Much needed letter to ourselves:
Dear ________ (Self),
I’m sorry that I taught you to sing the “I’m not good enough” song—and I left no room in your head to hum anything else, and no strength in your voice to sing anything else. And I know you started to believe every word.
I’m sorry I didn’t let you take deep breaths of courage—but instead I let you breathe in the stale, old smells of your insecurities, shame, fears. And I know those only took you right back to places of failures and defeat.
I’m sorry I covered your ears from kind and encouraging words, the compliments and praises—because I didn’t think you deserved them, and so I didn’t let them travel to the bruised and weary areas of your heart. And I know you really needed them.
I’m sorry I often kept your eyes from seeing the good and the hope, in people, in the unexpected, in the circumstances—but often trained you to notice the darkness, the bitterness, the destruction. And I know everything started looking blurry and grim.
I kept you just surviving, but I didn’t let you thrive. I kept you moving, but the direction was never forward. Today, and forward, I don’t want to hold you back anymore.
I hope the muscles in every part of your being will re-learn the rhythms, the movements. I hope you’ll still sing, but sing “I am enough,” over and over again, until your voice knows it and your head holds it. I hope you’ll keep breathing, but breathe in the crisp scent of forgiveness, of triumph, of grace. I hope you’ll listen to the loving, kind words when they are spoken to you, and let them travel deep and rest there. I hope you’ll see more than the darkness—because there is always, always more to see.
Today, and forward, this is my hope for you. Will you carry it with you?