looking for the exits in people’s affection.

She didn’t know yet what it meant to be left.

To be hurt by the people she gave the most of herself to.

To feel like her worth depended on her silence,

Her obedience,

Her ability to smile through the ache.

I think of her often.

The girl who believed in happy endings.

The one who looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch.

The one who danced in the kitchen without feeling like she needed permission to take up space.

She’s still in there,

I think.

But buried beneath layers of survival.

Of armor she never asked to wear.

I miss her.

I miss the version of me that didn’t carry so many goodbyes in her bones.

The one who wasn’t afraid of her own voice.

The one who didn’t cry herself to sleep or wake up wondering how she’ll make it through another day of pretending.

The world changed me.

Pain changed me.

Love, or the lack of it, changed me.

And I mourn her like you mourn a lost home—

Because that’s what she was.

Home,

Before the storms came and tore it all down.

Some days, I wonder if she’d recognize me now.

If she’d look at me and feel proud,

Or heartbroken.

If she’d understand why I had to build these walls,

Why I stopped dreaming so big,

Why my smiles feel more like masks now.

But maybe—

Just maybe—

She’d hold my hand and say,

"You did what you had to do to survive.

And that’s okay.

I’m still here,

Even in the quiet."

And I hold onto that.

Because even if I’ve changed,

Even if I’ve hardened,

Even if the softness was stripped from me piece by piece—

I am still worthy.

I am still healing.

And maybe one day,

I’ll find her again.

Not exactly the same,

But enough to remember that light can return,

Even after the darkest nights.

I miss who I used to be.

But I am learning to love who I am becoming,

Even in the missing.

Xoxo Me....

The part of me that carries a quiet ache, a longing for people who caused more pain than peace.

The part that feels tangled up in confusion, love, and hurt all at once.

That misses what once was, or what you wished could have been, even when it hurt you deeply.

It’s okay to feel this way.

It’s okay to miss someone who wasn’t good for you.

It’s okay to mourn the loss of what you hoped for, even when the reality was far from kind.

Loving people who hurt you doesn’t mean you’re weak.

It means you are human, complex, full of contradictions, and desperate for connection.

It means your heart holds space for both pain and hope, even when they don’t belong together.

I want you to know:

Missing them doesn’t erase your worth.

Missing them doesn’t mean you deserve the hurt.

Missing them doesn’t mean you have to take them back.

It just means you’re healing, slowly, imperfectly, and with all the confusion that comes with it.

It means you are learning to untangle love from pain, to find yourself in the spaces they left behind.

It means you are brave enough to face the ache without losing yourself in it.

You don’t have to rush this process.

You don’t have to force yourself to forget or forgive before you’re ready.

You can hold the sadness and the strength at the same time.

And most importantly:

You can choose to love you, fiercely and fully, even when it feels like the hardest thing to do.

One day, the missing will soften.

One day, the memories will bring less pain and more peace.

One day, you will find new love, starting with the love you give yourself.

Until then, be gentle with that aching heart.

Hold it close.

Listen to its quiet whispers.

And remind it, over and over, that it is worthy of kindness, healing, and joy.

You are not alone in this.

I am here with you, every step of the way.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t know when it started,

This feeling that I take up too much space,

That my voice is too loud,

That my feelings are inconvenient,

That my presence is a burden.

Maybe it was when people flinched at my tears instead of comforting me,

Or when they sighed when I needed something,

Or when I was told I was being dramatic,

Too emotional,

Too sensitive,

Too much of everything no one had patience for.

So I started shrinking,

Biting my tongue even when it hurt to hold the words in,

Swallowing my pain before anyone could call it attention-seeking,

Smiling while my heart cracked,

Nodding when I wanted to scream,

Apologizing when all I wanted was to be held.

I’m sorry,

I say it all the time,

Even when I haven’t done anything wrong,

Even when I’m just breathing,

Just existing,

Just being human.

I’m sorry I texted.

I’m sorry I needed you.

I’m sorry I cried.

I’m sorry I asked.

I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted.

I’m sorry I’m still here.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

But what I really want to say is,

Why did you make me feel like love had to be earned?

Why did you teach me that my silence was more valuable than my truth?

Why did you look at my heart and decide it was too much?

I’ve spent my life apologizing for taking up space in this world,

As if I needed permission to exist.

As if my pain required justification,

As if my softness was something to be ashamed of.

And now I carry this guilt like it’s part of me,

Like my breath should come with a disclaimer,

Like I need to ask for forgiveness just to be here.

But I shouldn’t have to.

I shouldn’t have to say sorry for feeling,

For needing,

For being human.

For surviving.

So maybe this is my last apology,

Not because I’m not sorry for the pain I’ve caused—

But because I’m not sorry for who I am.

I will not apologize for being sensitive,

For loving deeply,

For crying when the world feels too heavy,

For needing reassurance,

For wanting to be chosen,

For existing.

I am not too much.

I am not too loud.

I am not a burden.

I am not broken for feeling everything with my whole chest.

So to no one,

And to everyone who made me feel this way,

I’m not sorry anymore.

I was never the problem.

I only ever wanted to be enough—

And I always was.

Xoxo Me....

This letter has taken years to write.

Because for so long,

I convinced myself that maybe it was my fault.

That maybe I did something to deserve it.

That maybe if I had been quieter,

Smaller,

Better,

It wouldn’t have happened.

But it did.

And I didn’t deserve it.

I didn’t deserve the hands that touched me without kindness,

The voices that tore through my self-worth like it was paper,

The silence that followed when I cried for help and no one came.

I didn’t deserve to be ignored.

To be hurt by people who were supposed to protect me.

To be used and discarded like my soul didn’t matter.

To be shaped by pain so early that I forgot what it felt like to trust.

I didn’t deserve to carry shame that never belonged to me.

To hold secrets that made me feel dirty when I was just a child trying to understand why the world could be so cruel.

To be told it wasn’t that bad,

That I was overreacting,

That I should just move on.

But I remember.

Every moment.

Every time I blamed myself for surviving.

Every time I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw,

Because I thought maybe my body was the reason they hurt me.

No one talks about this.

About the trauma that stays long after the bruises fade.

About the way you can look whole and still feel shattered.

About the fear that becomes your shadow.

About the days where simply breathing feels like a betrayal to the younger version of you who didn’t get to feel safe.

But I’m saying it now.

I didn’t deserve it.

Not one second of it.

Not the touch.

Not the abandonment.

Not the cruelty masked as love.

Not the pain I had to learn how to live with alone.

And if anyone reading this has ever felt the same—

You didn’t deserve it either.

Not the silence.

Not the shame.

Not the world’s refusal to name what happened as wrong.

I am writing this because I need to hear it.

Because I need to look at my reflection and say,

You are not what happened to you.

You are more.

You are here.

You are whole,

Even if you don’t feel like it yet.

And every day I survive,

Every time I speak the truth,

Every time I choose to love myself just a little more—

I reclaim the power that was taken from me.

To no one,

To everyone,

To the past,

To the pain—

I didn’t deserve what happened to me.

But I deserve to heal.

I deserve peace.

And I will get there,

Even if I have to crawl.

Xoxo Me....

God, here I am, raw and open,

Carrying the weight of doubts that cloud my heart and mind,

Wondering if You are still there,

Wondering if You still listen to the prayers I whisper in the dark.

I want to believe, God,

I want to hold onto faith like a lifeline in this storm,

But sometimes it feels like that lifeline is slipping through my fingers,

Like the ground beneath me is shaking too hard for me to stand.

I confess, I struggle.

There are moments when the pain is so deep,

So heavy,

That my heart feels numb,

And the quiet questions start to grow louder—

Why am I still here?

Why is this suffering allowed to continue?

Where are You in the brokenness?

I don’t want to turn away,

But it’s hard to keep walking forward when the path is so dark,

When hope feels like a fragile dream that keeps slipping farther away.

God, I’m scared.

Scared that my faith is fading,

That I might lose the courage to believe in miracles,

That I might lose the strength to keep trusting Your plan.

But I am also holding on,

Even when it’s hard,

Even when my heart trembles with uncertainty,

Because somewhere deep inside,

There is a small, flickering flame of hope—

A whisper that You have not forgotten me,

That You still love me,

That healing and peace are possible.

Please, help me believe again.

Help me find the courage to take one more step,

To open my heart to Your love,

To trust that You are working even when I cannot see.

Teach me to listen for Your voice in the silence,

To feel Your presence when the world feels empty,

To know that I am never truly alone,

Even in my darkest moments.

I am tired, God,

But I want to believe.

I want to hope.

I want to trust You with every broken piece of me.

Please breathe new life into my weary soul,

Light a fire of faith where there is doubt,

Raise me up when I am down,

And carry me through this valley of struggle and pain.

Thank You for loving me,

Even when I am weak,

Even when I stumble,

Even when I question.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds,

But I choose to reach for You,

To lean on You,

To believe again.

Help me, God.

I need You now more than ever.

Xoxo Me....

I see you.

The part of me that feels small, broken, and unworthy.

The part that wonders if anyone will ever truly stay, or if love is just a fleeting dream, slipping through fingers like sand.

You carry so much pain.

So many moments where you felt unseen, unheard, unloved.

So many times you gave your heart and it was met with silence or disappointment.

I know you’re scared.

Scared that you’re too much or not enough.

Scared that the cracks in your soul are too wide to be filled.

But I want to tell you this, slowly and gently,

You are worthy of love.

Not because you have to fix yourself first.

Not because you have to be perfect or unbroken.

You are worthy simply because you are.

Love is not something you have to earn, it is your birthright.

And yes, it can be terrifying to open your heart again when it’s been hurt.

But love is also the light that will guide you home, to yourself, and to others who will cherish you.

I promise you, there are people who will stay.

People who will see your scars and hold you closer.

People who will listen when you’re quiet and celebrate when you shine.

People who will love you not in spite of your wounds, but because of them.

Most importantly, you must learn to stay, with yourself.

To hold your own hand through the darkest nights.

To whisper kindness to the parts of you that ache.

To love the “too much” and the “not enough” parts alike.

You are whole, even in your brokenness.

You are enough, exactly as you are.

You deserve love, fierce, gentle, and unwavering.

So, to the part of me who fears she is unlovable:

I am here.

I am learning to love you.

And one day, you will feel that love, first from within, and then from the world around you.

Hold on to hope.

Hold on to yourself.

Because love is coming, and so is peace.

Xoxo Me....

It’s quiet tonight,

But not the kind of quiet that soothes,

It’s the kind that screams.

The kind that presses on your chest like a weight,

Like every breath is a reminder that you’re still here,

Still alone,

Still holding things no one ever noticed were too heavy.

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do.

Because sometimes words are the only company I have.

Because when the silence gets too loud,

I need to bleed something onto the page,

To prove I still feel,

To prove I’m still here,

Even if no one sees me.

I wish I didn’t have to write this alone.

I wish someone was here to ask how I’m really doing,

To sit beside me in the mess without trying to clean it,

To say, “Talk to me,”

And mean it,

Even when I don’t have the words.

Even when all I can do is cry.

But no one is.

No one hears the ache behind my laughter,

No one sees how my hands shake when I pretend I’m okay.

They see the strong one,

The put-together one,

But not the girl who curls into herself at night,

Wondering if she’s too broken to ever be held without fear.

It’s hard, you know—

Being the one who always seems fine.

Because people stop asking.

They stop checking in.

They think you’re okay because you smile,

Because you keep going,

Because you never let them see you fall apart.

But I do.

I fall apart all the time.

Only I do it quietly,

Alone,

Because somewhere along the way I learned that my sadness made people uncomfortable,

That my hurt was too much,

That I had to keep it hidden if I wanted to be loved.

So I hide.

I write instead of speak.

I cry into pillows instead of arms.

I carry the weight of my world while others barely notice I'm carrying anything at all.

And still,

Some part of me hopes.

Hopes that maybe one day someone will knock on my door without me asking,

That someone will see past the smile,

Hear what I don’t say,

And stay.

But tonight, I’m writing this alone.

Because that’s what I’ve always done.

Because I don’t know how to not be alone with my pain.

Because my words are the only ones that have ever stayed.

I wish it were different.

I wish someone cared enough to sit in the dark with me,

Even if they didn’t have the answers.

Even if all they could offer was their presence.

But for now, it’s just me.

And this page.

And this ache.

Xoxo Me....

There are days when I feel like I’m made of glass,

Fractured in a thousand places,

Barely holding myself upright.

And then there are nights when I completely fall apart,

Shatter into pieces so small even I can’t find them all.

And still, somehow,

Every time,

I gather those pieces with trembling hands,

And glue myself back together,

Bit by painful bit.

No one sees that part.

No one sees the quiet, agonizing work it takes to survive.

They just see the version of me that stands up again.

They don’t ask what it cost.

I don’t even know how many times I’ve rebuilt myself.

How many versions of me have died in the dark

Just to let something new breathe again in the morning.

Each time I tell myself this will be the last,

That maybe this time, the healing will hold.

But it never lasts.

Not completely.

Something always comes along to chip away at me again.

And yet,

Here I am.

Still breathing.

Still trying.

Still pretending I’m okay while quietly aching in all the places I had to patch together alone.

I wish someone saw the strength it takes,

Not the kind of strength that looks impressive,

But the kind that whispers,

“Just one more day,”

Even when everything hurts.

The kind of strength that cries at night and still shows up in the morning,

That carries a heart too heavy for one chest,

And somehow keeps loving anyway.

I’m tired of breaking.

I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.

I’m tired of picking up the pieces with no one beside me,

No one to help me hold them together.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be whole,

If I’ll ever feel steady,

If I’ll ever know what it’s like to be loved without having to hide the cracks.

Because they are there,

All of them.

And they’ve made me who I am,

But they still ache when I move too fast,

When I remember too much,

When I feel too deeply.

But even in the ache,

I rebuild.

Not because I want to,

But because I have to.

Because somewhere deep inside, I still believe there is more waiting,

Something softer,

Something safer,

Something mine.

So I keep breaking.

And I keep gluing.

And I keep walking through the fire,

Even when it burns.

