Hey love,
I see you. I feel you. And today, I need to speak directly to you.

You’ve been through it—the kind of pain that lingers in hard to reach places, the kind that reshapes how you breathe, how you trust, how you show up in the world. I’ve watched you piece yourself back together with unsteady hands and whispered affirmations. I’ve witnessed your silence in rooms where your laughter used to echo. I’ve felt the ache in your chest when you wanted to believe in love again but couldn’t.

But you’re still here.

What once felt like emptiness is now becoming sacred space. Space where you’re learning to listen to yourself more deeply, to breathe more intentionally, to honor what you need unapologetically. This is where healing begins, not in rushing to feel better. But in learning to feel safe with who you are, even in silence.

This is not a letter to fix you, it’s a letter to honor you. To thank you for not giving up, even when giving up felt easier. For still choosing softness in a world that made you feel like you needed to be hard. For carrying memories that were heavy, yet still moving forward.

I know you miss the parts of yourself you lost in the storm. I know you’re hoping that the smoke clears soon. I know you wonder if the light will return.  I have to be honest, some days it will be dim. But healing isn’t about getting back to who you were. It’s about meeting who you’re becoming. And baby, who you’re becoming…is someone sacred!

So take your time. Cry when you need to. Laugh when it comes. Rest often. Forgive yourself daily. And remember, broken doesn’t mean unworthy. It just means you’ve lived, you’ve felt deeply, and you’re still learning how to love yourself through it all.

I’m proud of you. I love you.

Always,
Me