“I am not supportive not fond of nor proud of my self-abuse. I carry untold debt to my soul. It is the least I can do, to be gentle with it.”

I gave my sadness a full name so that I stop thinking of her as an intruder and start acknowledging that I do have to learn how to live with her.

I will tell you one thing, though: I grew like hell from it.

Nothing comes easy for me but that makes me love it more.

The universe hears what you say, but it knows what you mean.

I can finally cry and let it be relief. My tears can be my medicine and not my poison.

I take great comfort in knowing that there are even better versions of myself I haven’t hugged yet.

Can we be easy on ourselves for once?

To cry means that you are feeling as much as you possibly can in that moment and that is exactly what I mean when I say you are alive.

There is a person inside of me who deserves kindness.

You always told me that I was the child with one foot out the door. But, did you ever consider that it was for my own safety?

Stare hard at the hurt. Ask why it stings. Dig into the root and rip it out. It doesn’t have to stay there just because it grew there.

And who will advocate for me? Me. Even when it feels lonely. Lonely is where we grow the most.

Love does not equate staying quiet. Sometimes it has to be outspoken, always loud, and forever on fire.

I must be worth something if my heart thinks so.

And what happens when you run out of words? You listen. Deeply. To everything around you.

Maybe I am something special but nothing spectacular.