Because maybe one day,

Someone will see me in all my pieces,

And love me there.

Not in spite of the cracks—

But because of them.

Until then,

I’ll keep building myself with nothing but hope,

And my two scarred hands.

Xoxo Me....

God, today I come to You with a heart both heavy and grateful,

Heavy from the pain I’ve carried, from the battles I’ve fought in silence,

And yet grateful because through it all,

You never let go of me,

Even when I felt lost beyond hope,

Even when I thought I was too broken to be held.

There were moments so dark,

When the weight of sorrow pressed down so hard I couldn’t breathe,

When the nights stretched endlessly and my tears fell quietly into the void,

When I screamed silently for relief,

But felt nothing but emptiness in return.

I could have given up,

I could have let the darkness consume me,

But You held on.

You reached into the deepest parts of my brokenness,

Into the corners where I had hidden my pain,

And You carried me when I was too weak to carry myself.

Thank You, God,

For being the steady hand when mine trembled,

For being the quiet voice whispering hope when all I heard was despair,

For loving me fiercely even when I forgot how to love myself.

I don’t understand all the reasons for my suffering,

I don’t always see the purpose behind the storms that have battered my soul,

But I know this—

You were there through every tear,

Every shattered moment,

Every heartbeat that begged for healing.

You never left.

You never turned away.

You never gave up on me,

Even when I wanted to give up on myself.

Thank You for the grace that caught me when I fell,

For the mercy that washed over my wounds,

For the patience that carried me through the long, dark nights.

Sometimes I feel so small,

So fragile,

Like a flickering flame barely holding on against the wind.

But You, God, You are the steady flame,

The shelter in the storm,

The endless love that surrounds me even when I cannot feel it.

I am still broken, yes,

Still healing, still learning to trust again,

But I am here,

Still standing, still breathing, still hoping.

Thank You for not letting go,

For carrying me through when I had no strength left,

For holding my hand through the silence and the sorrow,

For being my refuge when the world felt like it was crumbling around me.

I will keep walking,

Because I know You walk with me,

Even when the road is hard,

Even when the future feels uncertain.

Thank You for Your unfailing love,

For Your unending presence,

For never letting me go.

Xoxo Me....

I have been invisible to you.

Unseen in rooms where decisions were made.

Unheard when I tried to speak.

Unchosen when others picked their champions, their favorites, their safe bets.

You looked past me, like I was nothing more than a shadow, a whisper, a mistake too small to matter.

You told me, without saying a word, that there was no place for me here.

That I didn’t fit your mold.

That my voice was too soft, my dreams too big, my scars too raw.

I felt the weight of your silence pressing down on me,

a quiet exclusion that screamed louder than any rejection.

A loneliness in the crowd.

A yearning to be seen, to be known, to belong.

But here’s the thing,

I am still here.

And I am making room for myself.

Not waiting for your permission, your recognition, or your approval.

But carving my own space, with fierce determination, with quiet courage, with relentless hope.

I am learning to speak louder.

To show up even when the spotlight isn’t on me.

To claim my worth even when you refuse to acknowledge it.

This world may have tried to erase me.

To shrink me down to nothing.

To make me feel like I don’t belong.

But I belong.

In every corner, every crack, every space where light can shine.

I belong in the stories told and the ones yet to be written.

I belong in the love I give and the strength I hold.

So to the world that never made room for me,

thank you for showing me how fiercely I must fight,

not just to survive, but to thrive.

Not just to exist, but to live.

I am here.

I am rising.

And I am not going anywhere.

Because I am worthy.

I am powerful.

And I am making space for myself,

whether you see me or not.

From the one who refuses to be invisible

I never asked for much.

Just someone,

Anyone,

To stay.

To sit with me in my mess without running.

To look past the walls I built,

The silence I held like armor,

And say, “I’m not going anywhere.”

But they always left.

One by one,

Quietly or cruelly,

Sometimes without even saying goodbye.

And I’ve told myself it’s okay,

That I’m better off alone,

That maybe I was too much,

Too complicated,

Too broken to keep around.

But the truth is,

I just needed someone to stay.

I didn’t need fixing.

I didn’t need saving.

I just needed presence,

Consistency,

Warmth.

I needed to look up in the middle of my storm and see someone still there,

Someone who didn’t flinch at my darkness,

Who didn’t walk away when the weight of my pain showed up in real time.

I’ve carried the grief of abandonment like a scar I can’t hide,

It’s in the way I apologize too much,

The way I pull away when people get too close,

The way I prepare for goodbye even in the middle of hello.

Because I’ve learned that people don’t stay,

Not when it’s hard,

Not when I need them most.

And that grief—

It’s not loud.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s a quiet ache,

The kind that whispers in the middle of the night,

“Why wasn’t I worth staying for?”

I replay moments where I wished they’d fight for me,

Stay a little longer,

Ask one more time,

“Are you okay?”

But they didn’t.

And I didn’t know how to ask,

Didn’t know how to say, “Please don’t leave,”

Because begging for love felt like too much.

So I sat there with my silent grief,

Pretending I didn’t care,

Pretending their absence didn’t shatter me,

Pretending I wasn’t checking the door hoping they’d come back.

But deep down,

I just needed someone to stay.

To hold my hand and not let go,

To say, “I see you, and I’m not leaving,”

To show up, not perfectly, but honestly,

To choose me.

I write this to no one,

Because the ones who should’ve stayed are gone,

And the ones who are here don’t see how much I’m still bleeding from the ones who left.

But I still hope,

Still long for the day someone will stay without being asked,

Without conditions,

Without fear.

Because I deserve that.

We all do.

To be someone’s stay,

Not just someone’s once.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t know how to explain this,

But love scares me.

Not because I don’t want it,

But because I don’t know how to receive it.

When you’ve only known love as something that hurts,

Something that comes with strings and pain,

You stop believing in softness.

You stop trusting tenderness.

I never learned how to be loved gently.

I only learned how to survive.

To flinch before the blow,

To brace myself when someone got too close,

To hide the most fragile parts of me because they were always the ones used against me.

The people who said they loved me,

They left marks,

On my body,

On my spirit,

On the way I speak about myself in the mirror.

They raised voices instead of hands sometimes,

But both left bruises.

They used silence as punishment,

Touch as control,

And love as something I had to earn—

Never something freely given.

So when someone calls me beautiful,

I look away.

When someone is kind to me,

I wonder what they want.

When someone holds me,

I wonder how long until they let go.

Because to me,

Love has always been a currency I didn’t have enough of,

A battlefield,

A test,

A wound.

And now,

When someone tries to love me softly,

It doesn’t feel safe.

It feels foreign.

It feels like a trick.

Because the softness I needed growing up never came,

And now I don’t know what to do with it when it arrives.

I wish I could unlearn the pain,

Unteach myself that love equals suffering.

I wish I could believe that not everyone will hurt me,

That maybe,

Just maybe,

There is someone out there who will hold me like I’m not broken.

But right now,

All I know is fear wrapped in tenderness.

All I know is pushing people away when they get too close,

Because if I don’t let them in,

They can’t destroy me.

Still, I hope.

I hope there’s a love out there that is patient with me,

That sees my fear and doesn’t run,

That teaches me how to feel safe again in arms that don’t leave bruises.

I hope that one day,

I will learn that love can be quiet,

And still powerful.

That it can heal,

Not just hurt.

And maybe then,

I’ll stop mistaking softness for danger,

And finally,

Let myself be loved the way I was always meant to be—

Gently.

Xoxo Me....

Yes.

I am “too much.”

Too loud. Too emotional. Too passionate.

Too complicated. Too sensitive. Too fierce.

Too bright for your dim expectations.

Too real for your comfortable silence.

You call me “too much” as if that’s a flaw.

As if feeling deeply, loving fiercely, and speaking my truth are crimes.

As if wanting space to breathe and be seen is a mistake.

But here’s the truth you refuse to see,

I am not “too much.”

I am all.

I am every tear I’ve shed and every laugh I’ve shared.

I am every fight I’ve fought for my own worth and every boundary I’ve set.

I am every sleepless night filled with dreams and fears.

I am every hope burning bright in my chest.

To label me as “too much” is to try to shrink a wildfire.

To cage an ocean.

To silence a storm.

But I will not be muted.

I will not be dimmed.

I will not apologize for the way I exist.

I have a right to feel deeply.

To speak loudly.

To take up space.

To be, fully, unapologetically, fiercely.

If that is “too much” for you, then so be it.

Because I am worth every bit of my intensity.

I am worthy of love, wild and unfiltered.

I am worthy of respect, raw and unwavering.

So keep your judgment, your discomfort, your need to contain me.

I am rising beyond your limits.

I am claiming my voice, my heart, my soul.

And I will never, ever be “too much” for myself.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t know why I’m writing this,

Maybe it’s because I still carry the weight of all those moments I barely held it together,

Maybe it’s because I needed someone to see me,

To look into my eyes and ask the one question I was too afraid to answer,

“Are you okay?”

And mean it.

But no one did.

Not when I was breaking quietly,

Not when I was laughing a little too loud just to cover the silence,

Not when my voice shook as I said, “I’m fine,” hoping someone—anyone—would hear what I wasn’t saying.

They didn’t ask.

Not when I stayed in bed all day and said I was just tired,

Not when I lost weight,

Not when I stopped showing up to things that once made me smile,

Not when my eyes started holding more shadows than light.

They didn’t ask.

And maybe they didn’t mean harm,

Maybe they thought I was strong,

Or maybe they didn’t know what to do with someone else’s sadness.

But I needed them to notice,

To lean in,

To say, “You don’t seem okay,”

Because I wasn’t.

I was drowning in silence,

And all I wanted was someone to throw me a rope,

Not fix me,

Not solve my pain,

Just see me.

Because sometimes, just being seen is enough to stay afloat.

Sometimes one question, one kind voice,

Can interrupt the storm,

Can pull you back from the edge.

I wish someone had asked.

Not because I blame them,

But because I was holding everything inside like it didn’t matter,

Like I didn’t matter,

And maybe if someone had asked,

It would’ve reminded me that I wasn’t invisible.

There’s a loneliness in being surrounded and still feeling unseen,

There’s a specific kind of ache that lives in your bones when the world moves on while you’re falling apart.

I wish someone would’ve noticed the way I got quiet,

The way I smiled with sad eyes,

The way I pulled away little by little,

And maybe they did,

But didn’t know how to ask,

Didn’t know how to hold the weight of someone else’s truth.

But still—

I wish they tried.

Because I was hurting.

And I didn’t know how to say it.

And maybe if they’d asked,

I would’ve answered.

Or maybe I would’ve lied again,

But at least I would’ve known someone cared enough to wonder.

So I write this now,

To no one,

To the people who were around but not really there,

To the silence that followed my silent cries,

To the empty rooms where I sat hoping for a knock that never came.

I wish you asked.

I really do.

And I’m sorry I didn’t know how to ask for help on my own.

But I needed you.

And it still hurts that you never noticed.

Xoxo Me....

God, I come to You today with a heart torn open by pain,

A soul weighed down by sorrow that feels too heavy to bear,

And I ask You,

Why does it hurt so much?

Why does the ache settle so deeply inside me,

Like a storm that never quiets,

Like a wound that refuses to heal?

I search for answers in the silence,

In the spaces between my breaths,

But all I find is more questions,

More confusion,

More longing for relief.

Sometimes, the hurt is so sharp,

It feels like a blade cutting through every piece of me,

Leaving me raw, exposed, trembling.

And I wonder if You see it too,

If You feel the weight of my suffering as deeply as I do.

I don’t understand why the pain lingers,

Why memories haunt me like shadows that never fade,

Why hope sometimes feels like a distant, unreachable dream.

I want to trust You completely,

To believe that this suffering has meaning,

That it is part of a greater plan I cannot yet see.

But some days, God,

The sorrow feels endless.

It wraps around me like a cold blanket,

Suffocating and relentless,

And I struggle to find the strength to keep going.

Yet, even in the midst of this hurt,

I hold onto Your love.

I cling to the promise that You are with me,

That You have not abandoned me to this pain,

That You are my refuge and my comfort.

Help me understand, God,

Help me find peace in the chaos,

Help me see the light when all I can feel is darkness.

I am so tired of hurting,

But I am not giving up on You.

I want to believe that healing is possible,

That joy can bloom again,

That my heart can one day be whole.

Thank You for carrying me through the nights when I could not carry myself,

For listening to my silent cries,

For loving me even when I falter and doubt.

Please, hold me close,

Heal my brokenness gently,

And remind me that even in this deep pain,

I am never alone.

Why does it hurt so much, God?

I don’t know yet,

But I trust that Your love will guide me through,

That Your grace will fill the cracks,

That one day, the hurt will soften into peace.

Until then, I will keep reaching for You,

Keep praying for strength,

Keep holding onto hope.

Because You are my light in the darkness,

My anchor in the storm,

My healer.

Xoxo Me....

I’m so tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep can fix,

Not the kind that fades after a day of rest.

I’m tired in a way that lives in my bones,

Tired in my soul,

Tired in the parts of me that have been carrying too much for too long.

I don’t want to be strong anymore.

I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay,

Smiling when I feel like screaming,

Nodding when I feel like falling apart,

Holding up the world like I don’t feel crushed under it.

Everyone says, “You’re so strong,”

And I want to scream,

“Do you know what it’s like to have no choice but to be?”

Do you know what it’s like to hold yourself together while breaking in every invisible way?

Do you know what it’s like to cry in silence because there’s no one safe to fall apart with?

Being strong isn’t a badge I asked for,

It’s a role I was forced into,

By circumstance,

By survival,

By the way people expect you to keep going,

Even when everything in you is screaming for a break.

I don’t want to be strong.

I want to be soft.

I want to be held.

I want to be comforted,

To be vulnerable without fear,

To fall apart in someone’s arms and not be judged for it.

I want someone to look at me and say,

“It’s okay to stop pretending,

You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

But that moment never comes.

So I keep carrying it all,

And every day it gets heavier.

The truth is,

Some days I don’t know how I keep going.

Some days I sit in the dark and wonder what it would be like to stop.

