If she only knew

I wish I could go back and sit with the younger version of me…

The girl who thought she had to be strong all the time.

The one who believed love meant fixing people who kept breaking her.

The one who didn’t know her worth, so she kept handing it out to people who didn’t earn it.

I wish I could hug her.

Tell her that her softness isn’t a weakness.

That setting boundaries doesn’t make her mean.

That her voice matters, loudly, unapologetically, and always.

I’d tell her she’s not too much.

She’s not too sensitive.

She’s not hard to love.

She’s just been pouring herself into the wrong cups, hoping someone would finally see her.

And I’d tell her,

She’s going to make it.

Through all the hard things that no child should’ve had to survive.

Through the silence, the hurt, the nights she cried herself to sleep.

She’s going to come out stronger, even when it doesn’t feel like she can take one more step.

I’d tell her one day she’ll grow into the kind of woman she never thought she’d have the strength to become.

One who protects her peace.

One who knows her worth.

One who chooses herself without guilt.

And I’d remind her,

Everything she’s been through wasn’t for nothing.

It made her this version of me.

And I’m finally proud of her.