I met with my 6 year old self earlier this week.
She’s too young for coffee so we sat at the swings at the school for a bit.
I listened to her talk about how the boys bully her and her parents don’t pay attention.
She holds back her tears, redness under her eyes.
I tell her that boys don’t make fun of you because they like you. Keeping quiet only keeps their peace and not yours & I would love to say your parents change but they don’t.
I tell her I’m here for her.
The next day I met myself at 13. Head in a book, she shuts out the world by putting herself in a different one.
I listen to her with a heavy heart as she tells me how she uses imagination to cope with the reality she faces each day.
I remind her that reading is good for you, but don’t lose yourself in it. I tell her that she is beautiful. She does not need others’ opinions to validate the way she looks on the outside.
I tell her I love her.
Weeks later, my 17 year old self knocks on my front door. She never had any safe space to go to, so I welcomed her in with open arms and make her her favorite iced coffee.
She cries. A lot.
Tells me she doesn’t know what she did to deserve to be hurt like this. Called crazy, insecure, trust issues.
I teach her the term gaslighting. I show her that she has a pattern of choosing men that remind her of her father, while painting herself as her mother.
After she leaves, I write a letter to myself now. I tell myself that I have been through so much yet persevered. I write that having strength does not mean you have to carry others’ weight with yours. I tell her you never deserved the bullying. The books you read will one day be the map to your growth. I tell her it is okay to cry and one day you will create your own family. One that is not by blood, but chosen. Hand picked so that each person you surround yourself with lifts you up, tells you you’re worth it & reminds you every day what it feels like to be loved.
Because you are, worth it.