To let the walls fall,

To let the mask slip,

To not be okay,

And not have to apologize for it.

I want someone to fight for me,

The way I’ve always fought for everyone else.

I want to lay down all this strength and just be,

Messy,

Human,

Real.

But instead, I keep showing up,

Keep giving,

Keep pretending,

Because it feels safer than the truth.

But deep down,

I am breaking.

And I am begging for someone to see past the strength and notice the girl underneath—

The one who’s tired of surviving,

Tired of being the strong one,

Tired of pretending that she’s not falling apart.

So I write this to no one,

Because I don’t know who would understand,

But I need to let it out.

I need someone to know that I’m not strong today.

I’m not okay.

And that should be enough.

Let me rest.

Let me be held.

Let me not be okay.

Let me be human again.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t know if you ever really understood how much I needed you.

How much I leaned on you when the world felt like it was falling apart.

How I reached out in my darkest moments, hoping you’d be there, not just in the good times, but in the hardest ones too.

But you weren’t.

When the pain swallowed me whole, when I was drowning in silence and fear, you turned away.

You left me standing alone in the storm, feeling smaller and more broken than I ever thought possible.

Your absence echoed louder than any words you never said.

It was a void that swallowed my trust, my hope, my belief that I mattered to you.

It was the moment I realized that sometimes, people we call friends aren’t really friends at all.

I needed your hand to hold.

I needed your voice to say, “I’m here.”

I needed you to stand by me when everything else was falling apart.

Instead, I felt abandoned.

Invisible.

Like my pain was too much, or maybe not enough.

Do you know what that did to me?

It taught me that I couldn’t rely on you.

It taught me to protect myself by shutting down, by hiding my wounds deeper.

It taught me that sometimes, the people we trust the most can hurt us in the most unexpected ways.

But despite all of that, I am still here.

Still standing.

Still learning to heal.

And even though your absence hurt me in ways I can’t fully explain, I’m beginning to understand something important:

I am worthy of people who stay.

I am worthy of love that doesn’t vanish when things get hard.

I am worthy of friendship that holds, not breaks.

This letter isn’t about blaming you.

It’s about reclaiming my power.

It’s about telling my truth, the part you never saw or chose to ignore.

I don’t hate you.

But I have learned to let go of the part of me that needed you to stay.

Because I deserve more.

And so, I’m moving forward, with or without you.

I hope one day you understand what your absence meant.

And I hope you learn what it means to truly be there for someone.

But for now, this is goodbye to the friend who left me when I needed them most.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t know if anyone will ever really see me,

Not the version I show to the world,

Not the girl who smiles and says, “I’m okay,” when everything inside her is unraveling,

But the real me,

The one who breaks down in silence,

The one who stares at the ceiling in the dark and wonders how she’s going to make it through another day.

I wish you could see me when I’m not faking it,

When the mask slips,

When the tears come without warning,

When my chest tightens with an ache I can’t explain,

When my thoughts spiral,

When my hope flickers like a candle almost out.

I wish someone would see the version of me that exists behind closed doors,

The version that’s exhausted from being strong,

The version that is trying so hard not to fall apart,

But is already crumbling on the inside.

I laugh,

I show up,

I smile,

I work,

I take care of things,

And everyone thinks I’m fine,

But they don’t know how heavy the pretending is,

How much it takes to keep it all together,

How often I feel like I’m screaming into a void.

I wish someone would look past the “I’m fine,”

Past the small talk and the busy schedules,

And ask me how I really am—

And mean it.

I wish someone would stay long enough to notice when my voice trembles,

Or when I go quiet because I can’t find the energy to pretend.

Because the truth is,

I don’t want to fake it anymore.

I don’t want to keep hiding my hurt just to make others comfortable,

Just to avoid the awkward silence,

Just to protect everyone from the parts of me that are still bleeding.

I wish someone could see the real me and not run,

The messy me,

The tired me,

The sad me,

The scared me.

I wish someone could see me in my lowest moments,

And not try to fix me,

But just sit with me,

Just be there,

Just hold the space without judgment.

Because sometimes, all I need is to be seen,

To be reminded that I don’t have to carry this all alone,

That I don’t have to perform strength when I feel anything but strong.

So I write to no one,

Because I don’t know who would listen if I said this out loud,

But these words are real,

And this version of me matters,

Even when no one sees her.

I wish you could see me when I’m not faking it,

Because that girl,

The one who cries quietly and still gets back up the next day,

She is brave,

She is worthy,

She is me.

Xoxo Me....

There’s something I’ve been carrying for so long,

And it’s getting too heavy to hold inside,

But I still can’t bring myself to say it out loud.

So I write it here,

To no one,

Because silence is safer than honesty sometimes,

Because I’ve learned the hard way that some truths make people turn away.

I’ve been hurting,

Deeply,

Quietly,

For a long time now.

And I’ve become so good at hiding it that even I forget it’s there sometimes—

Until it bubbles up and I break in places no one can see.

I can’t say it out loud,

Because I don’t know how to explain the kind of pain that doesn’t have a name,

The kind that lives in your chest like a storm,

The kind that wakes you in the middle of the night with a tightness in your throat and tears you weren’t expecting.

I can’t say it out loud,

Because I’m scared.

Scared that people won’t understand,

That they’ll tell me I’m being dramatic,

That they’ll look at me differently,

Or worse,

That they’ll look right through me.

So I carry it alone,

The sadness,

The anger,

The shame,

The loneliness,

The feeling that I am somehow not enough,

That I’m too broken,

Too complicated,

Too much.

There are things I want to say,

But they choke me.

Things like “I’m not okay,”

And “I need help,”

And “I feel like I’m disappearing.”

But I’ve buried those words under years of pretending,

Under forced smiles and nervous laughter,

Under “I’m just tired,”

And “I’ll be fine.”

But the truth is, I’m not fine.

And I don’t want to keep pretending.

I want someone to look at me and see the truth in my silence,

To feel the pain I can’t put into words,

To say, “You don’t have to hide anymore.”

But I’m scared to hope for that.

So I write instead.

To no one.

Because these words feel safer on a page than in the air,

Because I’m terrified of what will happen if I’m honest.

So here it is—

The truth I can’t say out loud.

I am hurting.

I am scared.

I am tired.

And I just want to be held by someone who won’t let go.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt the same way,

Please know that I see you,

Even if the world doesn’t,

Even if you can’t speak your truth yet.

We are still here.

Still surviving.

Still writing.

And that means something.

Xoxo Me....

For years, you were the shadow lurking just beneath my skin.

You whispered lies about my worth, my beauty, my strength.

You made me feel like my body was a battlefield, marked, broken, flawed.

You covered me in pain and doubt, in redness and itch that never ceased.

But today, I am writing to tell you,

You do not own me.

You are a part of my story, yes.

A chapter filled with struggle, frustration, and moments when I hated looking at my own reflection.

But you are not the whole story.

You are not the definition of who I am.

I am more than the patches that flare.

More than the stares, the questions, the whispers behind my back.

More than the days I felt too tired to fight, too ashamed to show my skin.

I am a warrior.

A survivor.

A woman who has learned to love herself through the pain.

I have carried you long enough, long enough to know your tricks, your triggers, your ways of trying to steal my peace.

But I have also carried hope, resilience, and a stubborn light that refuses to be dimmed.

I am reclaiming my body.

Reclaiming my beauty.

Reclaiming my worth.

Your redness will not define my smile.

Your discomfort will not silence my laughter.

Your scars will not erase the strength written in my bones.

I am learning to look at myself with kindness, to see the fierce heart beneath the skin that carries your marks.

I am learning to tell my story not with shame, but with courage.

I am learning to stand tall, even on the days you try to remind me of your presence.

You may flare up, you may itch, you may remind me of your existence,

but you will never control me again.

I am free, free to love myself wholly, fiercely, without apology.

I am free to live fully, boldly, without fear.

I am free to be me, beautiful, powerful, whole.

So hear me now:

You don’t own me anymore.

You are a part of my past, not my future.

And I am ready to move forward, with or without you.

Xoxo Me....

God, I come to You today feeling shattered,

Like a thousand fragile pieces of my soul scattered across a stormy sea,

Each one heavy with pain, fear, and sorrow that I cannot carry alone.

I don’t know how I ended up so broken,

How the weight of the world has pressed down so hard that I have fractured beneath it,

But here I am, raw and vulnerable,

Begging You to gather the pieces that I cannot pick up myself.

Hold my broken pieces, God,

The ones I hide even from myself,

The ones that sting every time I try to breathe deeply,

The ones that remind me of all the wounds I thought had healed but haven’t.

Some days I feel like I’m falling apart,

Like I’m crumbling under the weight of grief and loneliness,

And I’m scared that I will never be whole again.

But I know You are the One who can make beauty from ashes,

The One who can take brokenness and turn it into something new.

Please hold me close, God,

Hold every shattered piece of my heart,

Every trembling thought,

Every tear I have cried in silence.

Help me to trust that You can mend what is broken,

That Your love is stronger than my pain,

That Your hands can rebuild even the most shattered soul.

I want to believe that I am more than my scars,

More than the darkness that has tried to swallow me whole,

More than the silence that sometimes feels too loud to bear.

Hold my broken pieces, God,

And help me find the courage to put them back together,

Piece by piece, day by day,

With patience, with grace, with hope.

I am tired of carrying this weight alone,

Tired of feeling like a puzzle with missing pieces,

But I am ready to let You heal me,

To let Your love fill the cracks and make me whole again.

Thank You for never leaving me in the shattered place,

For always reaching out even when I turned away,

For being the steady presence in the chaos.

Hold my broken pieces, God,

And help me believe in wholeness again,

Help me believe in healing,

Help me believe in myself.

Because with You, even the broken can be made beautiful,

Even the shattered can be made whole.

I am broken, yes,

But I am not lost.

Not while You hold my pieces.

Xoxo Me....

It’s late again,

And I’m sitting here with tears running down my face,

But I can’t even explain why they’re falling,

Why my chest aches so deeply,

Why it feels like the sadness is pouring out of places I didn’t even know were broken.

I just know I’m crying,

And I don’t know how to stop.

I try to breathe through it,

To wipe them away before anyone notices,

To pretend I’m just tired,

That it’s nothing,

That I’m fine.

But I’m not fine,

And I don’t know what to do with all of this pain that doesn’t have a name.

Maybe it’s everything and nothing at the same time,

Maybe it’s all the times I swallowed the hurt just to keep going,

All the times I smiled when I wanted to scream,

All the moments I needed someone but said, “I’m okay,” because asking felt like a burden.

Maybe it’s the loneliness I carry in silence,

The feeling that I’m too much for people,

Or not enough,

Maybe it’s the grief of things that never happened,

The love I gave that was never returned,

The dreams I’ve watched quietly slip away.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of being strong for too long,

The weight of pretending,

Of holding it together when all I want to do is fall apart.

I cry and cry and still feel like the tears aren’t enough,

Like I’m overflowing with something I can’t name but desperately need to release.

Sometimes I wish someone would just hold me,

Not ask why,

Not try to fix me,

Just sit beside me and let me cry,

Just let me feel without explaining,

Without shame.

I wish I could understand what’s wrong,

But the truth is, it’s not just one thing,

It’s everything that’s been building inside of me,

The little things I brushed off,

The big things I never healed from,

The moments I needed love and got silence,

The days I begged the universe to give me a break and it didn’t.

So I cry.

Quietly.

Alone.

Because maybe crying is all I have right now,

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe the tears are my body saying what my voice can’t,

Maybe they’re proof that I’m still feeling,

Still hoping,

Still here.

And even though I don’t know exactly why I’m crying,

I know this—

There’s nothing weak about breaking down,

Nothing wrong with needing space to fall apart.

I may not have the words,

But I have this moment,

And I will honor it,

Even in the silence.

Xoxo Me....

This isn’t easy to write,

But I need to be honest,

Even if it’s only with these words,

Even if no one ever reads them,

Because some days I wake up and feel angry that I woke up at all.

Some days I hate that I’m still here,

Still breathing,

Still carrying the same pain I thought I left behind years ago.

I hate that I fought so hard to survive,

Only to arrive in a place that still feels so heavy,

So hollow,

So endlessly exhausting.

It’s not that I want to die,

It’s that I don’t always want to keep living like this,

With this ache that follows me everywhere,

With this exhaustion that clings to my bones,

With this voice in my head that tells me I’m not enough,

That I’m failing,

That I’ll never be okay.

I hate that I try so hard and it still feels like I’m drowning,

That I give and give and still feel empty,

That I keep pretending for everyone else,

But the moment I’m alone,

The mask falls,

And I’m just this quiet shell of someone who used to believe things would get better.

I hate that I survived the worst,

But still wake up haunted,

Still flinch at kindness,

Still cry when no one’s watching.

I hate that people think survival is a victory,

But they don’t see the aftermath,

The guilt,

The numbness,

The sheer exhaustion of carrying this story every day.

I am not ungrateful,

I know there’s beauty in the world,

I know there are people who love me,

But that doesn’t change the fact that some days feel impossible,

That some nights I stare at the ceiling and wonder what the point is.

I’m tired.

So tired.

Of pretending.

Of fighting.

Of carrying the weight of everything I’ve survived without falling apart in front of anyone.

And yet—

I’m still here.

Even on the days I hate it.

Even on the days I wish I could disappear.

Even when my soul begs for quiet.

I stay.

Because some small part of me still hopes for something better,

Still clings to the chance that maybe,

Just maybe,

It won’t always feel this way.

So if you’re out there,

Feeling like I do,

Hating the fact that you’re still breathing through pain,

Please know—

You are not weak.

You are not wrong for feeling this way.

You are surviving something that was never meant to be carried alone.

And even on the days we hate that we’re still here,

We are still here.

And maybe,

That’s the bravest thing of all.

Xoxo Me....

You were wrong.

Silence is not consent.
Silence is fear.
Silence is survival.
Silence is the desperate hope that if I didn’t say no out loud, maybe the pain wouldn’t be so loud inside me.

You saw me.
You saw my quiet.
You saw my stillness.
And you took it as permission, a blank check to hurt me, to break me, to steal pieces of me that I may never get back.

