She Speaks Now

To 6-Year-Old me,

I know your stomach hurts. I know something feels wrong. But don’t tell Dad. And if you do-don’t go to that room. And if you do go, don’t go alone. But don’t go with him either.

And if somehow you end up there, and he walks in, ask to go downstairs. Ask to leave. And if he says no, and you find yourself in that moment again, be brave, don’t freeze. Say no. Scream. Run. You don’t owe him silence. You don’t owe him obedience. You owe yourself safety.

What happened to you was not your fault. You didn’t know that then. You didn’t know it when you finally understood what happened to you. But it was never your fault. You were a child. You were innocent. You were worthy of protection.

You learned far too early that not everyone who’s supposed to protect you will. You learned that trust can be shattered by the very people who should have held you safe. And yes, you lost your innocence. But you didn’t lose you. You are still here. And it will be okay. Not perfect. Not painless. But okay.

To 13-Year Old Me,

Don’t stop dancing. No matter how many times he tells you to sit down and shut up-don’t. Keep moving, Keep creating. Keep being loud. Never be quiet, no matter howmuch he demands your silence. Make it a point to be seen and heard, especially when he tells you that you’re not supposed to be.

He will break you down. He will minimize you. He will make you feel small. He will make you feel like you’re too much- but you’re not. You were never too much. You, my love, are amazing. You were wild and free, you were vibrant, expressive, and full of light and life. And he couldn’t handle that, so he tried to shrink you. But that’s not because of who you are- it’s because of how small he is. But he didn’t destroy you, You are still in there. I see her. I remember her. And I will never stop fighting to bring her back.

He was not a man. He was not a father. He was a wound dressed as a parent.

Don’t let him steal your relationship with your mother away from you. Show her that you are more important to her than he ever will be. Beg her to choose you. Because there will come a day when you won’t have her anymore- and that will be the day that you realize you need her the most.

Speak up when he hits you. Don’t swallow your pain. Don’t normalize it. Don’t let it become a part of your rhythm. Beg mom a little harder to leave. Tell her we’ll be ok without him. Convince her. Because we would have been.

And please, don’t pop that pill. Don’t take that first cut. I know you’re hurting. I know it feels like the only way to cope, but it’s not. It’s a trap, disguised as comfort. I know you feel invisible, unheard, and like no one would ever notice if you disappeared. But those pills and that blade? They will feel loyal. They will feel like control. They will feel like the only things that show up when no one else does. But they will also consume you. They will become habits that feel like home but never offer healing just temporary relief. And though they’ll give you a story to tell, it won’t be one you’re proud of-not for a long time.

To 18-Year Ol Me,

You made it, my dear. You lived past 16. I know you never thought you would- but you did. And that matters.

When that man smiles at you and asks for your number… don’t entertain him. I know you’re lonely. I know you’re tired of feeling invisible. But he will break what’s left of you, he will confirm every lie your father ever planted in your spirit- that you’re not to be seen or heard, not worthy of love.

He will not save you. He will not heal you. He will only deepen the wounds you’re still trying to heal from. Walk away. You are worth more than what he has to offer you. You are not disposable. You are not small. You are not his to ruin.

And yet, from the pain will come two of the most beautiful souls you will ever know: your babies. They will stretch you, challenge you, break you open, and rebuild you. They will come with struggles you never could have imagined, but you will never regret them. Not for a second. You will survive him. I wish I could say sooner rather than later, but in the end, you will.

To 23-Year Old Me

You’re about to walk into the deepest struggle of your life. You’re about to meet a little girl who will change everything. She will stretch your strength farther than you ever thought possible. She will teach you what it means to love beyond fear, to fight beyond exhaustion, and to believe beyond reason. She will teach you everything you need to know about faith.

She will be light in the darkest of places. She will give you purpose when everything else feels lost. She will make you laugh in moments in moments you never thought you’d smile again. She will show you what unconditional love looks like-what it feels like. And then you will lose her

Don’t take your time with her for granted. I know you’re exhausted. I know you’re overwhelmed. But slow down. Breathe her in. Memorize her laugh, her scent, the way her fingers wrap around yours. Because when the day comes, you will wish for every second back. You will replay the moments you missed. You will ache for the ones you didn’t know would be your last.

You will want to disappear, but you won’t. You will scream at the sky, and you will keep breathing anyway. You will carry her in everything you do. And you will make sure the world knows she was here.

To 28-Year Old Me

You’re about to bring the second-best thing you’ve ever been given into this world. And it will not be easy.

This little boy will challenge you like you’ve never been challenged before. He will test your patience, your limits, and your heat. And though you already know he will be worth every minute of it, please don’t use the impatience Dad taught you with him. Don’t bring the anger he showed you; parents have and aren’t supposed to. Break the cycle. Be the parent you needed. Be the safe place that he deserves.

To All of Me,

You did the unthinkable. You survived every hardship you’ve been through-childhood abuse, the mental, physical, and emotional wounds that tried to define you. You survived bringing two children into this world and losing one of them. You survived addiction, and somehoe, you walked away without collateral. You survived domestic violence and got out when you thought you never would. You are kind. You are resilliant. You are beautiful. And YOU ARE WORTHY <3<3<3