30 Days of Truth, Day 30 ~ Write a letter to yourself, including everything you love about yourself

This prompt....

The last time I responded to this one, I copped out. Completely. Told a story about when I asked one of my college professors for a letter of recommendation instead. All true, but still a cop-out.


Day 30 ~ Write a letter to yourself, including everything you love about yourself

Gah. Here we go...

Dear Me,

I know you pretty well, and I know that before you actually begin typing anything here, you're going to stare at a blank screen for a while.  Then you're going to type this introduction and stare at a mostly blank screen for a while longer.

Then you're going to write some really superficial stuff about how you have gorgeous eyes and nice hair and stuff like that. Then you're going to stare at the half-filled screen for a while.

You're a thinker. What some may call obsessively analytical, you see as just good common sense. You try to always think about how your words will be read by others before you put them out there for the world to see. You try so hard not to hurt other people, and when it happens, it hurts you the most. I know how soul crushing it is when something you say or write is taken the wrong way and you hurt someone you don't mean to.

It's what keeps you honest, this desire to first do no harm. You have more integrity in your pinky than many people have in their entire bodies. It isn't always an asset, that's for sure, and your unwillingness to sacrifice your moral code has gotten you into trouble before. It'll get you into trouble again.

It's also what makes people trust you. It's why people will tell you their stories, why they will confide things in you that they wouldn't tell other people - because they know that you will keep them safe, that you will shine the light where it needs to be shone. It's a lot of responsibility at times, knowing the things you know, but you've learned in the last year that there is strength and power in this platform, and that it can be used for good.

You're faithful to a fault, honest to your core. You live in a world filled with shades of gray and search to find the black and white. There are moral absolutes in your world, things that will not ever be compromised, and if ever there has been occasion to test your resolve, you've passed with flying colors.

It's been hard, these past few years. You've been hurt. You've been beat down. You've sunk to the lowest of lows and stayed down there too long...but you refuse to let it define you. You are strong, stronger than you ever thought you could be. Stronger than you should have ever needed to be. You're a fighter, and you know that now.

People say you are brave, but I know you don't think so, not deep down anyway. I know that what looks like bravery on the outside is really just a refusal to let fear win. Maybe that's the real definition of it. Who knows?

You're misunderstood by many, mostly by people who just can't understand or who don't try. You don't feel compelled to explain yourself to them anymore and you stopped trying a while ago. I think that's pretty awesome, honestly. You know that there aren't many people who could understand, and you're grateful for that, as twisted as it might sound. When you say you really don't want people to know what it's like to be where you've been, you mean it.

You still think it's weird that total strangers are reading this right now. Which is okay. It is weird.

You are flawed and broken and perfectly imperfect. You admit your faults, you own your mistakes, you say sorry and you mean it. You are trying to fix what is wrong with you, you are embracing all the quirks. You are making peace with who you are, even if who you are isn't who you thought you'd be.

You're an eternal optimist trapped in the body of a cynic. You really do prepare for the worst and hope for the best. You're a damn good friend almost all of the time, and when you fail people it hurts. You're doing your best to be a good mom, even when it is excruciating.

You are pretty awesome. Other people can see it. Sometimes you can. I wish you could see it more. I especially wish that you could remember that in the moments when you're stuck in the bottom of that hole and can't see the way out.

Kelly, I'm proud of you. For who you were, for what you survived, for who you are now, for who you want to be in the future. Just be yourself. Always.

Love,
Me