But hear this now:

My silence was not weakness.
It was not permission.
It was not an invitation.

It was my shield, the only way I knew how to protect myself when words failed me.
It was the echo of a thousand screams I couldn’t let out.
It was the trembling in my soul saying, Please stop, even when my lips couldn’t speak.

You destroyed my innocence.
You shattered my trust.
You left me with scars no one can see but me.

But I am not your victim.

I am a survivor.

I am rage and fire and unbreakable will.
I am the woman who fights back, even when the world tries to silence her again.
I am the voice that will no longer be ignored, the truth that will not be buried.

You tried to steal my power.
You tried to bury my story.
You tried to make me small.

But I am still here.
Still standing.
Still fighting.

And I will never be silent again.

This letter is my fury.
My truth.
My reclaiming of everything you tried to take.

To every man who thought my silence was consent,

know this: I am not yours to break.
I am not yours to silence.
I am mine.

And I will scream that truth until it shakes the world.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t even know where to begin,

Because the ache of being left behind is something words rarely do justice to,

But still, I write,

To no one in particular,

Because those I thought would stay are gone now,

And silence is all I have left to speak to.

They said they’d stay,

With their soft words and promises made under fragile skies,

They said they’d never leave,

That I mattered,

That I wasn’t alone.

And for a moment,

I believed them.

I let my guard down,

I opened the doors I had locked for years,

I handed them pieces of myself,

Pieces I was still learning to love,

And they left holding those pieces like they meant nothing.

It’s the kind of pain that lingers,

Not always loud,

But always there,

A quiet hum behind every new connection,

A whisper that says,

“Don’t trust too quickly,

Don’t love too deeply,

Because they always leave.”

I wish they knew what it cost me to believe in them,

To give them access to my rawest wounds,

To show up with trembling hands and a heart that was already so tired,

And I wish I could say I hate them,

But the truth is,

I miss them.

I miss what I thought we had,

I miss who I was before they left.

Some days, I wonder what I did wrong,

If I was too much,

Too broken,

Too quiet or too loud or too complicated,

If I pushed them away,

Or if they were never really meant to stay in the first place.

But I also know this—

Leaving says more about them than it ever did about me.

It wasn’t my fault that they couldn’t handle the depth of me,

It wasn’t my fault that they walked away when things got real,

When I was no longer convenient or easy to love.

Still, it hurts,

Every time,

It hurts in the spaces they used to fill,

In the memories I don’t know how to erase,

In the songs, the places, the dates on the calendar,

And in the silence that follows every goodbye I never asked for.

So I write to no one,

But also to everyone who has ever left me behind,

You may have gone,

But I am still here,

Still breathing,

Still hoping that one day,

Someone will stay.

Not because they pity me,

Not because I make their life easier,

But because they choose me,

Because they see me,

And still decide not to run.

Until then,

I will keep showing up for myself,

Even when it’s hard,

Even when I miss you,

Even when it would be easier to close off and disappear.

Because I am worth staying for,

Even if you didn’t see it.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t even know how to say this,

But I need to.

Not because I want to scare anyone,

Not because I have a plan,

But because this truth sits heavy in my chest,

And if I don’t let it out,

I fear it will swallow me whole.

Sometimes I still think about leaving,

About what it would feel like to just disappear,

To let the silence take me,

To stop pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not,

To stop carrying the weight that no one else sees,

To stop being strong for everyone but myself.

It’s not that I want to die,

It’s that I don’t always know how to keep living like this,

With this ache that never softens,

This emptiness that never fills,

This endless loop of pain and pretending and surviving.

There are nights when the darkness feels louder than my hope,

When the thoughts come uninvited,

Whispering that maybe I’m the problem,

That maybe everyone would be better off without me,

That maybe I’ve already lost too much of myself to ever come back whole.

I’ve tried to silence those voices,

I’ve tried to outrun them with distractions and smiles and work,

But they always find me,

When I’m alone,

When it’s quiet,

When I can finally hear myself.

And I hate that part of me,

The part that still wonders if leaving would be easier,

The part that cries quietly while the world sleeps,

The part that feels like a burden no one signed up to carry.

But I also know this—

I haven’t left.

I’m still here.

Even on the nights when the pain is too much,

Even on the mornings when getting out of bed feels like a war,

Even when I don’t see the point,

Somewhere inside me,

A small voice says,

“Hold on.”

And maybe that voice is the reason I’m still breathing,

Still writing,

Still hoping for something better,

Still trying to believe that I can make it through the night again.

If you’ve ever felt this too,

If you’ve ever wanted to leave just to make the pain stop,

Please know this—

You are not alone,

You are not weak,

You are not broken beyond repair.

You are human,

And being human is messy and painful and exhausting,

But it’s also beautiful and brave and full of moments you haven’t lived yet.

There is more waiting for you,

Even if you can’t see it right now.

I still think about leaving sometimes,

But I stay.

Not because it’s easy,

But because I’m learning that my presence matters,

That my life is more than what it feels like in the dark,

That maybe one day,

I will look back and be glad I held on.

So I’m holding on,

Even when it hurts,

Even when I feel like no one sees me,

Even when all I have left is the fragile thread of maybe.

I’m here.

Still here.

Xoxo Me....

I see you.
I see the girl behind every “I’m fine”, the one who was breaking inside but smiled anyway.
The one who swallowed her tears because the world didn’t want to hear them.
The one who wore a mask so well that no one even guessed the storm raging beneath the surface.

I want to reclaim those moments.
I want to give voice to what I really felt, to the silenced cries, the lonely nights, the desperate hope that someone would ask and mean it.

Because every “I’m fine” was a lie.
A shield.
A whispered prayer that the pain would stop, even if just for a little while.

What I really wanted to say was:

I’m scared.
I’m hurting.
I don’t know how to keep going.
I feel invisible.
I’m so tired.
Can someone please hold me?
Please don’t leave me alone with these thoughts.

But I didn’t say those things.
I didn’t dare.

Instead, I hid behind the words, hoping they would protect me.
Hoping they would keep the questions away.
Hoping that if I said I was fine enough times, maybe I’d start to believe it.

But I didn’t.

I was not fine.
I was broken.
I was lost.

And it’s okay.

It’s okay to admit that.
It’s okay to be real, even if it scares you.
Even if the people around you don’t know how to respond.

I’m reclaiming those silenced cries now.
I’m letting the tears fall freely for every “I’m fine” that wasn’t true.
I’m giving myself permission to be vulnerable, to be honest, to be human.

You deserved to be heard.
You deserved to be held.
You deserved to be seen.

And though it’s taken time, I am learning to say the words I needed back then:

I am not fine, and that’s okay.
I am still here.
I am still fighting.
I am still worthy of love, especially from myself.

To every “I’m fine” I ever said when I wasn’t,
thank you for protecting me.
Thank you for getting me through.
But now, I’m ready to be real.
Ready to be seen.
Ready to heal.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t know who I’m writing this to,

Maybe no one,

Maybe the stars,

Maybe just the silence that never interrupts,

But I need to say it out loud,

Even if no one hears me.

I am tired,

Tired in a way sleep can’t fix,

Tired in my bones,

In my soul,

In the small corners of me that still hope, still wait, still try.

I just want to be loved,

Without having to fight for it,

Without having to prove that I deserve it,

Without having to shrink or bend or mold myself into what someone else wants,

Without having to smile through pain,

Without having to beg for crumbs and call it a feast.

I am so tired of earning love,

As if it’s something I must constantly work for,

As if affection is a transaction,

As if I’m always just one flaw away from being left again.

Why is it so hard to be loved as I am?

Why does every relationship feel like a performance,

Like I’m being measured,

Weighed,

Compared,

Picked apart?

Why do I feel like I need to be perfect to deserve something as human and basic as love?

I have given so much of myself,

Over and over again,

And every time I do,

Pieces go missing,

Pieces I don’t always get back.

And still, I give,

Still, I try,

Still, I show up,

Still, I hold space for people who don’t even see me standing there.

Because I believe in love,

Because I crave it,

Because I need it in the deepest, most aching parts of me,

But I don’t want to earn it anymore.

I want someone to look at me,

At all of me,

The messy, quiet, hurting parts,

And say, “You’re enough.

You’re enough just as you are.”

I want to be held without having to ask,

To be comforted without performing sadness the right way,

To be seen when I’m not pretending to be okay.

I want someone to stay,

Not because I’m useful,

Not because I make them feel needed,

But because I’m me.

Because I exist.

Because I breathe and break and love with everything I have,

Even when I’m exhausted.

There’s something so devastating about having to constantly prove that you matter,

About living a life where love is earned through labor,

Through silence,

Through swallowing your needs,

Through being everything for everyone—

Except for yourself.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most,

That I learned to survive by making myself small,

By making myself easy to love,

By pretending I didn’t need much at all.

But I do.

God, I do.

I need someone to choose me,

Without conditions,

Without effort,

Without tests I never knew I was taking.

If you’re out there,

Whoever you are,

Know that this is my truth.

I’m not hard to love—

I’ve just been loved by people who made it feel like I was.

And I’m learning,

Slowly, painfully,

That I shouldn’t have to earn the thing that should’ve been freely given all along.

So I write this to no one,

Because maybe no one has loved me like that yet,

But I will keep holding on to the belief that one day,

Someone will.

And until then,

I will try to give that kind of love to myself,

Even if I don’t know how,

Even if it feels awkward and unfamiliar.

Because I matter,

Even when no one says it.

Even when I’m tired.

Even when I’m quiet.

I just want to be loved,

Softly,

Without question,

Without condition,

Without earning it.

Xoxo Me....

God, I’m coming to You with a heart trembling in fear,

With a soul heavy and burdened by worries I can hardly speak aloud,

I’m afraid, God—so afraid.

Afraid of the unknown that stretches out before me like a vast, dark ocean,

Afraid of the pain that still lingers inside me like a shadow I cannot shake,

Afraid of what tomorrow might bring,

Afraid of losing myself in the storm of my own thoughts.

But even in this fear,

Even with my hands shaking and my heart pounding,

I am turning to You.

I am praying.

Because, God, You are the one place I can come with my brokenness,

The one place where I don’t have to pretend to be brave,

Where I can lay down my fears and say, “I don’t know how to do this,

But I need You.”

I am scared of the future, of the battles I have yet to fight,

Of the wounds I still carry,

Of the nights when loneliness feels unbearable,

But I am holding onto You,

Clinging to the hope that Your love will be my shield,

That Your grace will be my refuge.

Please, calm the storm inside me, God,

Speak peace over my restless mind,

Wrap me in Your arms when I feel like I’m falling apart.

I don’t have all the answers,

I don’t even have the strength to face this fear alone,

But I believe You are stronger than my doubt,

That Your light can pierce even the darkest night.

Help me to pray when my words fail,

Help me to trust even when my heart is shaking,

Help me to believe that I am not alone in this fight.

I am scared, yes,

But I am also brave enough to come to You with my fear,

Brave enough to ask for Your help,

Brave enough to believe that healing is possible.

Thank You for hearing my prayers,

For holding me in moments when I feel most vulnerable,

For being my constant, my rock, my safe place.

I am afraid, God,

But I am praying,

And I trust that You will carry me through.

Xoxo Me....

This is for the parts of me I often hide, the cracked, the scared, the messy, the soft edges that feel too fragile for this world.
The parts I push away when they get loud, when they ache, when they remind me of wounds I’m not ready to face.
The parts that whisper, “You’re not enough,” or “You don’t belong,” or “Please don’t look too close.”

I see you.
I see your trembling hands and your tired heart.
I hear your quiet cries and your desperate hopes.
I know you’ve carried burdens no one else could bear.
I know you’ve survived storms I barely understand.

And I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for all the times I told you to be smaller.
To be quieter.
To be less.
I’m sorry for the moments I shamed you for feeling deeply, for wanting safety, for needing rest.
I’m sorry I didn’t always protect you from the world, or from myself.

But today, I want to say something different.

I want to start learning to love you, exactly as you are.

Because you are not broken beyond repair.
You are not too much.
You are not a problem to fix.

You are me.
Whole and imperfect and growing.

I want to hold your hands gently, not shove you away.
I want to listen when you speak, even if your words are messy or painful.
I want to give you the space to breathe, to cry, to heal.

I want to protect you from the harsh voices, both inside and outside, that tell you otherwise.

It’s okay to be scared.
It’s okay to have soft edges.
It’s okay to need love, especially from yourself.

You are worthy of kindness.
You are deserving of peace.
You are enough.

So, to the parts of me I’m still learning to love:
Thank you for holding on.
Thank you for showing up every day, even when it’s hard.
Thank you for being real, for being raw, for being me.

I promise to keep trying, to be patient, gentle, and brave enough to embrace you fully.

Because you are not alone.
And together, we can heal.

Xoxo Me....

I don’t know how to begin this letter,

Because I’m not even sure who I am without the ache,

Without the weight of everything I’ve carried for so long,

Without the familiar sting of wounds I’ve nursed in silence,

Without the invisible heaviness that clings to my ribs and wraps around my lungs.

I don’t know who I am without the pain,

Because pain is what shaped me,

It carved out my silence,

It painted shadows across my smile,

It whispered to me when no one else did,

It’s been my constant companion,

My twisted comfort,

The only thing that stayed when people didn’t.

It began early,

Before I knew how to name it,

Before I understood that not everyone felt like this,

That not every child cried quietly into their pillow at night,

That not every heart grew up learning to brace for disappointment,

For abandonment,

For the kind of betrayal that teaches you how to vanish while still being alive.

And as I grew, so did the ache.

It stretched through my bones,

It soaked into my reflection,

It blurred the lines between who I was and what I survived.

And now, standing here,

I don’t know where the pain ends and I begin.

I have worn it like armor,

Built entire identities around surviving,

Been praised for being “strong,”

When the truth is I never had another choice.

I wasn’t brave, I was broken,

And no one noticed.

No one asked what it cost me to still be standing.

No one saw the shaking hands beneath the steady voice,

The smile that was only ever a disguise.

I don’t know who I am without the pain,

Because the pain gave me stories,

It gave me depth,

It gave me poetry and empathy and layers too heavy for anyone to unravel.

But it also took things from me,

It took joy without fear,

Laughter without guilt,

Love without armor,

Sleep without nightmares,

Safety without question.

Sometimes I wonder if I would even recognize myself in peace,

Would I still be real if I wasn’t hurting?

Would I still deserve love if I wasn’t aching?

Would I still matter if I wasn’t surviving?

Because surviving has become who I am.

Not thriving.

Not resting.

Not healing fully.

Just surviving, day after day,

Holding on to fragments,

Learning to breathe in between breakdowns,

Waking up with hope in one hand and despair in the other.

I don’t want the pain anymore,

But I don’t know who I’d be without it.

And that terrifies me more than the pain itself.

Because what if there's nothing left underneath?

What if all that remains is the hollowed-out version,

The echo of the girl who cried herself into adulthood?

But maybe, just maybe,

There is still something underneath,

Something whole,

Something quiet and gentle,

Something untouched by the chaos,

Something brave in a softer way.

Maybe one day I will meet her,

The version of me not held together by pain,

The version who doesn’t flinch at kindness,

Who doesn’t wait for the world to shatter again.

The version who trusts joy,

Who welcomes light,

Who knows she deserves peace.

But until then,

I am writing to no one,

Because these words are the only truth I have,

And maybe they will guide me back to her.

Maybe they will help me remember that I am not just my pain.

I am the one who lived through it.

And that means there is more to me still waiting to be found.

Xoxo Me....

I know those days, the ones when the mirror feels like a stranger’s gaze, when every breath feels heavy, and the weight of the world presses down until it seems like you might crumble. I know the quiet voice inside that whispers, “You’re not enough.” The one that clouds your mind and steals your light.

But I’m writing to you now, to the part of you that still feels tired, scared, and small, to remind you of something very important:

You are enough.

Not because of what you do. Not because of what you look like. Not because someone else says you are.
You are enough simply because you are.

You are a soul carved from the stars, a heart that has carried storms and still beats with tenderness. You are a story of survival, a collection of moments, both broken and beautiful, woven together by courage you might not even recognize yet.

I want you to remember the times you smiled through pain, the nights you stayed awake fighting your fears, the days you kept going when giving up felt easier. Those moments are proof that you matter. Proof that your life holds value beyond measure.

On the days when your heart feels heavy and your mind is clouded with doubt, please be gentle with yourself. Speak kindly to the little one inside you who just wants to be loved and understood. Hold her close. Tell her she is safe. Tell her she is worthy.

Because worthiness isn’t something you have to earn. It’s not a prize for perfection or success. It’s your birthright, an unshakeable truth.

You deserve love.
You deserve kindness.
You deserve peace.

And most of all, you deserve to see yourself through the eyes of compassion, not criticism.

So, when the days come that you feel invisible or broken or unworthy, read this letter again. Let it be a soft place to land. Let it remind you that even in the darkest moments, you are still here, still fighting, still worthy of every good thing the world has to offer.

You are more than your pain.
You are more than your fears.
You are more than the voices that try to tear you down.

You are a light.
A warrior.
A beautiful, imperfect, unstoppable soul.

And I am proud of you.
I love you.
I will never stop believing in you.

Xoxo Me....

I write these words to no one,

Because sometimes the world feels so silent,

So cold,

So empty around me,

And my voice feels like it disappears into the void,

Like an echo fading into nothingness,

Like shouting into a space where no one is listening.

But still, I write.

Because even if no one hears me,

Even if these words fall flat and unanswered,

I am here,

And I matter.

My story matters.

My pain matters.

My healing matters.

There have been so many times when I felt invisible,

When my feelings were dismissed or ignored,

When my cries for help were met with silence or disbelief,

When I was told to be quiet,

To move on,

To be “strong” in ways that left me feeling weaker than ever.

But I refuse to be silent anymore.

Even if it feels like I am shouting into the dark,

Even if it feels like I am alone,

I will speak my truth,

I will share my story,

I will reclaim the voice that was stolen from me.

I matter,

Not because I am perfect,

Not because I have it all together,

But because I am human.

Because I have survived things I never thought I could,

Because I am still here, still breathing, still trying.

This act of writing,

Of pouring my heart into these pages,

Is my rebellion against the silence that tried to consume me,

My declaration that I will not be erased,

That I will not be forgotten.

Even if these words echo back empty,

Even if no one responds,

I am speaking for the parts of me that were silenced,

For the wounds that are still healing,

For the hope that still flickers in the darkest places.

I am learning that my voice is powerful,

That my words have meaning,

That my story can inspire healing, not just in myself,

But in others who might feel just as lost, just as unheard.

So to no one, but also to anyone who might be listening somewhere,

Know this:

You matter.

Your story matters.

Your pain matters.

And your healing matters.

We are not alone,

Even when the world tries to make us feel that way.

And together, through these words,

We find connection,

We find strength,

We find the courage to keep going.

So I will keep writing,

Keep speaking,

Keep fighting,

Because I matter.

Because you matter.

Because our voices are worth being heard.

Xoxo Me....

My dear ones,

There may come a day when you look at me and wonder about the marks I carry, the scars on my skin, the lines on my heart, the quiet moments when I seem lost in thought. You may ask why I sometimes cry softly, or why my smile sometimes hides a story you don’t know yet.

And when that day comes, I want you to know something very important:

These scars, they tell a story.
A story not just of pain, but of survival.
A story of a little girl who was hurt deeply, but who never stopped fighting.
A story of a woman who learned to stand back up, even when the world tried to keep her down.

I want to be honest with you, not to burden you, but to teach you strength.
Because you deserve to know that even when life hurts, even when it feels unfair, you can still rise.
You can still love.
You can still heal.

I have faced battles, battles that left me bruised, broken, and sometimes afraid.
I have walked through dark places that no child should ever know.
I have carried pain that whispered lies about my worth, my voice, my future.
And yes, some of that pain is still with me, like shadows that stretch long and deep.

But I want you to understand this:

That pain did not define me.
It did not take away my heart or my hope.
It did not steal my love for you.

Because you are my light.
You are the reason I keep fighting every single day.
You are the reason I learn to love my own scars, because they led me here, to you.

I promise you this, with every breath I have:

No matter what happens, no matter how hard life gets, I will always be here for you.
I will never leave you.
I will never disregard your voice, your feelings, your truth.
I will hold you when you are scared.
I will listen when you need to talk.
I will protect you with every ounce of strength I have.

I want you to know that your voice matters, more than anything in this world.
I want you to be brave enough to speak your truth, even if it’s scary.
I want you to be kind to yourself, especially on the days you feel like you’re not enough.

And when you look at my scars, please don’t see brokenness.
See strength.
See a mother who fought battles so fierce, who stumbled but kept walking, who loved you fiercely even in her darkest moments.

One day, you might carry your own scars, in your heart or on your skin.
And if you do, remember this letter.
Remember that scars are a testament to survival.
They are a map of healing.
And they are proof that you, too, can overcome.

I hope you grow knowing that love is the most powerful force in the world, stronger than pain, stronger than fear, stronger than any scar.

Thank you for being my reason to keep going,
my reason to hope,
and my greatest blessing.

I love you more than words can ever say.
And I always will.

Xoxo
Mommy

I am writing these words to no one because sometimes the pain lives in places no one sees,

Because sometimes the wounds inside are invisible to the world but scream loudly inside my chest,

Because sometimes I don’t even understand how I got here,

How the weight of sadness, fear, and exhaustion became something I carry every day,

And I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

Not this ache that clings to my bones,

Not this heaviness that drags my heart down into shadows,

Not this quiet despair that whispers I’m not enough,

Not this endless cycle of trying to hold myself together while everything inside feels like it’s falling apart.

I want to scream until my voice breaks,

To cry until the tears wash away the hurt I can’t put into words,

To lay down all my armor and just be honest about how broken I feel,

But sometimes honesty is too hard when the world expects me to be strong,

When the people around me don’t know what to say,

When silence feels safer than explaining the storm raging inside.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore,

Like a prisoner in my own mind,

Trapped behind walls I built to keep the pain from spilling out,

But those walls don’t protect me, they suffocate me.

I want to be free of the fear,

Free of the shame,

Free of the memories that replay like a haunting melody I can’t escape.

There are days when the ache is so deep,

So relentless,

That I wonder if it will ever end,

If I will ever find peace again,

If I will ever believe in hope.

And in those moments, I feel so alone,

Even though I know I am not,

Even though I know others carry their own invisible wounds,

Even though I know I am worthy of healing.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore,

But I don’t know how to stop the pain from taking over,

How to quiet the voices that tell me I am broken beyond repair,

How to find light in a world that feels so dark.

So I write to no one,

Because maybe putting these feelings into words will help me make sense of the ache,

Maybe it will remind me that my pain is real,

That it matters,

That I matter.

Maybe it will be the first step toward healing,

The first breath of hope in a long night.

If you are reading this,

If you have ever felt invisible wounds tearing you apart,

Know that you are not alone,

Know that it’s okay to feel tired, to feel scared, to feel broken.

Know that your pain is valid,

And that you deserve to be seen, heard, and held.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore,

But for now, I am here,

Still fighting, still surviving, still hoping,

And maybe one day, this ache will loosen its grip,

And I will find my way back to light.

Until then, I am learning to be gentle with myself,

To hold my own hand through the darkness,

To say, “It’s okay to not be okay,”

And to believe, just a little,

That healing is possible.

Xoxo Me....

To My Future Self, Who Finally Found Peace,

I don’t know exactly where you are right now, what day it is, what the world looks like through your eyes. But I want to believe you’re out there. Somewhere beyond the pain, beyond the tears, beyond the nights that felt endless.

I want to believe you’re standing in the sunlight, breathing easier than you ever have. That you’ve learned to love yourself in ways I can only dream of right now. That the weight that crushed me has finally lifted from your shoulders.

I hope you’ve forgiven yourself for the things I’m still struggling to let go of.
I hope you’ve found people who see you, truly see you, and hold you with kindness.
I hope you laugh more than you cry, and that when you do cry, it’s because your heart is healing, not breaking.
I hope you’ve discovered what it means to rest, not just in sleep, but in your soul.

I hope you carry the scars, the invisible ones and the visible, with pride, knowing they are proof of your incredible strength.
I hope you look in the mirror and see not the girl who was broken, but the woman who refused to give up.
I hope you have moments of pure joy that catch you by surprise, and that you know you deserve every single one.

I want to tell you this:

Thank you.
Thank you for holding on when I couldn’t.
Thank you for fighting for the days I didn’t believe would come.
Thank you for being brave enough to face the darkness, and brave enough to step into the light.

I know it hasn’t been easy.
I know the road here was twisted and painful.
But you made it.

And that means everything.

Please keep being gentle with yourself.
Keep choosing love, for yourself and for the world, even on the hard days.
Keep remembering the little girl I once was, who dreamed of peace.
And keep living in a way that honors her.

I’m proud of you. I believe in you.
And I can’t wait to meet you.

Xoxo
Me

I am writing to no one and everyone,

To the stars scattered in the sky,

To the shadows that stretch long and silent,

To whatever force might be listening in the vastness,

Because all I want is to be seen.

Truly seen.

Not just for the surface,

Not just for the parts I show when I’m smiling or pretending,

But for all of me, the messy, broken, beautiful pieces I hide deep inside.

I am tired of being invisible,

Of feeling like a ghost wandering through crowded rooms,

Of shouting into empty air and hearing nothing but silence in return.

I ache for someone, anyone, to notice the weight I carry,

To recognize the battles I fight in quiet desperation,

To understand the wounds I wear like armor,

To see past the scars and the cracks and the fear.

Just let me be seen.

Let someone hold space for my story without turning away,

Without judging the parts that don’t fit their idea of perfect.

Let someone hear the trembling in my voice,

The unsaid words caught behind my lips,

The sorrow tucked inside my smile.

Let someone see the tears I hide when no one is watching,

The nights when I feel too small, too lost, too afraid.

I have spent so long pretending I’m okay,

Pretending the pain isn’t there,

Pretending the loneliness doesn’t claw at my heart.

But inside, I am aching.

I am breaking.

I am longing for connection, for understanding, for love that isn’t conditional.

I want to be held, not just physically,

But emotionally, spiritually, deeply.

I want to be seen not as a burden,

But as a soul worthy of kindness and light.

Sometimes I wonder if I am invisible by choice,

If I am hiding because I am afraid to be known,

Afraid that if someone truly saw me, they would run,

Afraid that my brokenness is too much,

That my story is too dark,

That my scars are too raw.

But even with that fear,

There is a part of me that still hopes.

A part that still believes someone out there will look past the surface,

Will see the pain and still reach out with gentle hands,

Will see the fear and still offer comfort,

Will see the brokenness and still love fiercely.

So I write this letter to no one,

Because sometimes the act of being heard begins with hearing yourself,

Sometimes the first step to being seen is to see yourself with compassion.

And I am learning to do that, slowly, painfully, beautifully.

To look at my reflection and say, “You are enough.

You are worthy.

You are deserving of being seen.”

If you are reading this,

If you have ever felt invisible or unheard,

Know that you are not alone.

Know that your story matters.

Know that you are seen, even when it doesn’t feel that way.

And maybe one day,

We will find each other in this vast, lonely world,

And finally, we will be seen.

Truly seen.

And it will be enough.

Xoxo Me....

To the Man Who Stole Another Piece of Me,

I don’t even know where to begin, because even now, the words feel dirty in my mouth. Even now, I sit here trying to make sense of what happened, of why. Why me? Why again?

I’ve tried to write this a hundred times. I’ve tried to silence the shaking in my hands, the burning in my chest, the war in my soul that hasn’t stopped raging since that day. But today, I’m writing it. Not for you, you don’t deserve my voice. I’m writing it for me. Because I need to say the truth that you tried to bury inside my body.

You. Hurt. Me.

You didn’t just touch me. You didn’t just use me. You violated me. You took something that wasn’t yours to take. You made me feel like nothing, like just a body to be used, to be dominated, to be thrown away. You treated me like a thing. A disposable, voiceless, powerless thing. And that is something I will carry for the rest of my life.

You saw me as weak. As easy. As something broken, as if that gave you permission. You saw the cracks in me and thought that meant you could slip inside. Maybe you thought I wouldn’t fight back. Maybe you thought no one would care. Maybe you thought I was just another nameless girl in a world that forgets us as easily as it hurts us.

But I was a person. I am a person.

I had dreams, fears, softness, fire. I had a heart. I had a soul. I had boundaries. And you trampled over every part of me like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.

And what kills me is how normal you made it seem. Like I should have expected it. Like my pain was an afterthought. Like your desire was more important than my humanity. You didn’t look at my tears. You didn’t hear my silence. You didn’t care. You saw me as a warm body and nothing else. And I was left there, shattered. Small. Hollowed out. Trying to breathe around the weight of what you did.

Do you know what it's like to feel so used, so discarded, that you can’t even cry at first? You just go numb. You float. You stare at the ceiling and wonder if you made it all up. You blame yourself because that’s what the world taught us to do. You go quiet. You hide the truth inside your ribs and let it rot.

You left me with questions that eat me alive:
Was it something I wore?
Did I say the wrong thing?
Did I freeze? Should I have screamed?
Why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you see me?
Why didn’t you care?

I hate that I still carry this. I hate that your hands are still on my body even when you’re not here. I hate that sometimes I can’t stand to be touched, even by people who love me. I hate that I can’t always sleep. That I flinch. That I doubt my worth. That I wonder if I’ll ever feel safe again.

I hate that one moment with you created a thousand cracks inside me.

And I hate that you probably went on with your life like nothing happened.

I want you to know something:
You didn’t just steal my safety — you stole the version of me that believed in people. You stole the girl who didn’t look over her shoulder. You stole the softness I had for the world. And for what? Power? Control? A moment of gratification?

I hope it was worth it. I hope someday, when you're lying awake in the dark, your mind replays what you did. I hope my silence haunts you. I hope my pain finds you, even if no one else ever calls you out. Because I will never forget.

But hear me clearly:

You do not get to define me.

Yes, I am broken. But I am not yours.
Yes, I was hurt. But I am still here.
Yes, you left me bleeding — but I am learning how to heal.

I will put myself back together piece by piece. I will learn to love my body again. I will learn to reclaim my voice. I will learn to trust again, maybe slowly, maybe painfully, but I will. Because I refuse to let you be the ending of my story.

This is my rage.
This is my sorrow.
This is my scream into the darkness that you left me in.

But this is also my beginning.

You don’t get to win.

Xoxo
Me

To the Stranger Who Might Be Hurting Too,

If you’re reading this, if your heart feels heavy and the weight of the world is pressing down on you, I want you to know something important:

You are not alone.

I don’t know your story. I don’t know the battles you’re fighting behind closed doors. But I know what it’s like to feel broken, scared, overwhelmed, to hold on by the smallest thread, praying it doesn’t snap.

Maybe you’re lying awake right now, tears silently falling, wondering if anyone cares. Maybe you’re pretending to be okay, putting on a brave face for the world, while inside everything is falling apart. Maybe you’ve tried to be strong for so long you don’t remember what it feels like to rest.

I want you to know, it’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to need help.

Your pain is real. Your feelings are valid. And your life, your precious, beautiful life, matters so much more than the darkness trying to convince you otherwise.

I see you.

I see your bravery, even if you don’t.
I see the battles you’re fighting, even if they’re invisible.
I see your heart, fragile, fierce, fighting, and I want you to hold on just a little longer.

Because you never know what tomorrow might bring.

You might find a reason to smile.
You might meet someone who truly sees you.
You might discover a strength inside you you never knew existed.

There is hope. Even if it’s faint. Even if it feels far away.

You are worthy of kindness, from others, yes, but especially from yourself. You deserve care. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to feel safe.

So please, if you’re hurting, reach out. Whisper your pain to someone you trust, or write it down, or just breathe it out quietly. You don’t have to carry it all alone.

And if no one else tells you today, let me say it now:

You are not alone.

I’m holding space for you here. For your pain, your fears, your hopes. And I believe in your strength, even when you don’t.

Hold on. Keep breathing. Keep trying.

Because you matter.

More than words can say.

Xoxo
Me

I am writing these words into the quiet,

Because sometimes the weight of simply existing feels heavier than I can bear,

Because the act of breathing itself feels like a battle I am losing slowly,

And there is no one here to witness the war raging inside me,

No one to hold me when the ground beneath feels like it’s crumbling,

No one to remind me that I am not alone,

No one to say, “You don’t have to carry this all by yourself.”

I am so tired.

Tired of waking up with a heaviness in my chest that no medicine can ease,

Tired of pretending that the broken pieces inside me aren’t bleeding through the cracks,

Tired of smiling when all I want to do is scream,

Tired of hiding the exhaustion that seeps into every bone,

Tired of surviving day after day like it’s a marathon with no finish line.

Some days, survival is just breathing,

In and out, shallow and slow,

Just enough to keep my heart beating,

Just enough to keep moving forward,

Even when every step feels like dragging through a storm that never ends.

I want to tell you about the nights,

The nights when the darkness feels endless,

When the tears won’t stop falling,

When the silence around me is louder than any scream,

When hope feels like a distant memory,

And I wonder if this exhaustion will ever fade.

I am so tired of surviving,

Because surviving feels like losing,

Like standing in a battlefield where the wounds never heal,

Where the scars are fresh and aching,

Where the fight inside me never takes a break.

But still, here I am,

Still breathing,

Still holding on by the thinnest thread,

Still hoping that one day the weight will lift,

That one day the fight will feel a little easier,

That one day I will wake up and feel like living instead of just surviving.

I don’t know when that day will come,

Or if it will ever come.

But for now, I write these words to no one,

Because sometimes writing is the only way to carry the pain,

The only way to give voice to the exhaustion,

The only way to remind myself that I am still here,

Even when it feels like giving up is the easier choice.

So if you are reading this,

If you have ever felt this deep, overwhelming tiredness,

Know that you are not alone.

Know that it is okay to feel tired.

Know that it is okay to rest,

To cry,

To ask for help,

To not be okay sometimes.

Surviving is not weakness,

Even when it feels like the hardest thing in the world.

And in the midst of all this exhaustion,

There is still a spark inside you,

A spark that refuses to be extinguished,

A spark that means you are still fighting,

Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

So here I am,

Tired but still here,

Hurting but still breathing,

Broken but still trying.

And maybe, that is enough for today.

Xoxo Me....

To the Nights I Didn’t Think I’d Survive,

You were the hardest.
The darkest.
The loneliest hours when the world felt like it had turned its back on me and left me alone in a room with nothing but my own trembling heart.

You came wrapped in silence, thick and suffocating.
You came with tears that burned my cheeks and left me raw.
You came with pills I swallowed not to live, but to escape.
You came with screams that tore through the quiet but were swallowed by empty walls.

You were the nights when my mind wouldn’t stop racing,
when memories clawed at me like hungry ghosts,
when pain pulsed in every nerve,
when hope felt like a faint star too far away to ever reach.

I remember how you made me feel so small,
like I was drowning in a sea with no shore,
like my breath was heavy with all the sadness I couldn’t say,
like every heartbeat was a struggle I wasn’t sure I could win.

I remember the weight of loneliness crushing me,
even when people were in the same room,
because inside, I was screaming for help that no one heard.

But here’s what I want you to know, Night:

You didn’t break me.

I may have trembled.
I may have begged for the pain to stop.
I may have felt like disappearing.

But I didn’t.

Somehow, I held on.

Even when every shadow felt like a trap,
even when I felt swallowed whole by despair,
even when I thought the darkness would never end,

I survived.

I survived the nights I thought would be my last.
I survived the silence that felt like a scream.
I survived the hopelessness that tried to steal my light.

And because of you, I learned something important:

That even in the blackest moments, there is a flicker.
A stubborn, quiet flicker of me.
The part of me that refused to let go,
that whispered, “Not yet.”
That clung to the hope that someday, somehow, I would see dawn again.

So, Night, thank you.
Thank you for testing me.
Thank you for teaching me what it means to fight even when I don’t want to.
Thank you for reminding me how precious every breath really is.

You will always be part of my story,
the part that hurt the most,
but also the part that made me stronger than I ever thought possible.

To the nights I didn’t think I’d survive,
I see you. I honor you.
And I promise to carry your lessons forward,
to hold the light a little brighter for those who still struggle in the dark.

Because I am still here.

And I am still fighting.

Xoxo
Me

I don’t even know if anyone will ever read this,

If these words will ever find their way to a heart that understands,

If this message, cast like a bottle into the endless ocean of the universe,

Will ever reach the shore of someone who cares enough to hold it gently,

But still, I write.

Because somewhere deep inside, I’m hoping,

Hoping that someone, anyone, might hear the silent scream that lives in my chest.

If you’re out there, I need you.

Not because I want to be saved,

Not because I want someone to fix me,

But because I’m tired of carrying this alone.

I’m tired of pretending I’m okay when every breath feels like a battle.

I’m tired of the nights where the darkness wraps around me like a suffocating blanket,

Where the tears fall in secret,

Where the loneliness feels too big to bear.

I need you to see me.

Not the broken parts that I try to hide,

Not the pieces I’m ashamed of,

But the real me,

The scared me,

The fragile me,

The parts that long to be held without judgment,

To be loved without conditions,

To be heard without interruption.

If you’re out there, I need you to know,

That sometimes I don’t have the words to explain this ache inside.

That sometimes I’m too tired to keep fighting,

That sometimes I just want to disappear and never come back.

But I don’t.

I keep coming back.

Because even in the darkest moments,

A tiny spark of hope still burns.

And that spark is waiting for you.

I need you to hold space for me,

To listen without needing to fix,

To sit with me in the silence when words fail,

To remind me that I am not alone,

That my pain is valid,

That my story matters.

If you’re out there, please don’t turn away.

Please don’t dismiss the cracks you see.

Please don’t make me feel smaller for needing someone.

Because needing someone is not weakness.

It’s humanity.

It’s the part of us that knows we were never meant to carry everything alone.

I am sending this message into the void,

Not because I expect an answer,

But because I need to believe that there is a hand reaching out,

A heart beating somewhere that can hold mine.

A soul that can walk beside me,

Even if just for a moment,

Even if just in a whisper.

If you’re out there, I am here.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Believing.

And maybe, just maybe, you are too.

Xoxo Me....

To the People Who Knew and Did Nothing,

You saw me.

You knew.
Maybe not all the details. Maybe not every horror or scar. But you saw enough.
You saw the fear in my eyes.
You saw how I flinched when certain voices rose.
You saw the bruises I tried to cover with sleeves, the weight I carried in my silence, the sadness in my smile.
You heard the way I tried to laugh but never quite made it.
You noticed the way I changed, from loud to quiet, from playful to distant, from trusting to terrified.

And still… you did nothing.

You didn’t ask.
You didn’t stop it.
You didn’t protect me.

You said things like, “It’s not my place,” or “I didn’t want to get involved,” or maybe you convinced yourself that I’d be okay. That someone else would step in. That I’d find a way through it.

But I was a child. Or I was a girl. Or I was just a person hurting, and you stood right there and looked away.
That silence, that cold, choking silence, it echoed louder than all the screams I kept trapped in my throat.

Do you know what it’s like to be drowning and have people watch from the shore?

To be on fire inside and hear people say, “She’s probably just dramatic.”
To want someone to see you, truly see you, and they look you in the eye, and blink, and turn around, and walk away?

That kind of betrayal leaves a scar so deep it becomes part of your bones.

You had the power to say something.
To believe me.
To pull me aside and ask, “Are you okay?”, and mean it.
You had the power to make a difference.

And maybe you were afraid. Maybe you were confused. Maybe you were protecting yourself.
But you weren’t the one living in fear.
You weren’t the one going home to silence, to violence, to pain that had no name.
You weren’t the one crying into a pillow, begging God to send someone, anyone, to notice.

But I noticed.

I noticed that you noticed, and still said nothing.

And do you know what that teaches someone?
That they’re not worth fighting for.
That their pain is inconvenient.
That their story is too heavy for the world to carry.
That speaking up is useless, because no one will believe you anyway.

You taught me that my voice didn’t matter.
That my pain wasn’t loud enough.
That I was alone.

But I wasn’t invisible. You saw me.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

I don’t need your apologies now. I don’t want your guilt. I’ve carried enough weight in my life, I’m not here to carry yours, too.

What I want, what I deserve, is acknowledgment.

That you saw.
That you could have helped.
And you didn’t.

I want you to sit with that. Not to hate yourself, but to learn.
Because somewhere out there is another version of me, hurting, hiding, hoping.
And they don’t need your silence. They need your courage.
Don’t turn your head next time. Don’t pretend not to see.

Because pain ignored becomes pain prolonged.
And silence, silence becomes complicity.

I lived through it.
Without you.
In spite of you.

And I’m still here.

That’s my power now, not yours.

Xoxo
Me

I’m writing these words to no one,

Because there is no one here who knows just how much this hurts,

No one who sees beneath the surface where the cracks are deeper than anyone can imagine,

No one who understands the silent battles I fight behind a smile,

The weight I carry alone, the aching that never seems to fade.

I thought I was prepared for this pain,

That I could face the brokenness with some kind of strength,

That maybe time or distance or distraction would dull the sharp edges,

But it hasn’t.

It only hurts more.

More than I thought it would.

More than I ever wanted to admit.

I’m broken in ways I can’t explain,

In ways that don’t make sense to the people around me,

In ways that feel too heavy to carry and too fragile to share.

And still, I pretend.

I pretend like everything is okay,

Like I’m holding it together when inside I’m unraveling thread by thread,

Like the weight isn’t crushing me,

Like the nights aren’t filled with tears I don’t let anyone see.

This pretending is exhausting.

It’s lonely.

It’s terrifying.

Because if I stop pretending,

If I let the mask slip for just a moment,

Who will still be there?

Who will still care?

Who will still love me when the brokenness is all they see?

I wish I had someone to hold this pain with me,

To share the darkness so it doesn’t feel so suffocating,

To hold my hand through the nights that feel endless,

To remind me that I’m not alone,

That it’s okay to hurt this much,

That healing isn’t a straight line but a messy, slow journey.

But there is no one.

Just me, and this silence that follows every cry,

Just me, and these tears that fall when I’m sure no one is watching,

Just me, and this ache that no one else can carry for me.

And it hurts.

So much it feels like my heart might break all over again.

So much it feels like I’m drowning in my own sorrow.

So much it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something I don’t know how to face.

But even in this pain,

Even in the darkness,

I am still here.

Still breathing.

Still holding on to the hope that someday this hurt will lessen,

That someday I will find peace,

That someday I will be held in a way I have never been held before.

Until then, I write these words to no one,

Because sometimes, writing is the only way to feel heard,

The only way to make the invisible visible,

The only way to keep going when everything inside feels like giving up.

So here I am, broken but surviving,

Hurting more than I thought I would,

Pretending but still hoping.

And maybe that is enough for today.

Xoxo Me....

To the Girl I Used to Be,

I see you.

I see you sitting on the edge of your bed, legs swinging, small hands clenched into fists, trying not to cry too loudly. Trying not to make too much noise. Trying not to be noticed in all the wrong ways again. I see how you stare at the door, afraid of who might come through it. I see the way you tuck your feelings so deep down inside your chest that even you forget where they are.

You were just a little girl.
And no one protected you the way they should have.
No one stepped in when they should have.
No one sat down beside you and said, “This is not your fault.”
So I’m saying it now.

None of it was your fault.

Not the way they hurt you.
Not the way they ignored you.
Not the silence you kept because you were too scared to break it.
Not the shame that was handed to you like it belonged to you.

You were a child. You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be loved gently, held without conditions, told you were enough just as you were.

But instead, you were hurt.
Used.
Dismissed.
Made to feel like your tears were inconvenient.
Like your body wasn’t yours.
Like your voice didn’t matter.

I wish I could go back and hold you.
I wish I could climb into the places where you were hiding and say, “Sweetheart, none of them ever saw how precious you are.”
Because you were. You are.

You didn’t deserve to carry the weight of their cruelty.
You didn’t deserve to be afraid of love.
You didn’t deserve to grow up too fast, to become strong because no one else was strong for you.

But oh, how strong you became anyway.

Do you even realize what you survived?
Do you know how brave you were, waking up day after day, pretending everything was fine when everything inside you was screaming?
Do you know how proud I am of you for staying alive, for smiling sometimes even when it hurt, for keeping your softness, even after all the hard things the world did to you?

You should never have been left to pick up those pieces alone.
But you did.
And I am in awe of you.

I’m sorry no one told you that you didn’t have to be perfect to be loved.
I’m sorry they made you feel like love was something you had to earn through silence or obedience or pain.
I’m sorry you ever had to wonder if you were lovable at all.

You were.
You are.

There’s so much I want to tell you.

That your body will never be something to be ashamed of.
That your voice matters, so much more than anyone ever let you believe.
That you will find moments of laughter again.
That you’ll hold your own children and love them in all the ways you were never loved.
That you will learn to choose softness for yourself, not just for everyone else.

And yes, there will still be hard days. Days where you miss things you never even had. Days where the memories creep in uninvited. Days where you look in the mirror and still see a little girl waiting to be rescued.

But guess what?

You rescued yourself.

You did that.

So to the girl I used to be:

Thank you for surviving.
Thank you for holding on.
Thank you for never giving up, even when it felt like no one would ever understand you.
Thank you for becoming me, the woman who still breaks, still cries, still aches… but who is still here.

I carry you with me everywhere.
And I promise, with everything I have left in me, I will not let you be forgotten.
I will make a life that honors what you endured.
I will speak the truths you were too scared to say.
And I will love you, fully, loudly, fiercely, in all the ways you were once denied.

You were never too much.
You were never nothing.
You were always worthy.

Xoxo
Me

I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve thought about writing this letter for years, to all of you, the ones who laughed, who whispered, who pointed, who turned my pain into your entertainment. Maybe you don’t remember me. Maybe I was just another face in the hallway to you, someone forgettable, someone you made fun of and moved on from.

But I remember you.

I remember everything.

I remember the first time I heard someone say, “Ew, what’s wrong with her skin?”
The way you looked at me like I was contagious. Like I was dirty. Diseased.
The way you stepped back, or whispered behind cupped hands, or stared with wide, disgusted eyes when my sleeves slipped up, or when I wore shorts on a hot day and you could see the raw, red, angry patches of my skin.

You didn’t know, or maybe you didn’t care, that what I had was psoriasis.
An autoimmune disease. A chronic illness. Not something I could wash off, or hide, or control. My own body attacking itself. My own skin turning against me. It wasn’t just “a rash.” It wasn’t because I didn’t shower. It wasn’t gross. It wasn’t contagious. But none of you ever bothered to ask. You just judged. You mocked. You treated me like I didn’t belong.

And that hurt more than the disease ever did.

Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day and already feel ashamed of the body you’re living in? To have skin that cracks, bleeds, itches until you can't sleep? To dread the sunlight, gym class, pool parties, summer, even walking through the school corridors, because you know someone is going to say something? Laugh. Stare. Make you feel like a freak all over again?

You made it worse. So much worse.

You made me feel like I was a monster. Like something to be hidden. You made me afraid of being seen. You turned me into someone who kept her head down, who wore long sleeves in 35-degree heat, who sat in the back of the class hoping no one would notice her, who tried to make herself smaller so the jokes would stop.

I hated myself.

Because of you, I hated looking in mirrors. I hated my own skin. I hated showing up to school, knowing I’d have to endure another day of your cruelty. The nicknames. The whispers. The way some of you would call it disgusting to my face. The way others would smile at my pain like it was nothing. And the worst part — no one ever stood up for me. You all watched. Some joined in. Some laughed quietly, pretending it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was a big deal.

You made me feel less than human.
You made me feel like my illness defined me.
You made me feel like I would never be beautiful. Never be loved. Never be normal.

There were days I went home and cried until I couldn't breathe. Nights I scratched my skin raw just to feel something other than shame. Times I wondered why I had to be me. Why I had to have this skin. This body. Why I had to go through all of this, the disease, and the cruelty of kids who were supposed to be my classmates, maybe even my friends.

But I want you to know something:

I never chose this.

Psoriasis isn’t something I asked for. It’s not a punishment. It’s not a flaw. It’s a disease. One I’ve fought quietly, bravely, and constantly. I’ve taken medications that made me sick, tried creams that burned, cried in dermatologists’ offices when nothing worked. And still, I showed up. To school. To life. In spite of the pain. In spite of you.

I have survived things you will never understand, not just the illness, but the loneliness, the bullying, the deep, soul-crushing feeling of being unwanted, unloved, unseen. I have spent years trying to find my worth again. Trying to believe that I am more than my skin. That I am not what you said I was.

And I am not.

I am more.

More than your words.
More than your judgment.
More than your ignorance.

I don’t know if you’ve changed. I don’t know if you regret what you did. I don’t know if you even remember. But I do. I remember it all. And some nights, I still hear your laughter echoing in my head when I take off my clothes and see the marks on my skin. But now, I’m learning to see them differently. Not as shame. Not as something ugly. But as proof that I survived. That I am still here. That you didn’t break me completely, even though you tried.

I carry scars, both visible and invisible. And maybe I always will.
But I also carry strength.
And that’s something you will never be able to take from me.

I hope one day, if life ever hands you something hard, something you didn’t choose, you remember this. I hope you find more compassion than you gave. I hope you teach your children kindness instead of cruelty. I hope no one ever makes you feel the way you made me feel, like you weren’t enough, just because of something you couldn’t control.

To the kids who bullied me for something I didn’t choose:

You hurt me. You made me feel like I didn’t belong.
But I do.

I belong.
I am worthy.
I am still healing.
And I am still here.

Xoxo Me....

I am writing this to no one and everyone all at once,

Because sometimes the hardest words are the ones that have nowhere to go,

Because sometimes the quietest screams echo the loudest inside a hollow heart,

Because sometimes the most desperate wish is just to be enough.

Enough to be seen.

Enough to be loved.

Enough to be wanted.

Enough to matter.

Enough to stop feeling invisible in a world that never seemed to notice.

I have spent so many years trying to prove myself,

To be the person who fits, who belongs, who deserves,

Trying to shrink and stretch and change like a puzzle piece that never quite matched the picture on the box,

Trying to fill spaces that always seemed too big, too cold, too empty.

I wanted to be enough.

Not perfect, not flawless, just enough.

Enough to be held without conditions,

Enough to be accepted with all my cracks and scars,

Enough to be loved without having to earn it.

But it never felt that way.

No matter how much I tried,

No matter how much I gave,

No matter how hard I fought to be worthy,

I was still not enough.

Not for them.

Not for the world.

Not even sometimes for myself.

I learned to hide the parts of me that didn’t fit,

To silence the voice that begged for kindness,

To tuck away my dreams so they wouldn’t seem too big or too loud,

To pretend I was whole when I was breaking inside,

To smile when all I wanted was to scream.

And every time I looked in the mirror,

I saw someone who was barely holding on,

Someone who was tired of carrying the weight of not being enough,

Someone who wished, more than anything, to just be enough.

To be enough for my family,

To be enough for my friends,

To be enough for the love I longed for,

To be enough for myself.

But the truth is,

I was carrying a burden that was never mine to bear.

A burden placed on me by a world that measures worth in impossible standards,

By voices that told me I needed to be smaller, quieter, less complicated,

By shadows of doubt that whispered I was never quite right,

By a heart that learned to believe it was broken beyond repair.

So here I am, writing this to no one,

Because sometimes you need to say the things that have no audience,

Because sometimes the weight feels too heavy to carry silently,

Because sometimes the only way to breathe is to let the words spill out,

Even if no one hears.

I want you to know,

To remind myself,

That I am enough.

Not because of what I do or how I look or how much I give.

Not because someone else says so.

But simply because I am here.

Because I survived.

Because I am trying.

Because I am human.

And maybe that is the hardest thing to believe,

That being enough doesn’t mean being perfect,

That being enough means loving myself through the cracks,

That being enough means showing up for myself,

Even when I’m scared, even when I’m tired, even when I don’t feel whole.

So to no one, and yet to everyone who has ever felt this way,

You are enough.

You have always been enough.

And no matter how many times the world tries to tell you otherwise,

Hold on to that truth.

Carry it with you like a shield.

Speak it softly into your soul when the night feels too dark.

Because your worth is not defined by their eyes.

Your value is not measured by their approval.

Your love is not contingent on anyone else’s acceptance.

You are enough.

Just as you are.

Right here, right now.

And I am learning to believe it, one shaky breath at a time.

Xoxo Me....

To the Body That Carries My Pain,

I don’t know where to begin, or how to say everything I feel, because for so long, I didn’t know how to talk to you. I only knew how to resent you. Blame you. Hurt you.

But today, I want to try again.
Today, I want to speak to you, really speak, and say the things I never let myself feel.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for every time I called you ugly.
Every time I looked in the mirror and picked you apart, piece by piece, like you were something to be fixed or hidden or ashamed of.
I’m sorry for the names I called you. For the disgust I carried toward your skin, your scars, your softness, your changes, as if you weren’t trying your best to simply keep me alive.

I’m sorry for the way I punished you for things that were never your fault.

For the psoriasis, for the red, cracked, aching skin that you couldn’t control.
For the trauma you absorbed. The hands you never asked for. The nights you held in screams. The silent way you endured when I couldn’t fight back.
I’m sorry for every time I starved you, hurt you, silenced you, or wished you away.

You were never the enemy.

You were the shield. The container. The vessel that carried my grief and didn’t break.

You were the place where my sorrow settled. Where my rage burned. Where my fear curled up and tried to hide. And yet, you kept going. You walked into rooms when I was shaking. You stood upright even when I wanted to collapse. You held my heart when it was breaking. You carried me through every storm, through every fight, through every unspoken ache.

And I never thanked you for that.

So here it is now:

Thank you.

Thank you for waking up each day, even when I didn’t want to.
Thank you for the way my lungs kept breathing when I didn’t think I could.
Thank you for the tears, for the sacred way you released pain when no one else saw it.
Thank you for my hands, my arms, my legs, the ones that held my children, carried groceries, climbed out of dark places.

Thank you for staying when I wanted to go.

I know you’ve been through hell. I know your bones are tired. I know your skin is tired of healing over the same wounds, again and again. I know you’ve carried shame that was never yours, weight that wasn’t fair, touches you never consented to.

And yet, you still love me.

You still hold me gently at night.
You still respond when I cry.
You still fight, quietly, stubbornly, even when I say I’ve given up.

Sometimes I forget that you are not separate from me, that you are me. That the way I speak to you matters. That you’re listening. That you’ve been waiting for me to see you not as the thing I need to escape, but as the one who never left my side.

So today, I want to promise you something.

I will try to be gentler.
I will try to stop apologizing for your shape, your skin, your needs.
I will rest when you’re tired. Feed you when you’re hungry. Move you because it feels good, not because I hate how you look.
I will stop speaking to you like you’re a failure.
You are not a failure.

You are a miracle in scar tissue and survival.
You are my history. My healing. My home.

I may not always love you, not yet, but I will try to respect you.
And one day, I hope I can look at you with softness. With pride. With love that doesn’t come from perfection, but from understanding.

Because you deserve that.

You always have.

Xoxo
Me

I am writing to the empty space that held my words when there was no one to hear them,

To the silence that swallowed my cries and left me feeling more alone than I ever thought possible,

To the void where my heart poured out everything it couldn’t hold inside anymore,

Because sometimes,

Sometimes you just need someone.

Even if that someone doesn’t exist.

Even if no one is there.

Even if all you have is yourself and a pen and the ache of unspoken things.

I needed someone to say, “I see you.”

To hold my trembling hands and not look away,

To listen to the storms raging inside me without running,

To understand that sometimes words don’t come out right,

But the pain is very real.

I needed someone who wouldn’t judge me for falling apart,

Who wouldn’t tell me to “just get over it,”

Who wouldn’t make me feel like my feelings were too much or too little or too anything.

But there was no one.

There was only the hollow echo of my own voice,

The cold stare of empty rooms,

The darkness that wrapped around me like a heavy cloak,

And the deafening quiet that screamed louder than I ever imagined it could.

I needed someone to catch me when I was breaking,

When I was crumbling beneath the weight of memories that felt like chains,

When my heart was shattered into pieces too small to even hold,

When my soul was screaming for rest and release.

I needed someone who wouldn’t turn their back,

Who wouldn’t walk away,

Who wouldn’t pretend not to see the mess I was drowning in.

But I was alone.

Alone with my thoughts,

Alone with my fears,

Alone with the nights that stretched endlessly before me,

Alone with the memories that replayed like broken records,

Alone with the pain that no one else wanted to carry.

I needed someone to remind me I wasn’t invisible,

That my scars told stories worth hearing,

That my tears weren’t weakness but proof of my courage,

That my brokenness didn’t make me less worthy of love,

That even in the darkest hours, I was still enough.

But no one said those words.

No one whispered them in my ear.

No one reached out to pull me back from the edge.

So here I am, speaking to no one,

Because I needed someone.

Because my heart needed to be heard,

Even if it was only by the paper beneath my pen.

Even if it was only by the quiet room around me.

I needed to say all the things I never dared to say aloud:

The fear,

The sadness,

The anger,

The longing,

The hope that flickered even when it felt impossible to hold onto.

I needed to scream into the void and believe that maybe, just maybe,

Somewhere, somehow, someone might listen.

Someone might understand.

Someone might care.

And maybe that someone is me.

Maybe I am the one who has to hold my own hand,

To wipe my own tears,

To whisper the words I needed to hear.

Maybe I am the one who has to be my own safe place,

My own home,

My own hope.

It’s not what I wanted.

It’s not what I dreamed of.

But it’s where I am.

And for now, it has to be enough.

So to no one, but also to someone,

Thank you for being here in the silence,

Thank you for holding space for all the broken pieces,

Thank you for not turning away when it felt easier to do so.

I am still here.

Still fighting.

Still breathing.

Still hoping that one day, I won’t have to write letters to no one.

That one day, I will find the someone I’ve been searching for all along.

Until then, I will keep speaking into the quiet.

Because my words matter.

Because my pain matters.

Because I matter.

Xoxo Me....

To Everyone Who Ever Disregarded My Voice and My Feelings,

I hope you read this one day, not with defensiveness, not with excuses, not with a shrug, but with the quiet, aching truth that maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally understand what you did to me.

You may not have realized it in the moment. Or maybe you did, and you just didn’t care. But every time you rolled your eyes, changed the subject, laughed at my tears, told me I was being “too sensitive,” or simply walked away when I was desperate for someone to stay, you carved another crack in my chest.

You taught me that my feelings were “too much.”
That my sadness made people uncomfortable.
That my anger wasn’t justified.
That my story was inconvenient.
That my pain was something to be silenced, or avoided, or brushed off with a “you’ll be fine.”

But I wasn’t fine.

I was hurting. And I was trying to speak. Trying to make sense of the storms inside me. Trying to trust someone, anyone, enough to say, “I’m not okay.” But my words were met with shrugs, with silence, with that soul-crushing kind of dismissal that says, without saying it: “You don’t matter.”

Do you know what that does to a person?

Do you know how many nights I stayed up replaying the conversations I never got to finish? The feelings I shoved down because I knew no one would listen anyway? The moments I needed a soft place to land, and instead found empty space?

You taught me to doubt my own voice. To question whether I was being dramatic. To silence my grief, my trauma, my joy, my needs. To become smaller, quieter, invisible, so that I wouldn’t be a burden.

I started apologizing for everything. For crying. For speaking. For feeling. For existing. And that isn’t living. That’s just surviving in a world where I’m not allowed to take up space.

But let me tell you something now, with trembling hands and a heart that’s finally learning to believe in itself again:

I was never too much. You were just not enough.

Not strong enough to hold space for me.
Not brave enough to face what made you uncomfortable.
Not loving enough to say, “I see you. I hear you. I believe you.”

I needed comfort, and you gave me silence.
I needed understanding, and you gave me dismissal.
I needed truth, and you gave me denial.
I needed love, and you gave me distance.

And maybe you thought you were doing nothing wrong. But nothing is exactly what you did, and that nothing cut me open.

So many times, I swallowed the words I wanted to scream. So many times, I cried in secret, because being vulnerable in front of you meant being ignored, mocked, or made to feel weak.

But I am not weak.

I am a human being with a heart that has shattered and kept beating. With a voice that still rises, no matter how many times it was pushed down. With feelings that run deep — not because I’m broken, but because I feel. Because I care. Because I survive every single day with a tenderness this world doesn’t always deserve.

And today, I reclaim my voice.

I am allowed to feel, deeply, loudly, unapologetically.
I am allowed to speak, even if it makes you uncomfortable.
I am allowed to take up space, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into your comfort zone.

You don’t get to define me anymore.

Not with your silence.
Not with your rejection.
Not with your inability to see the beauty in someone who feels the world in full color.

I was never too much.
You just weren’t ready for someone real.

So to all of you who made me feel small:

I forgive myself for ever believing you. But I will never forget what your silence taught me.

And now, I speak, not for your approval, but for my freedom.

Xoxo
Me

To the Me Who Almost Didn't Make It,

I’m writing this to you, to me, because I need to say the things I’ve never had the courage to speak out loud. The things I’ve buried under fake smiles, under silence, under the weight of just trying to stay alive.

I know you’re hurting.

God, I know how much it hurts. I know what it feels like to lie in bed and wonder if anyone would even notice if you were gone. I know what it feels like to scream inside and have no one hear you. To feel like you’ve been left behind by the world, like every breath is a burden, like your soul is slowly unraveling.

I know what it feels like to look at your own hands and wonder if they’re strong enough to keep holding on.

I know what it feels like to try. To really, truly try to keep going. And still feel like you're failing. Like you're falling. Like nothing you do will ever be enough. You tell yourself to be stronger. To be grateful. To smile. But behind closed doors, you’re breaking.

You tried to end it. And I need you to hear something: That does not make you weak. That makes you in pain.

Real, unbearable pain.

Pain that doesn’t have easy words. Pain that people can’t see. Pain that stretches back to childhood wounds, to broken trust, to being left, abandoned, used, hurt, over and over again. Pain that makes the world go silent, and your thoughts go loud. Pain that whispers, “It would be easier if you just stopped existing.”

But you didn’t.

You’re still here.

Even if it feels impossible. Even if some days, survival feels like a punishment instead of a gift. Even if you don’t know why you’re still breathing, you are.

And that means something.

I want you to know that I see you, all of you. The you who puts on a brave face. The you who still smiles for others. The you who loves deeply but rarely feels loved in return. The you who carries shame like a shadow. The you who feels invisible, unimportant, too much and never enough, all at once.

I see your scars, the ones on your skin, and the ones no one else can see. The ones etched into your heart. The ones left behind by every person who hurt you, ignored your cries, walked away when you needed them the most.

I see the way you look in the mirror and sometimes struggle to find something, anything, to love. The way you second-guess every step, every word, every breath. The way you convince yourself you’re a burden, when all you’ve ever really wanted was to be held, to be safe, to be seen.

You’ve carried so much alone.

Too much.

More than anyone should have to carry. And yet, you still get up. Maybe not every day. Maybe not without breaking. But you rise. And that matters. That counts. Even when your hands are trembling. Even when your heart is heavy. Even when your mind is begging you to give up, you don’t.

Maybe no one ever told you this before, but let me say it now: I’m proud of you. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you have it all together. But because you’re still here, bleeding, breaking, breathing.

I know what happened. I know what drove you to that edge.

It wasn’t weakness, it was overwhelm.
It wasn’t drama, it was desperation.
It wasn’t a cry for attention, it was a cry for relief.

And it’s okay. It’s okay that you fell apart. It’s okay that you wanted it to stop. It’s okay that you didn’t want to die, you just didn’t want to keep hurting.

You were trying to make the pain go away, not your life. And I forgive you for that. You deserve forgiveness, not guilt. You deserve grace, not shame.

You have survived things that would’ve destroyed other people. You’ve walked through fires that scorched your soul. You’ve been abused, neglected, mocked, used, abandoned, and still, somehow, your heart still feels. It still hopes. You still find tiny reasons to stay, a song, a child’s smile, the wind, a memory, a dream. And that means something. It means everything.

So today, I want you to pause. Not to pretend you’re okay. Not to fake a smile. But to look at yourself, really look, and whisper:
“I’m hurting, but I’m trying.”
“I feel lost, but I want to find myself again.”
“I’m broken, but I am not gone.”

And maybe someday, when you’re further down this road, you’ll look back on this moment, this version of you who sat in the dark and didn’t think she could go on, and you’ll want to wrap her in your arms and say:

“You made it through. You kept breathing. I am so glad you stayed.”

Please don’t give up on yourself.
You are not worthless.
You are not just the sum of your trauma.
You are not the names they called you.
You are not disposable.
You are not too broken to be loved.

You are healing. You are human.
And you are still here.

And that… is beautiful.

Xoxo
Me

God, today I write to You with a heart full of questions,

A soul aching for answers I cannot find,

And a hope so fragile it trembles beneath the weight of my pain.

I have walked through valleys so dark,

Where shadows swallowed my light and left me searching for meaning,

I have felt the sting of wounds so deep,

That sometimes I wonder if they will ever truly heal.

Why, God?

Why did the pain have to come this way?

Why did the suffering stretch on for so long,

Touching every part of my being and leaving me broken?

I don’t understand now,

And some days, that not knowing feels like the heaviest burden of all,

Like I’m carrying a puzzle with missing pieces,

Trying desperately to make sense of a picture that remains incomplete.

But even in this place of confusion and hurt,

There is a quiet voice inside me that whispers,

One day, You will make it clear.

One day, the reasons behind this pain will unfold like a story written with love and purpose.

I hold onto that hope, God,

That in the fullness of time, I will see the threads You have woven through my life,

That the broken pieces will form a beautiful tapestry I cannot yet imagine,

That the trials I have endured will become the foundation of my strength and faith.

I want to believe that the pain was not in vain,

That every tear, every scar, every night filled with fear was part of a greater plan,

One designed not to break me, but to build me,

Not to destroy me, but to shape me into who I am meant to be.

I pray for the patience to wait,

For the courage to keep moving forward even when the path is unclear,

For the grace to accept what I cannot yet understand,

And for the peace that comes from trusting in Your love, even in the darkest moments.

Help me to remember, God,

That even when my heart is heavy and my spirit weary,

You are holding me close,

You are guiding me gently,

You are never far away.

One day, I’ll understand,

One day, the fog will lift and the light will shine on the purpose behind my pain,

And I will see how Your hands have carried me all along,

How Your love has been my anchor, my refuge, my hope.

Until that day comes, I will keep trusting,

Keep hoping,

Keep believing in Your promises,

Even when I cannot see the way.

Thank You for being my constant,

My shelter in the storm,

My ever-present help in times of trouble.

One day, I’ll understand,

And until then, I am Yours,

Holding on to faith, wrapped in Your endless love.

Xoxo Me....

There are some wounds that never close.
They just learn to bleed quietly.

Today, I find myself writing to you, not because you deserve my words, but because the silence has grown too loud inside me. Maybe it’s time I bleed it out onto paper. Maybe it’s time I stop carrying the weight of your sins in my chest. You may never read this, you may never care, but I need to say it, for me.

I was eight.

Just eight.

A child with scraped knees and bedtime stories. A little girl who still believed that “family” meant safe arms and lullabies. You ruined that. You turned my world into something dark and twisted. You didn’t just take my innocence, you set fire to it and made me watch. You turned love into fear. You turned trust into a weapon. And you did it while wearing the face of someone I was told to love.

You didn’t just break me.
You unmade me.

Five years.
Five years of stolen nights and shattered boundaries. Of flinches I learned to hide, of screams I buried under my pillow. Five years of confusion, of shame that never belonged to me, of trying to survive a war no one else could see. You carved yourself into my childhood like a curse I couldn't lift.

To this day, I still feel your hands on my skin when no one is there. I still triple-check locks. I still sleep with a knife in the drawer. I still lose my breath when someone walks behind me. Your presence haunts the quiet moments, the ones that should’ve brought peace. You linger like smoke in a room I can’t air out.

What were you thinking?

Did you see how small I was?
Did you hear me begging with my eyes?
Was it power you wanted? Control? Or were you just that hollow?

I was quiet. I was soft. I didn’t know how to scream.
But silence was never a yes.
I never wanted you. I never asked for this.
I was a child, and you were a monster with a familiar name.

You wore the mask of safety, of family, of protector.
But underneath, you were rot.
You were the thing in the dark I was supposed to be safe from.

And now I carry what you left behind, the panic attacks. The guilt that doesn’t belong to me. The self-hate. The touch I flinch from, even when it's gentle. The trust I can’t give. The love I don’t think I deserve. You left me with pieces, and I’ve spent years trying to make something whole from them.

But let me be clear:

I will never forgive you.

Not out of vengeance.
Not out of spite.
But because some things are too cruel for forgiveness. Some wounds too deep to heal clean.
What you did doesn’t get to be erased. Not with time. Not with repentance. Not with tears you’ll never cry.

And God… I pray you never touch your daughter the way you touched me. I pray she never sees the monster behind your smile. I’ve stayed silent not to protect you , but to protect her. Because no child deserves to carry what I carried. I took that weight so she wouldn’t have to.

Maybe you pretend now, play the role of a man. But I know what you really are.
I know the rot beneath your skin.
And if there is justice, in this life or the next, may your soul rot for every breath you stole from me.

You left a grave in me.
But I climbed out.

I am still broken. Still healing. Still angry.
But I am here.

And you don’t get to take that from me.

So from the child you shattered, from the girl who cried herself to sleep for years:

I hate you.
I will never forgive you.
And I hope one day, you feel even a fraction of the hell you put me through.

Xoxo Me